Tartarus 5

by Jovial_Misfortunate

Summary:

With nowhere left to run, the many Heroes of Sburb who've faltered on their path are Doomed. Branded as failures by Paradox Space and left adrift in an existence that's forgotten them. However, in this grizzly fate, an opportunity has arisen. An invitation; don your Title one last time, and perform on Reality's greatest stage. These chosen few have but one thing driving them forward now. Survive.

Notes:

• Inspired by Gods of War by Know_Your_Paradoxes

Chapter 1: > Page: Enter

 

 

A young man sits on the floor of his room, disheartedly slumped against the wall. Today is not his birthday. In fact, today just so happens to be the furthest from his birthday a day could possibly be. Today is the day that life as he knew it will end. You’ve taken a liking to him for some mysterious, perhaps even narrative-related reasons. You think you’ll be him for a little while.

As previously mentioned, you sit on the floor of your room, or rather, one of the many duplicates of your room that your dear departed server player created while building up to your first portal. You think you might be on the 30th floor, you don’t really know, or care. You just kind of crashed into your tower of a house while in a stupor of rocket propelled sadness.

There’s no getting around it. This is a Doomed Timeline, you’ve caused enough to know what one looks like. Maybe you should introduce yourself first before you get too into your current predicament.

Your name is Jason Greene. And, as just stated, you are in a Doomed Timeline. You should know as much, being the Page of Time. Your entire quest was basically one big cosmic autopsy experience, picking at the dead remains of a shit ton of Doomed offshoots that branched from the Alpha timeline, eventually culminating in the development of your bomb-ass time powers. Although, you didn’t actually get to use your powers while you were still on your quest, not in any way that mattered, really. And after you ascended, all you really did with them was go back in time to fulfill all the Causal Timeloops your future selves had written you into. That isn’t to say your powers aren’t bomb-ass, because they are indeed; bomb-ass. It’s just that you imagined them being more fun to use, rather than it being more of a responsibility you had to actively tend to.

A thought crosses your mind, and you contemplate using said bomb-ass time powers to retreat to a less utterly depressing timeline. It’s a relatively easy jump to make, from an offshoot back into the main temporal continuity. But you’ve seen first hand what happens to Doomed Jasons that don’t lie in the unwinnable-Sburb-session-bed they made for themselves. Paradox Space dishes out all kinds of uncannybrutal cosmic justice on their asses.

You decide not to go time hopping. It can only lead to more Dead Jasons, and it’s a universal and well known fact that Dead alternate-timeline-selfs are the enemy. Actually, any Dead selfs are the enemy, alternate timeline or not.

It’s a shame that you would be Doomed to an offshoot timeline this far into your quest. You had conquered the grueling task of reaching the top of your echeladder, you brought your consorts the secrets of their past and restored the Land of Rust and Hourglasses, and you even achieved God-Tier status. Everything was finally going your way, then she had to go and mess everything up. At least you can take solace in the fact that she’s Doomed as well. Sinking the ship she’s on to kill the Captain. Classic Rage player move.

You look down at the red sleeves of your God-tier pajamas, only emphasizing the sadness of your current situation. Not the pajamas themselves, though. Being God-tier is actually pretty sweet. It’s the red of the blood that’s seeped into your sleeves that’s making you sad.

You suppose it could be poetic, the red of your friend’s blood being lost to the Red of your Aspect. Maybe it would be poetic, if you were still the Alpha you, and the blood was Doomed offshoot-friend blood. Seeing offshoot timeline versions of friends die is just par for the course for any up and coming Time player, at least you think. But these were your friends, this was your timeline. It’s not poetic… it’s just sad.

You’ve put off dealing with recent events long enough. The recent event being you murdering all your friends in a blind rage. A rage that was not your fault, you might add. A rage that she put you in with that damn magic of hers. There were eight players in your session. You feel kind of dirty thinking about them all, considering their blood hasn’t even finished being magically cleaned from your pajamas yet. These things are supposed to clean themselves fast, but it’s already been a week’s time since the incident, yet the stains still linger, however faint they may be. You do your best not to reminisce about them too much, as to avoid completely breaking down into a tearful mess.

You succeed in repressing the feeling evoked by the realization that you just killed your best friends. Instead you focus on why this all happened.

It was the Maid of Rage. She was the one who sent you into that blind fit. You don’t know why she would do something like this. Sure, she didn’t get along with some of the others, but you never thought she’d go so far as to puppeteer a massacre. Especially not with you as the puppet!

Well, that’s not true. She hated you the most out of the group, but you have no idea why she held such angry feelings for you. You were actually really good friends not too long ago. But she’s made it abundantly clear how she feels about you now, usually by feeding you fake leads about your quest to fuck up your progression or through her constant ridicule and mocking. Ridicule and mocking that, more often than not, consisted of sending you Pesterlog screenshots of her messing with doomed timeline versions of you just before they died. A sort of x2 Mocking Combo, which never failed to get under your skin. It’s her forte.

You suppose it could have angered her when you finally got the hang of all your timeline responsibilities and didn’t have to rely on knowledge from offshoots to figure out your quest. She couldn’t mess with all those doomed versions of you anymore since they stopped jumping to your timeline. So instead of finding some new way to mock you, she went and made you a Doomed version of yourself as revenge. A God-tier Maid of Rage is not something you want to mess with. Not that you ever did in the first place, though.

You considered going back to stop yourself before killing anyone. Doing so would no doubly put you back into the Alpha timeline, and at the same time, onto an inevitable path towards your death. This, however, isn’t what makes going back a difficult decision. You’re rather familiar with the concept of Doomed versions of yourself bringing back help and wisdom from offshoots. In fact, you mentored under quite a few Doomed versions of yourself throughout your campaign, before they died that is. You always said you were prepared to fill the role yourself if and when the time came.

The thing is, entering the Alpha timeline from a Doomed offshoot to prevent the formation of said timeline would erase the offshoot from the flow of temporal reality. Actually, not so much erase, more like… collapse the Doomed timeline back into the Alpha, causing them to merge. Usually the process goes off unnoticed by anyone, but with the amount of damage you caused to this timeline in that rage, different points of the Doomed offshoot would be jutting out of the time flow if they were to be brought back together again.

Paradox Space has a sort of failsafe for events like this, and would iron out all the sharp edges of the Doomed timeline before they could do any real damage to reality. But it’s a rather crude process, crushing events from the Doomed timeline into the Alpha. Essentially shoving the dead remains of your friends into the Alpha timeline’s flow, as well as sending the memories of you killing them straight into their Alpha counterpart’s minds.

The main reason you don’t want to send a trans-temporal corpsplosion into the Alpha timeline is because your entire rampage happened in one spot. Her house. Lexie. The Seer of Space. It was the first time everyone had been together since entering the Medium. Kind of like a reunion party, her idea. She was the only player other than you and the Maid to reach God-tier. She was… you’re not quite sure what she was to you. You’d like to think you were together, it certainly seemed like it, at least to you. At worst, you were close friends. Friends who’d kiss each other’s corpses when they get a little too bold for their own good.

You were okay with just friends. But now… The only way she could be dead, actually dead, was because of a Heroic death. Trying to save her friends from your wrath. Christ… you feel sick just thinking about it.

You can’t do that to her. The bodies, those memories, all dropped on her all at once like that. She isn’t used to seeing dead friends, not like you are. She never seemed to recover from reviving you into your dream self, or from her own Ascension for that matter. You can’t imagine what having five of her dead closest friends And her own corpse thrusted onto her lap like that would do to her psyche. You’re not sure she could take the shock of it all. So you’re just going to stay here, in a null session. So long as you don’t go back and stop the splintering event, the Doomed offshoot will stay a stable Timeline separate from the Alpha.

Your somewhat warranted self wallowing pity-party is interrupted by the sound of your Hovertop alerting you to something.

Someone was messaging you. You open your Pesterchum, but there isn’t any new text in the chat. You type something in, seeing if anyone will respond. A second later, your text jumped up a space. After a moment of confusion you realize that the text coming in is in white.

 

PESTERLOG:

--???????? began pestering senileMinor [SM] at 20:21 --

Greetings, Mr Greene.
SM: Hello? Is anyone there?
It appears that you are in a Doomed timeline. That is most unfortunate.
SM: Oh, I get it
SM: This is you isn’t it, Mia
SM: Hardy fucking har! Wow, what a great joke. Look at the poor chump, stuck in a doomed timeline. Guess he wasn’t so great with his bullshit time powers after all
I am not the Maid.
SM: Sure you aren’t. I hate to poke holes in your shitty prank, but it’s only you and me left in this session
SM: Hiding your pesterchum handle and typing in white isn’t gonna fool me
You are correct. There are only two Players left alive in your Session.
But I am not in your Session.
SM: What?
SM: Where are you then?
I am contacting you from a location that you both do not need to know, and cannot comprehend at this current moment.
SM: Mia, what the hell is this supposed to accomplish? Some last minute joke at my expense before I go back to fix the mess you made? Let me guess, is the punchline something along the lines of “Sucks to be you, doesn’t it?”
SM: Well I’ve got news for you, I’m not going back. You and me are gonna spend the rest of our immortality stuck here, doing fuck-all nothing! Looks like the punchline is “Sucks to be the both of us!”
SM: Hope it was worth dragging us both down into cosmic obscurity for whatever this white text gag is
I am not the Maid, and I am entirely aware of your decision not to fix your offshoot timeline. Which is why I have contacted you to begin with.
SM: audible sigh
SM: What do you want.
I am here to make a deal.
SM: A deal?
Yes.
SM: …
SM: You know what, fine. There’s literally nothing else to do. Entertain me. You’re definitely not Mia, and you’re definitely not trying to pull some shitty prank on me
SM: So, who are you then?
I am a humble Servant of Paradox Space. An omniscient being, tasked with acting as a diplomat between players in unfortunate circumstances, such as yourself, and my employer.
I believe that some individuals at some point in spacetime may have mistaken my identity for a First Guardian, and a very specific one at that.
I am not him. Although we do share several qualities and mannerisms. I do not blame them for mistaking me for him. If you were to think of the First Guardians as a Species, we would be of the same Family. Much too different to be considered the same, but not entirely unalike.
SM: Okay, I understood and/or cared about only a quarter of that
SM: So, what I gather from this weird RP is that you work for Paradox Space?
SM: That seems like a stretch, even for you Mia. I mean, how could you work for something that’s essentially just figurative bs for stable time loops and how reality reacts when we break it?
Mr Greene, I would think you of all people would understand that reality is much more aware than most give it credit for. You are quite skilled with your Aspect, after all.
Surely you’ve noticed the effect your treatment of Time has on your ability to use your powers, no? That was a rhetorical question. I know you have.
SM: Well, yeah, I guess if that’s what you want to call the finesse required to manipulate time the way I do, then yeah, I treat Time like the fine ass hoe she is
SM: But it’s not like I’m communing with some great majestic beast. I’m not some troll kid trying to get his fussy Lusus to calm their shit
Hmm. That is strange.
SM: What is?
You have yet to be contacted by anyone outside your session at this point on your timeline, excluding me of course. How is it that you’ve come across Alternian terminology?
Never mind. That pocket of ignorance has been filled in. It appears that your Thief stole those secrets from a Doomed version of yourself.
One who had been in contact with another session
SM: You mean Jess? Yeah, she was always talking about weird shit like that. I guess I kind of adopted some of her babble. But thinking about that kind of made me sad again
You have my sympathy.
SM: Fuck off.
SM: So you’re a Servant of Paradox Space? Then I can only really imagine that you’re here to… what? Get me to hop back onto the Alpha timeline so your boss can kill me? Is that your punchline to this, Mia? Try and trick me into getting myself killed?
Not at all, Mr. Greene. And I will say again, I am not the Maid.
SM: Then what?
I am here to make a deal. One that could offer you salvation from your dreadful fate.
SM: What the hell does that mean?
You have chosen not to repair the timeline because fixing the splintered offshoot would most definitely be a detriment to your friends. But you are perfectly capable of hopping timelines on your own. You could easily abandon this offshoot in favor for the Alpha timeline or even another, more lively, offshoot.
SM: I’d be killed. That’s pretty much the one rule Paradox Space has
Correct.
What would you say if I were to tell you that there could be an exception to that rule?
SM: I’d say that you’re a horrible person who made me murder our mutual friend group and that you’re just fucking with me
SM: And probably trying to get me killed
Regardless of your opinion on the Maid, I am here to offer you a deal.
If you accept said deal, you will be stripped of your Doomed status, given that you fulfill your end of the agreement.
You would be allowed to travel back to your Alpha timeline without any repercussions, although you would not take the place of your Alpha self unless they were already dead.
SM: What the hell would be my side of the deal?
That, I cannot tell you at this time. I can only do so once you’ve accepted.
SM: Oh man, where do I sign?!
While I detect the sarcasm in your tone, a signature would not be needed. Indication of agreement would be notified on entry.
SM: Entry?
SM: …
SM: Hello?

You stare at the screen of the Hovertop in genuine confusion. Your friend, if you can even still consider her your friend, has never been one for RPing or any general masquerading of her identity. She liked it when people knew it was her messing with them. You suppose the weird white text person could be someone else. Maybe not everything they said was true, but that doesn’t mean all of it was unbelievable.

Jason, get in contact with the Maid.

 

PESTERLOG:

-- senileMinor [SM] began pestering syntheticKarma [SK] at 20:28 --

SM: Hey, was that you just now?
SM: Hello?
SM: Mia, you there?
SM: What the hell am I saying, of course you’re there, where else would you be
SM: God damnit, answer already! We need to talk
SM: Fuck it, I tried

-- senileMinor [SM] ceased pestering syntheticKarma [SK] at 20:32 --

Your conversations with her are always such fruitful endeavors. Whatever, it seems the white text guy lost interest in you. Maybe it really was Mia messing with you, and you played right into her hands. She’s probably laughing pretty hard at how gullible you are right now. Idiot!

Before you can get too deep into scolding yourself, a very distinct -ify sound comes from behind you. Turning your attention to the noise, you find a small box sitting on the floor. That’s odd. How did that get there? Like you don’t already know. Sendifying and Appearifying things is a rather pedestrian activity compared to the type of time shenanigans you got up to before being Doomed. You open the box.

There’s a small alabaster square and a blank slip of paper inside. No, wait, there appears to be white text printed on the paper. You have to strain your eyes to read it.

“Mr. Greene, kindly press the button on the device enclosed within package received. Doing so will be the first step to accepting our deal.”

You pick up the metal cube. There’s a button on the side, likely the one that the ominous note was referring to. You wonder what the chances are of this thing being a bomb... You give it about 10%.

Pressing in the button, two sides of the cube light up with a purple glow and it begins beeping. The odds of this thing being a bomb have skyrocketed. The initial fear of having an explosive in your hand subsides with the realization that you are, in fact, immortal. You doubt standing around doing nothing in particular could be considered particularly heroic or villainous, but you set the cube down and take a step back anyways.

Much to your surprise, the cube does not explode. Instead, it morphs into a completely purple sphere and begins to float. After a moment of being suspended mid-air, the sphere begins pulsating. This thing is… kinda freaking you out. You take another step back, and the beeps and pulsations quicken. You’re really not comfortable with this thing being in your house, or general vicinity really. 

Suddenly, the sphere erupts with a flash of light and standing in its place is what looks to be a gateway portal. You’re beginning to believe that Mia might not have been the white text guy. Or if she was, she’s very committed to the bit.

No, this is real. It has to be. This is… this is a way out! You’re not quite sure where this will lead, but if there’s a chance of escaping Doom’s cold, heartless clutches, you don’t see the harm in giving it a shot. With a frantic excitement, you scramble together a few possessions and supplies you think you might need before walking up to the portal and placing a hand against it. As you do, your up-beat demeanor is suddenly wracked with an unshakable feeling of dread, like you’ve just made a grave mistake. Before you can take it back, you’re spirited away, removed from this null session.

 

Jason, arrive already.

Chapter 2: > Revelations

You open your eyes, and to your complete expectation, you’re somewhere entirely different. You take a moment to absorb your surroundings. Seems you’re in some sort of forest, comprised of dark blue pine trees. It appears to be night here. You’re not on LORAH anymore, and you’re certainly not on any other planet in your session. Not one you’ve seen, anyway.

You retrieve your Hovertop from your sylladex. Time to get some answers. Luckily that white text guy never stopped pestering you. You’re not quite sure how you would be able to get in contact with them otherwise.

 

PESTERLOG:

SM: Hey, so I pressed the button and went through the portal
SM: I guess that means I accepted the deal?
Correct.
By entering, you have officially accepted your side of the agreement.
SM: Okay, so what does that mean exactly? You said you could only tell me when I entered, well I’m here now so…?
Your task is a simple one, Mr. Greene.
Survive.
SM: Survive?
SM: Survive what? Is this some sort of trial to convince Paradox Space not to completely wreck my shit?
SM: Do I have to prove my worth or something?
SM: Like “Hey! I’m not a complete waste of time, please don’t kill me!”
SM: Hello?
SM: God, it feels like I’ve been doing nothing but asking questions. That little ? is starting to get annoying.
SM: ?????
SM: God damn, just look at that shit.
SM: It’s curvaceous figure mocks me >_>

 

 

It seems that the white text guy’s not responding anymore. You probably shouldn’t be too invested in your computer anyways. As vague as “Survive” is as an instruction, it certainly tells you enough. You equip your trusty pickaxe, Bane of all Mountains, from your strife deck. Ah, the mighty pickaxe. Truly the working man’s weapon. You feel safer already.

You begin your journey of walking aimlessly into the woods, pickaxe in hand. Best to keep your guard up, you’re not sure what you can expect in ways of enemies. This forest seems suspiciously quiet. The only thing you can really hear is the occasional breeze rustling through the trees. As if this place wasn’t ominous enough.

 

***

 

After an hour or so of walking, you get used to the eerie feeling of the forest. The silence is actually quite relaxing, and you’ve certainly missed the night time sky. LORAH didn’t have a day/night cycle, just a whole lot of sand, and… rust. It never really occurred to you at the time, but the prospect of contracting tetanus was staggeringly high on your planet. You should really see if you can alchemize some sort of vaccine or booster shot against it the next chance you get once you’re back home. Unless, maybe your godhood status makes you immune to infections? Can a god catch a cold?

-THWACK-

Your train of thought on personal health is interrupted by a sudden force shoving you to the ground, face down in the dirt! A great start to your first interaction in this place. You roll onto your back and prepare to ream your Pickaxe into whoever or whatever smashed into you but all you see is a red blur rushing off through the forest. What the fuck? Someone just pushed you to the ground and ran off like you’re in preschool. Real mature, asshole. You get up and look around to see if the Flash is about to make another go-around to shove you into the dirt again.

......Nothing. Just the dark, eerie silence of the forest. Guess it was a one time hit-and-run. Cautiously, you follow after the direction the blur went off in, somewhat curious of who the hell it was in such a hurry. You’re creeping towards a small grass clearing in the forest you think the crimson blur head into when you hear the not-so-distant sound of gunfire. -Ph-Ph-Ph-Pheew- The sudden burst of noise causes you to do a not-so-dignified dive to the nearest tree for cover. You’re unsure if the shots were actually aimed at you, considering none of the trees around you were exploded into splinters, but it never hurts to be prepared.

Peering around the side of the tree, you spot someone a little ways off, standing dead-center out in the clearing. She’s wearing what you can only assume to be God-tier pajamas. A bright golden and yellow, as opposed to your crimson red. It kind of reminds you of Mia’s outfit, but this girl’s has a long skirt at the bottom, and her hood is split into two long pockets with weird horn extremities on top. Instead of leg wraps like Mia’s outfit, this girl has striped socks and what’s really odd is the pair of Magenta wings stemming from her back. What kind of class is that? Also… grey skin? It’s hard to tell at this distance, but yeah, that’s definitely grey. Must be a skin condition. And her ears are weirdly deformed, looking like little fish fins. Huh, must be an… ear condition?

She appears to be the source of the gunfire, judging by the enormous fucking gun she’s currently unloading into some unseen aggressor, or possible helpless victim. Shouting over the barrage of bullets, you can hear her yelling some profane absurdities at whoever she has at the business end of her rifle. She certainly seems riled up. You try peaking your head out further to see who she’s firing at, but the forest is too dense where you are, and you can’t get a look without completely exposing yourself.

It occurs to you that she might be in the same boat you've found yourself in. A poor Sburb player at the mercy of Paradox Space, fighting to get back to her Alpha timeline. From what you understand of the deal you struck, you’ll need to survive long enough to figure a way out of here. And based on the terrified look on her face despite the constant stream of lead she’s dishing out, she might be pretty close to failing her side of the agreement. Undoubtedly fending off an enormous onslaught of enemies, or possibly one incredibly tough and/or illusive enemy. You figure she would appreciate the backup regardless.

Just as you stand up to make your move, pickaxe in hand, you feel something wrap around your neck. Cold and rigid, it juts harshly into your throat. Instinctually, you start to struggle and grab for whatever the hell it is that's throttled you, but you can’t get so much as a finger around the phenomenon. Your assaulter quickly slams you against the tree and covers your mouth, bringing you down low to the ground.

“Shh. Hey, quit spazzing out, pinky. I’m gonna let you go, just calm your shit the fuck down!” He whispers in an urgent tone.

You reluctantly do as he says, and as promised, he removes his hands and unwraps your neck. You shove him off of you and get a good look at the asshole as you sit up against the tree. You’re gonna give this dick a piece of- what the fuck.

Whatever anger you had from the surprise choke-attack seemed to completely vanish as soon as you get a look at him. The person crouched in front of you has grey skin, like the girl with the huge gun, and what look like candy corn horns jutting out of his head. You’re beginning to think it’s not just a skin condition. He’s also dressed like a complete moron. You guess it’s a god-tier outfit, but… just… what the fuck?!

His hood looks more like a pointed dunce cap, and what you guess is supposed to be his cape just looks like a tattered mess of streamers. And- oh god… there appears to be an… extremity… jutting from his pants. You really hope that’s just part of the costume, otherwise this encounter got a lot more uncomfortable. Other than the complete absurdity to his outfit, he also has a slash running across his chest. Which, on closer inspection, appears to be part of the outfit as well. He’s also sporting a sharp pair of dark red wings, not unlike that girl’s magenta pair. He’s holding a chain in one hand, which you guess was the thing he choked you with. That’s an odd choice of weaponry, what kind of strife specibus would that even classify under? Whipkind maybe? You’ll have to ask later. You should find out what this clown’s deal is first.

“What the hell are you?” You sputter out, still trying to catch your breath.

“What am I? Saving your fuckin’ life, that’s what I am!” He says in a hush tone, jabbing you in your shoulder with his finger. You’re not sure what to make of this thing, you’re legitimately baffled right now.

“Saving me? By sneaking up and wrapping a chain around my neck?!” You say matching his lower volume while still keeping a pissed voice. You’re not sure why, but there’s probably a reason he’s keeping quiet. Unless he’s just weird, which is a very large possibility.

“Calm down, drama gills.” The weird monster guy scowls at you. “I was just getting your attention.”

“Well you’ve certainly got it! What the hell do you want?”

“I’ve been following you since you appeared with that flash of light a ways back. You showed up in the middle of nowhere instead of a portal-landing, so that means you just entered, right?” You give him a hesitant nod. Has he really been tailing you since you arrived? Wait, was he the guy who pushed you down? No, he’s dressed in a brownish red, that other guy was in crimson. Must have been a Time player then? “Well, new guy, the last thing you’re gonna wanna be doing here is to go jumping into someone else’s strife. Good way to get yourself killed.”

“What if she needs help?” You ask, glancing back to the girl, who seems to have run off somewhere, her gunfire getting more and more distant.

“Trust me, friend, that Witch don’t need no help. I’ve seen her around the Arena, she doesn’t have any trouble holding her own. Most highbloods don’t.” He twitches slightly, looking around suspiciously, as if he heard something off in the distance. He’s crouched noticeably close to you, hovering in your space like he’s trying to conceal you with his body. You see his wings flutter a bit from behind, almost like he’s prepared to take flight. Can he fly with those? You can fly, but you didn’t get wings to go along with said ability. Thank God. Your original Page outfit was embarrassing enough. You shutter at the memory of your pantless ensemble. “Chances are, she’d’a given you a few new holes if she saw you running her way.” Seeing that the coast is clear, he steps back, standing up straight and offers you a hand up. You take it with a healthy degree of caution.

“…Arena?” You ask as you stand, brushing off the bit of forest still stuck to you. You’re incredibly lost right now, unsure of what the hell this guy’s talking about. You think he means well enough, but he’s kind of freaking you the fuck out at the moment.

“Right, you’re still new with all this.” He nods, realizing just how in the dark you are. “You and me? We’re currently sittin' on one of several planets that make up a huge fuckin’ celestial array, I’ve counted around two dozen planetoids, actually, two dozen and one to be precise. Most of the others I’ve been talkin’ to call this little corner of paradox space the Arena, not sure if it actually has a name though.” The monster guy seems to loosen up a bit, taking a step back from you. He still seems on edge, but at least he’s out of your personal bubble.

“Others?” You weren’t expecting there to be anyone else here, wherever it is you actually are. You certainly weren’t expecting enough people to constitute a commonly held casual-slang. “So there’s more people here?”

“Sure thing, pinky. Tons.” He shrugs. “Bunch of assholes with their heads shoved up their nooks, in my opinion. Most of ‘em, anyway.”

“How many?” He gives you a sort of shaky half-grimace. You’re not sure what the intended message the awkward mouth moment was meant to convey, but it really weirds you out. Just about everything about this guy weirds you out.

“Huh… bout hundred forty or so, maybe more. Hard to keep tabs on ‘em all.”

“A hundred and forty?! We’re talking about players, right?”

“Yep. God-tier n’ everything. Actually, you were a part of the latest batch to arrive, and from what I can tell, everyone’s been showing up four at a time. So including you, that would make it hundred and forty four if my math is right.”

“What’s our enemy then?” You ask. The monster guy cocked his head to the side at you, with a slanted, confused look.

“Hmm? Whacha mean?”

“There’s a hundred and forty four of us here. And we’re all God-tier?” He nods. “Then there’s gotta be some behemoth of an enemy we need to defeat, right? Why else would there be so many of us?” The monster guy pauses a moment, as if he’s closely analyzing each word to come out of your mouth one at a time, before he scoffs like you’ve said something dumb.

“Hate to burst your bubble, pal, but the only enemy we’ve got here is each other.” His smile widens, further than you thought it physically could, curving at the edges of his mouth as he lets out a snickering laugh.

“Each other?” You mutter to yourself. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Didn’t you get the memo, hornless? That white text guy should’ve at least given you a basic idea. We’re here for a bloodbath, friend. Playing for keeps, all in. One last stand to be that last one standing. Ya know, the guy who gets to walk free, scot-free, no fees. Everyone’s an enemy, there can be only one, is any of this making it into that alien head of yours?!” It takes you a moment to realize what exactly this guy is saying. It takes a minute, but it hits you like a freight-train. Paradox Space isn’t just gonna let you walk away from this without getting your hands dirty. You don’t just get to kill a few imps and *BAM* you’re off the hook. Paradox Space is an asshole, and it’s gonna make you claw for it! You didn’t think it would be easy, but killing other players? God-tier players?

You’re starting to flip the fuck out. You think you need to calm down. You’re about to do an acrobatic flip off the fucking handle if you don’t calm down. Just count to three. One. Two. Three… You fail phenomenally at calming down. Well, shit. This is about to happen right now, and there’s no getting around it. You might as well just do it already.

You perform the most astronomically astounding acrobatic flip of the fucking handle you had in you, sticking the landing and soaring up another God Tier, attaining the legendary; Awaited Fate of Denzel Sommerfeld.

Alright, that seemed to do the trick. That sweet maneuver calmed you down so fucking hard, you wouldn’t even believe it. Time to get some answers from your weird new monster friend.

“Okay, so… we’re being Battle Royal’ed by reality. Is that it, is that what’s going on?” You say, still trying to work your way through all this.

“Battle Royal? That like a Blood Sport or something?” 

“N-no it was this movie- you know what, yeah, sure, fuck it. Not important. You said we’re playing for keeps? Like killing each other, like actually killing each other? How’s that supposed to work?”

“Ah?” He grunts, not following your line of thought.

“Well... there’s bound to be more than one person who won’t die a hero or villain. How could there be a winner if more than one survives?”

“Immortality don’t apply here, chud. Full on negated, something in the air I bet. Don’t need to be Heroic or Just, just need to be dead. The Arena is kind of like a cosmic dumping ground for Paradox Space. ‘Stead of drumming up some complex scenario that’ll perma-kill us God-tiers, it just lets us at each other and sits back to watch the carnage.”

“What?! That’s ridiculous, what would be the point?”

“Why go to the trouble of killing us off when we’d happily do the job ourselves?” You’re pretty much speechless, which this monster guy seems to notice. “But, now that you’re here, the games can finally get going.” His tone is uncomfortably chipper, and the genuine smile on his face sends a shiver up your spine. That demeanor he’s presenting is making you wildly uncomfortable, even more so than his cod-piece.

“Get going? It hasn’t started? D-does that mean no one’s died yet?” You aren’t sure if that should be a relief or not. “Then what the hell was that girl shooting at?”

“No deaths, no permanent ones at least. Our immortality status doesn’t get pulled until the Roster is completed.”

“There’s a roster?”

“Not a roster. It’s the Roster.” He leaned in really close to you for emphasis, uncomfortably so. Everything about this guy is uncomfortable. “I’m not sure on all the details, but it acts kind of like the indicator for the Arena to disable our immortality, like a whistle at the start of a race. The Roster is a sort of metaphysical checklist for an event in Paradox Space I fondly refer to as an ‘Un-Dooming’. Some real juju ritualistic type shit. Needs a symmetrical amount of players hailing from opposing Classes and Aspects for the whole thing to work properly. Think of this place as a big Bucket, and we’re all the gene soup splashing around inside. The person who gets Un-Doomed is the grub we pop out.”

“W-… What?” You give your monster friend an incredibly confused look. It seems he realizes you aren’t familiar with the colorful terminology he’s casually tossing about.

“It’s like… there’s some part of each of us that’s needed for an Un-Dooming to be possible.” He clarifies in a much more serious manner, his voice lowering to match his sincerity. “Somin’ we bring to the Arena when we arrive. A piece of us for sacrifice. Tribute, even. You know how it is with this type of shit, all cylinders have to be firing for anything to work out in nonsense space. Can’t be any missing links in the chain. Anyway, I’ve been keeping tabs of the different Titles I’ve been seeing around, and from what I’ve noticed, there’s only about twelve different variants in both Class and Aspect. All with symmetrical opposing counterparts, too, I might add. Meaning the maximum amount of players we can expect is, and I’m sure you’ll love this, a hundred and forty four! So it seems the Roster’s been completed, and everything’s fair game now. As for that Witch, I’m guessing some of the others must've figured out the mortality switch has been flipped and thought they could get the jump on her.”

“How exactly do you know all this?” His eyes narrow slyly at your question before places an arm over your shoulder, pulling you in close.

“White-text dude filled me in on a lot of things here.” He’s whispering real low now, the heat of his breath hitting your face. “He was a lot more chatty with me than the others, really opened the floodgates of pure, unfiltered knowledge on my pan. Dude wouldn’t shut his speakcaster about this place, gave me a hell of a headache. Hey!” His voice suddenly spikes, scaring the shit out of you. “Did you know that the planets in the Arena are rotating around a blackhole? That’s some wild shit, if you ask me.”

“You got a crash course on this? The fuck?!” You humph, pulling the monster man’s arm off you. “All I got was cryptic, half-truth bullshit! God dammit!” The calming tranquility instilled in you from that acrobatic flip off the fucking handle has been thoroughly undone by this new information. Why the hell does this guy get the upper hand about all this shit and you get a ‘Good luck, dickhead’?!

The monster man re-places a hand on your shoulder, unfazed by its removal, and squeezes you tight. “Hey, man, chill. Things’ll work out, just gotta go with the flow. Ya feel?”

“Go with the flow?! Fuck that!” You yell, swiping his hand off of you again. “I didn’t sign up for some… Cosmic Slaughter Fest! I-I don’t have it in me to kill anyone else, I mean, s-some of my friend’s blood is still stained on my sleeves!” You hold up your sin-stained forearm for him to see, emphasizing your point. Your monster friend’s gaze bounces between you and your god tiers, looking you over with a notably suspicious eye. “It wasn’t- that… It wasn’t my fault, it’s just… I’m not-“

“Don’t sweat it, man. Not here to judge. How about this, see that mountain looking tower thingy over there.” He says, pointing off to his right. You follow his direction and see there’s something just peeking over the tree line, which you assume is what he’s referring to. “There’s a portal in the temple at the top. You go through there, it’ll take you to the Land of Knowledge and Thirst. It’s a desert world, practically no one goes there. If you’re not down with the whole murder party thing, just head on over and lay low. I’m sure there’s a cave or two you could hide out in for a while.”

“These are Lands? We’re in a Medium?” He shrugs as if to say ‘suppose’. “Well, what Land are we in now?”

“The Land of Grove and Veil. Probably pretty easy to lose your way here. Try not to get lost on your jaunt to the portal, no telling what unsavory types are lurking around out here.”

“You’re not coming?”

“Nah, way too bright there for my liking. Think I’ll wing it out in the thick of it, see how that goes. And no offense man, but you’re kind of a weirdo.” He nudges your arm with his elbow.

“… None taken.” He seems relieved that you won’t hold a grudge. “Well, take care then… uh, I didn’t get your name. Or… species?”

“Finlus Renfik, and I’m a Troll. It’s a pleasure.” Finlus extends a hand out to you. A troll, huh? So these are the guys Jess was so infatuated with. You extend your own hand and grasp his in a moment of inter-species camaraderie. If your Dad could see you now, you’re sure he’d be filled with fatherly pride having a son so skilled in the art of diplomacy.

You and Finlus give your last goodbyes and you wish him luck before making your way to the temple. It only takes a moment of being alone for the fact that you’re no longer immortal to sink in. Sure, you were mortal for most of your life and that never really posed a problem, but then again you didn’t have a hundred and forty three forces of nature driven by self preservation gunning for your hide most of your life either.

No wait, that’s not completely accurate. Finlus seems… okay, you guess. You think you can consider him an ally, or at least not a direct threat. So that makes one hundred and forty two demigods that want to kill you. See? Things aren’t so bad if you look on the bright side.

 

***

 

It isn’t much longer until you find yourself at the base of the tower Finlus directed you to. There’s a path winding around it’s side leading up to the top. You follow it. The temple doesn’t go that high up, but it still gives you a good lay of the land… It’s all forest. How illuminating.

The ruins at the top seem familiar. There were plenty of landmarks and temples like this on your own planet, although your ruins were much more decrepit, having been left to rust in the desert heat, or half sunk into the ground. Or completely sunk into the ground, in some cases. You fondly recall the days you spent down in the sand filled catacombs, deciphering the engravings and uncovering the rich lore of the land. Ah, lore, your beloved archeological mistress.

The thought of bogging down for a few hours to translate a slab or two of the wall-inscribing this temple has to offer crosses your mind. The notion of studying even a fraction of the tales LOGAV has to offer gets your engines roaring something fierce, but it’s waay too dark to get any real deciphering done. You can make out the general shapes some of the larger murals consist of if you strain your eyes, not much else though. Even when you bring out a light source, there seems to be some sort of enchantment that clouds everything in this place, leaving the important bits of information in darkness. Oh well, guess you’ll have to find your lore fix somewhere else.

The portal is located in the uppermost room of the temple. Even with the magical yellow glow the portal gives off, you still can’t make out any of the engravings on the wall. Damn, looks like you really aren’t getting any mythological stimulus from this place. You move on with a small sigh, no point in crying over hidden stories.

 

Jason, step through the portal.

Chapter 3: > Strife!

Finally arriving to your destination, you appear for the first time in a strange new land. The Land of Knowledge and Thirst, or so you’ve been told. You appear to have landed in a tomb of some sort. The room you’re in seems rather bland, just a small stone box with a staircase leading up. Maybe it’s one of those portal-landings Finlus mentioned. You guess they’re structures specifically meant for transportation between planets, although there doesn’t appear to be a portal back to LOGAV. Suppose that means it's a one way trip, then. Jason, Ascend.

Jeez, Finlus wasn’t kidding when he said desert. You’re not even halfway up the staircase when the heat hits you. You take a step outside and are greeted with an unapologetic assault on your eyes. The Light here is absolutely unbearable! You hold a hand up to shade your face, but it does little to shield yourself from the onslaught of sun-rays still managing to find their way directly into your sight. They must be reflecting off the light surface of the desert. Standing here, trying to shield yourself from the light, you begin to feel a distinct tingling sensation in the back of your eyes. You… you think you might be going blind.

Quickly, you fling your cape up and over your head to cover your sensitive peepers, completely blocking the light from every angle. The red-tinted shade is a cooling relief, but you can’t exactly go walking around like this. Obvious vulnerabilities aside, you look kind of ridiculous. You blindly swing for your sylladex in search of a solution.

After a moment of folly, you finally get a hold of the elusive bastard and access your Fetch Modus. You favor the Maze type, a modifier that scrambles your items across a randomly generated maze every time you access it.

Back when you were first beginning your quest, it took practically forever to get anything out of this thing. The best strategy you developed for finding your gear was to pick a random entry area in the maze and search until you found at least something close to what you needed. Not exactly the most adept method, but after a few additional modifiers to the retrieval type, specifically a Numerical-Grid Modus and Scavenger-Search Modus, retrieval became a lot faster.

Now all your items are listed at the bottom of the Maze construct, even items located in your strife deck, which makes taking inventory rather easy. It also adds a 20x20 chess board-like grid to the Maze with each space holding the numerical value of it’s X-axis multiplied to it’s Y-axis, with the uppermost left corner being 1 or the “1x1” section, and the lowermost right space being 400 or the “20x20” section. Each item is assigned a catalog number upon captchaloguing, and when retrieving, the item you’re looking for can be found in the section of the grid that matches it’s designated number, as opposed to being scrambled across the entire maze along with the rest of your stuff.

You look through your inventory list for anything that might solve your current predicament. You sure do have a lot of junk stored in here.

 

 

 

 

Sylladex Inventory:

The Hovertop, a three piece hovering computing device essential for any youth on the go. Consists of two keypads and a monitor.
Rocket Boots + Gloves, Mr Stark sure makes flying with these things look a lot easier than it actually is.
The Dapper Gent Suit, reserved for only the most formal of occasions. Your charisma stats go through the roof when you dawn this outfit. Suave +20, Woo +15, Style +25.
The Scrapping Gent Suit, reserved for only the most intense of fight scenes. Inspired by the many suit-wearing badasses of film, the Bonds, the Wicks, the Hunts, even the McCauleys. Toughness +20, Gall +15, Dexterity +5.
The Digital Scribe Archive, a kind of tablet-like device that could transcribe and catalog any hieroglyph, slab inscribing, or book you take a scan of. You used this pretty frequently back when you weren’t so skilled in the art of translation and transcription.
The Trans-Temp. Camera, a camera that allows a photo to change with the flow of time. It’s basically like setting up a camera with a live feed. There’s a future setting, but it goes in million year increments, which isn’t particularly useful.
Your Phone, not much to see here, just a simple telephonic device.
The Hand-held Supercomputer, a much more advanced telephonic device. This thing contains the processing power of a collapsing star, whatever the hell that means! It answers math questions hella fast.
Temporal Beats by Scratch, a pair of headphones that can access your personal chronology. Which essentially means it can play any song, so long as you’ve heard it before. Time powers can be so cool sometimes. Actually, all the time… Literally.
Basic Sunglasses, an embarrassing relic from your past. Originally, you used these to try and artificially jack up your popularity status back when the Earth wasn’t a piece of Swiss. Still, these bad boys give a hearty boost to your coolness stats. Chill +10, Swag +5. Not quite tinted enough to withstand the brightness of LOKAT. You’ll keep looking.
Bane of all Mountains, your trusty pickaxe. Said to be able to tunnel through the largest of mountains in mere moments, whether due to the immense power it holds within or the sick time powers you channel through it, this thing kicks ass.
The I-Pick 12, for whenever you want to slam your phone against a rock.
Clocking in Overtime, yet another of the numerous pickaxes in your arsenal. This particular one’s Pick and Head are made from Clock hands. Its temporal disruption abilities are accessible to even non-Time players. The others in your session thought it would be a good idea to get familiar with time shenanigans before you got any of your actual powers. You can easily achieve the same level of time manipulation without it, but you like it’s aesthetic.
A Normal Pickaxe, your very first one. It brings back good memories, you never leave home without it.
Grandpa’s Bootstraps, this one is a bit odd. You think it’s a pickaxe. It certainly looks like a pickaxe, given it has a shaft and a 2xprong pick head, but it doesn’t fit into the Pickaxe specibus or your Strife Deck, leading you to believe it might not be a pickaxe or even be a weapon at all. In fact, just about everything with this pick is an enigma. It’s a solid Maroon color and is pretty hefty for its size, which is saying something, because it's pretty big as well. You definitely feel some sort of temporal energy present within it, but you can’t seem to activate it for whatever reason. You didn’t even alchemize this pick, it just kind of showed up one day in your living room, one of it’s spikes was buried into your floor like Excalibur and the entire place was trashed. You’ve held tight to it ever since. This thing was given to you by Fate and there’s no telling what your Aspect has in store for you with it.
72 Months worth of Rations, you kept these on you throughout your quest, just in case you got trapped underground. You didn’t think you would need these after you God-tiered, but it turns out these could be incredibly useful if you won’t revive after starving to death.
A Giant Tennis Ball, it has a 50 foot diameter. You were originally trying to make a square tennis ball for a running gag war with your session mates, but this seemed to work out just as well. Still not sure how alchemising a tennis ball and a perfectly generic object together spat this monster out.
A… Frog? Hello there, little guy. You guess you must have accidentally captchalogued him at some point.
Your Closet, you’ve built up quite a few different casual outfits in your travels. Keeping them all in different captchalogue cards wouldn’t make much sense.
An Emergency Stockpile of Explosives, tick tick Boom, motherfuckers. Your Knight of Doom, Rich, always made sure you had an abundance of things that go kaboom on you at all times. “You never know when you need to blow something up.” He would tell you. He sure did like explosions. Must have been a Doom thing.
A Bundle of Gummy Grenades, a joke gift to Rich poking fun at said odd obsession with explosives. When detonated, it expels a huge amount of gummy bears everywhere. You, uh… never got it to him.
A Nuclear Energy Mini Fridge, perfect for keeping beverages cool with only a slight after-taste of uranium. You snag a drink, best to stay hydrated out in the heat.
Your 3-Dimensional Puzzle Projector, a small device that generates an assortment of holographic puzzles, riddles, and other quizzical tasks. Your Sylph of Mind, Renee, made it for you. She said it had something to do with keeping your logical reasoning skills sharp. You use it pretty often, especially as of late.
The X-Helm One, the portable gaming system/protective headwear. Although this console is rather encumbering by nature, it allows for incredibly immersive gameplay. Not quite as immersive as Sburb though. Awareness -50, Stimulation +20.
Your Clock Goggles, eye gear that allows you to see the flow of Time itself. It’s not as impressive as it sounds, just a bunch of red random shifting nothingness. They do however double as a computer. You can’t see anything while they’re on, so that’s a no-go for adequate protection from the light. Awareness -50, Thought +5.
Basic Iron Armor (Half-Plate), protective armor platings. It isn’t a full set, lowering its protection factor to lessen its take from your movement stats. It includes gauntlets, boot and leg armor, and a chest piece. Running around in normal clothes without any real defensive protection just seems irresponsible. You found the original set buried in the sand out in the wilds of your Land, but it was too rusted to wear without injury. Needless to say it was quickly discarded once this set was alchemized. Protection +20, Confidence +10, Dexterity -5.
Time Armor (Half-Plate), similar to your other set of armor, but you combined it with your God-tier pajamas. They’re a matching Crimson along with a Time Aspect emblem branded on the chest piece now. Also might have some sort of temporal property, or maybe magic pajama property? It better, cause they cost a boat load of Grist to make. They get the job done though, and at the end of the day, that’s all that matters. Protection +45, Intimidation +10, Fortification +20, Dexterity -2.

 

After rummaging through your Sylladex for a while, you come across an item that might do the trick. A pair of Cosmic Joke Goggles. Huh, you remember alchemising these things but you don’t remember wearing them all that much. You throw them on and see if they work.

Suddenly, you’re overwhelmed by a flood of repressed memories as to why you don’t wear these things. Reality begins to unhinge and your head begins to feel all hazy. The ground shifts around like restless water and your depth perception fluctuates without rhyme or reason. A sort of whirling sensation starts to overtake you and you begin to rock back and forth like you’re going to fall over with vertigo. Next comes the hallucinations. Horrorterrors floundering about in the sky, monuments of obsidian and ivory being constructed in seconds only to be swallowed up by the ground, vortexes and voids opening and closing left and right.

You’re not sure why you brought these, but they do seem to be doing the trick. The intense rays of Light seem bearable now, negligible even. You should probably find some cave to hide out in before these things make you vomit.

 

***

 

As you pluck along though the scorching desert heat, you find yourself having to stop and remove the goggles every so often, as to avoid completely losing all motor function. It seems that along with whatever discombobulating effects this thing has on your mental faculties, it also attacks your lower brain functions as well, fucking with your muscle control and breathing. You think it’s even throwing off your heart-rate, given how out of flux it is right now, meaning it could probably kill you if you left them on too long. Even with their current usefulness in your given situation, you can say with certainty that these things are quite literally the worst item you have ever alchemised.

Mental impairment aside, having to take the goggles on and off again has brought to your attention something strange about the hallucinations evoked by the eyewear. Every time you put the goggles back on, everything seems to randomize, as if everything they’re showing you is procedurally generated Augmented Reality. The different hallucinatory constructs and weird tangents physical space trails off in are gone, replaced with a whole new gaggle of mind-numbing stimuli. All except one...

There’s a shadowy figure that’s always present, lingering just behind you. It’s a few feet away, but it’s been keeping pace with you as you've been crossing the desert. It doesn’t stand out much from the other illusions you’ve been seeing through the goggles, you didn’t even realize it was there at first, but every so often you’d check behind yourself to make sure no one was following after you and there it was, every time. You’ve been trying to ignore it the best you can, writing it off as the goggles just fucking with your head, but it’s consistency seems to indicate that it’s real in some way. Fuck… alright, might as well nip this in the bud while you still can. You stop and do your best to stabilize yourself through your vertigo. The figure stops with you.

You turn around to face the shadowy figure. You’re having a hard time focusing on anything with the goggles on, but you can get an alright look at the figure considering they’re just a dark blurry blob of shadows. The only distinct thing you can make out about the figure is some sort of symbol imprinted on their chest, like a circle made up of little dashes. It looks kind of familiar, where have you seen that? That’s an Aspect, isn’t it? You think you remember seeing it on Jess’s planet. She was a Void player, wasn't she?

You stumble towards the entity, placing a shaky step down that nearly crumples under your unreliable muscles. The figure quickly backs up, clearly not expecting you to start moving in its direction. Looking at its footwork, you notice it’s taking meticulous care to walk in the footprints you’ve been leaving in the dirt, as to not leave its own tracks behind. You lift the goggles up to see if there’s any physical trace of the figure. There’s nothing... However, the brief relief from the goggle’s effect allows you to think more clearly for the moment. This thing is a person, someone with a cloaking ability of some kind. And for whatever reason, they’ve been following you for a while now. You put the goggles back on and the figure’s still there, facelessly fixated on you. The shadows around it start to shift, making it look like the figure is looking over its shoulder, like it's checking to see if you’re looking at something behind it or not. It slowly turns back, seeming to realize that you’re not looking through it, you're looking at it. They know you know.

You equip the Bane of all Mountains. The figure juts back, readying its hands in a half guarded anticipation, alarmed at you drawing your weapon. Jason, Confront the Shadowy Figure.

“I can see you.” You announce. There’s a moment of hesitation for the figure.

“How?” They eventually ask. Their voice is distorted and causes a ripple in the air around their throat, leaving a physical echo like a stone skipping on the surface of a lake.

“Does it matter?” You ask back. They don’t answer. “Who are you?”

“The Knight of Void.” They say after a moment of pause.

“I meant your name.” The shadows surrounding them shift and shutter in an incredibly disconcerting manner. Your grip on the Bane tightens.

“Nolan… Nolan Emily.” He answers. “You?”

“Jason Greene.” You let a long silence pass before speaking again. “...Why were you following me, Nolan?”

“…”

“Right, dumb question… So then, no point in beating around the bush. Are we going to stand around here all day, or are we gonna Strife?” You barely finish your sentence before Nolan lunges forward with an unexpected burst of speed. He throws a jab aimed directly for your throat, missing you by an inch. You feel the air whiz past, just grazing your skin. Contact has been made, the Strife has officially begun.

You take advantage of how close Nolan is to land a hefty strike to his abdomen with the head of your pick. He falls back and his shadows convulse in pain, echoing around his entire form. You charge him before he can recover.

You swing your pickaxe downward at Nolan, but he’s much faster, dodging your attack with seeming ease. Your pick lands in the dirt just below him, causing the dried ground to crack open. You weren’t swinging hard enough to do too much damage, but the goggles make it look like you’ve cracked the planet in half, leaving you in awe of the illusion.

Noticing your distraction, at what he must perceive to be nothing, Nolan cracks you in the jaw. It knocked the spit out of your mouth, and more than likely loosened a few teeth. He must be using KnuckleDusterkind, that or he just hits like a truck. You rip your pickaxe from out of the earth, swinging up at him with the intent of ramming the weighted top of your weapon into the bottom of his mouth. With a quick juke back, he’s clear of your attack and you miss the swing by a mile. He rocks back in for another strike, this time landing two direct hits on you, one on your jaw again and the other in your solar plexus.

You stumble back, thoroughly stunned by the blow to your center. A few wheezing coughs escape your lungs before you forcefully suck in the air though your teeth, doing your best to regain your breath. Once you’ve recovered enough to breathe properly, you turn your attention back to the Strife only to see that Nolan is gone. Before you can scan your surroundings, you feel a hit to the back of your head. You guard the area with the forearm of your empty hand in hopes of lightening any further blows, and almost immediately he strikes you in your now unguarded side. You twist, bringing your pickaxe into a swing against your flanked side, but by the time you’ve followed through, he’s already on your other side, jabbing you in your ribs. Needless to say, this Strife in not going in your favor.

You manage to hit him with the butt of your handle while he’s still close and he quickly falls back to a comfortable distance. He’s landing a few good hits, but he’s not nearly aggressive enough for how well he can get past your defenses. Jess had a similar fighting style, using the shadows to her advantage and striking when the enemy least expected it, but Nolan doesn't have any shadows to rely on. He’s likely being more conservative with his hits because he has nowhere to retreat to.

Winding up for his next flurry of blows, Nolan strafes from side to side, keeping you guessing which direction he’s planning to strike from. Before he can get any closer, you charge towards him yourself, pickaxe cocked and ready to swing. His advance skids to a stop to avoid colliding with you, bailing out into a tumble to your right in an attempt to evade past your attack. No such luck for him, as you swing the blunt end of the pick’s head up, slamming directly into Nolan’s face hard enough to send him flying back several feet. He skips upon the ground, finally stopping with an ungraceful flop and lies wounded, struggling to get back up again. He’s quick on his feet, but he’s a total glass cannon.

You dash forward, quickly closing the gap between you and him before he can get back on his feet. Towering over the proned Knight, you grip your pickaxe with both hands, raising it over your shoulder and preparing to finish him off while you still have the upper hand. Just before you bring it down, the shadows dissipate from around him. He’s laid sprawled out in the sand with an arm up in a meager defense, cringing in anticipation as his nose bleeds a thick stream of blood. A pair of sunglasses lay in the dirt by his side, having seemed to have fallen off him in the tussle. You can see his face now, and the bloodthirsty shadow-assassin that was just a moment ago making an attempt on your life has vanished. In his stead, you find a scruffy looking kid, probably no older than yourself, and he is terrified. Your attention lingers on his eyes. They look... horribly familiar.

In your moment of hesitation, Nolan kicks your legs out from under you and you fall to the ground with a thud. Stupid! Falling for the puppy-dog eyes, it’s the oldest trick in the book! You look up expecting to see a smug smile pasted across his face, but same as before, the Knight still looks just as scared. He rushes up and kicks you in the side of the head, causing your goggles to go flying off. Although the kick causes a significant daze, the removal of the glasses is quite relieving. You can finally think straight again! You can also taste blood in your mouth.

You look up to see a horror-stricken Nolan standing over you, now armed with a broken bottle, held by a shaky hand. He must have retrieved it from his strife deck, probably for a cleaner kill than bludgeoning you to death with his fists. Which… you can appreciate the sentiment behind the act, if not for the fact that you are about to die.

As your head clears from the goggle’s intoxicating effects, it finally dawns on you that you have Time Powers. You know, the type of time powers Pages of Time tend to have. Just as the Knight makes a lunge for your throat, you extend a hand erupting with temporal energy and work your magic on him. A crimson clock construct appears before the Knight, and Nolan is frozen in a timeless stasis. Time Knots; one of your staple move sets, and a personnel favorite for dealing with opponents faster than you.

A gasping wheeze erupts from your lips, like you’ve been holding your breath the entire fight. You’re relieved you came to your senses in time to stop the attack, although it’s a short lived relief when you notice just how close the point of Nolan’s bottle is to your throat. Practically pressed against your skin, maybe a quarter of an inch away. Half a second later and that glass would’ve been plunged into your jugular. You quickly scurry out from under the still-frozen Knight and get back on your feet again.

You stand before your helpless strife opponent, the fight now essentially over. With him at such a disadvantage, your victory is assured. You raise Bane of All Mountains over your shoulder once more, preparing to swing it into the Knight and finish this. If you hit him in the head, it’s sure to be painless, a courtesy you could at least show him since he intended to do the same for you. Preparing for the attack, you tighten your grip on Bane, and adjust your stance, making sure you’ll have a proper follow through. You breathe a heavy breath in and are about to bring the pickaxe down but… you don’t. You readjust your stance one more time, still unsure if it’s right. With another heavy breath in, as if you were going to follow-through, you once again stay motionless, staring at the Knight as you wait for yourself to swing. You notice his face once more. Even while performing what would’ve been a killing blow, Nolan still looks scared. Perhaps scared of you, or perhaps scared of what he thinks he has to do…

You lower your pickaxe, as a sickening feeling of shame washes over you, realizing what you just contemplated doing. Damn it! Even though he started the strife, even though he had every intention of killing you himself… your eyes are watery now. It seems you weren’t quite emotionally ready to take part in a fight just yet. You wipe your face before any more tears can come rushing out. Come on, man! Suck it up! You aren’t weak! Just because you can’t do this does not mean you are spineless! It doesn’t matter what anyone says, knowing when enough is enough is a virtue! You didn’t sign up for some Cosmic Slaughter Fest and that is final! You’ve had your fill of senseless murder for the rest of this millennia. And… besides, killing him like this, when he’s caught in a temporal snare, it… it just seems wrong.

Recomposing yourself, you contemplate what to do. The Time Knot you put him in should only last for around ten minutes, local time. Not exactly an eternity, but ten minutes exposed the way he is out here, it might as well be a death sentence. You flip his cape over his head to block the sun’s rays from getting at him. That should keep his eyesight protected, but there’s no telling how many other people are running around this desert who might come across him.

Thinking of ways to conceal him, you spot that pair of sunglasses on the ground you saw earlier. Picking them up for closer inspection, you notice the lenses on them bear the same Void symbol as the one on Nolan’s chest. Hmm…

Following a hunch, you reach under Nolan’s cape and place the shades back onto his face, and as you guessed, he vanishes once more. Guess the glasses must be some sort of stylish cloaking device. That should be good, he seems protected well enough now. You’re about to get going when you turn back, a faint bit of guilt from leaving him like this still ailing your conscience. You deploy your Nuclear Energy Mini Fridge and leave him a drink. Hydration is important after all, especially in this heat.

Feeling that your sense of responsibility to your Strife opponent has been met, you re-captchalogue the mini fridge, collect your Cosmic Joke Goggles and get on your way. Now, back on track with finding somewhere to lay low at. You’re not really sure what you should be looking for in ways of hide-outs. You don’t see any temples nearby, not that a temple would be a particularly good place to lay low in. Apparently LOKAT isn’t the abandoned wasteland Finlus had you believing.

 

                                                                                                         ***

 

It’s been around ten minutes or so since you’ve been walking, Nolan should be getting out of that knot by now, and you’ve just about gotten used to the heat here. Not that you were unaccustomed to hot environments to begin with. LORAH was quite hot itself, but more like beach heat, not desert heat.

As you’re walking, you begin to feel something in the back of your mind. A sort of familiar tingling sensation you always seem to get whenever you’re around… Lore. Throughout your travels, you’ve come across quite a number of tomes, slabs and other historical mythos. You’ve spent so much time scouring crypts, archives and libraries in your quest for these various types of recorded chronicles that whenever you’re in the same general vicinity as any lore, you get a sort of sixth scene of it. You aren’t sure if they’re Page powers or perhaps some form of latent psionic ability you unlocked through study, but whatever they are, they sure come in handy for navigating the various mazes of information you would find yourself in on LORAH.

You take a quick lay of the land, but don’t see anything that might be setting off your lore-dar, just miles and miles of empty desert. Perhaps the cosmic joke goggles are messing with some of your more supernatural senses along with your physical ones. You think this without realizing that the ground beneath you has given way, and that you're currently plummeting into an unknown cavern.

It doesn’t really click that you’ve fallen at all until you look up and see the hole that you left hanging above you. The area you’ve landed in has a refreshing chilliness to it, the cool underground shielding you from the heat far above. It seems dark enough down here that taking off the goggles should be fine. You do so and as your facilities slowly return to you, the pain of falling what has to be three stories begins to set in. Luckily, there was a decent amount of sand and dirt to cushion your fall and not outright break your spine. Where the hell are you?

This place appears to be a tomb at first glance. There’s plenty of inscribings on the walls, and the slight musk in the air here would definitely suggest the presence of a decay. Although, you aren’t experienced enough with burial crypts to determine if that decay is coming from a body or not. You hobble over to one of the walls, your recent injuries from the fall emphasizing just how recent they are. Very recent, that is.

These inscriptions are visible, unlike the ones on LOGAV, which delights you to no end. Except these particular ones are decorative, meaning they only serve the purpose of adding a little flair to the mural they surround. Damn.

The mural, however, is quite nice. Nice being relative to how “nice” an ancient wall depiction can be. It’s of a large tan circle with a series of little light squiggles all around it, giving it the appearance of a Sun. A series of maze-like patterns are carved just below the surface of the circle, reaching all the way to its core. You guess this is supposed to be LOKAT? Depicted in the mural, there’s something at the top of the planet, some sort of tree. All the branches are bare and withered, and there’s a bunch of blue blobs at the base. Maybe it’s an oasis, or like an underground reservoir? Not much else about it, though. You continue on.

There’s a few passageways in the room, too many to decide which to explore with any prejudice so you just go with the one closest to you. Opening the doors, you find a hallway, and a long one at that. It’s also pretty dark, so you can’t really see the other end. You equip one of your Rocket Gloves and ignite a small flame to illuminate the way. The walls are decorated with an assortment of depictions of the Land’s history. Maybe you’ll get that lore dump you’ve been fixing for after all.

 

Jason, traverse this hallway.

Notes:

Happy 4/13, 2022!

Chapter 4: > Page: Discover

After an incredibly long walk, mainly due to you getting distracted by the walls of lore at your sides, you reach the end of the hallway. There’s a set of double doors with a little house symbol composed of a bunch of windows on it, twenty four to be exact as you do a quick count of them. You’ve seen this thing in your own session once or twice, albeit with a lot less windows.

Pushing one of the doors open, you're met with a burst of dust directly to your face, sending you into a coughing fit. As you try to clear your airwaves, you look up to see that you’re in some sort of… Central Hub? You’ve walked into a huge circular room with several other doorways throughout it. Each door has a line that leads across the floor to a little symbol at the center of the room. You don’t recognize it like the others, but it’s just a bunch of triangles all in a cluster. Not very eye grabbing.

On closer inspection, you see that each of the doors here have a symbol carved upon them. A couple symbols you’re not too familiar with, but there are a few you do know. One of which is currently on your chest. A Time Door? Or at the very least, a door that leads to things pertaining to Time. You see sitting directly across the room from the Time Door is the Space Door. You also see the Rage and Void Door. Whatever Finlus’s Aspect was has a Door as well. Hmm, certainly a lot of Doors going on right now. There’s even a… Sun… Door?

You wonder which one you’ll go through first. So many to choose from, you’re getting a bit overwhelmed by all this choice you may or may not have.

You decide to stick with what you know for now and go through the Time Door. Whaddya know, another hallway. There isn’t anything on the walls of this corridor though. That’s probably for the best, you can’t be spending all your time just reading wall scribbles. You’ve got some serious lore to uncover! Jason, traverse the hallway. Again.

It’s not nearly as long as the one that led you here. You’re at the end in a hop, skip, and a series of ridiculous looking jumps. You arrive at a small room, the only thing inside it being a staircase leading downward. You descend, doing your best not to trip and fall down the stairs. You and stairs have never quite gotten along. It… it just keeps happening.

You reach the bottom to find a kind of library. There’s a whole bunch of bookcases and a few tables around, along with a cozy looking lounge area and a banner displaying the Time symbol on the back wall. You walk up to one of the tables and find a book that’s already out. You doubt that anyone’s been here recently, considering the heavy layer of dust that’s gathered on its top. Although you can’t know for sure, you are in the Time Library after all. Dust can build up a lot fast when time shenanigans are afoot.

You blow the dust off of the book. “Sir Issac Hip-Hop’s Guide to ILL Beats for Less than Radical Kids” What the fuck? What the hell is this thing doing down here? This thing’s presence shouldn’t even be allowed to sully a normal library, let alone the Motherfucking Time Library! You flip the thing face down on the table, the Victorian looking guy with shades and a shit-eating grin on the front is starting to muck up the mystique of this place.

You decide to direct your attention to another part of the library, in hopes to find something that isn’t… that. You succeed in finding something that isn’t that; the closest bookcase. You grab one of the more thinner tomes from the shelf. It’s in a language you don’t understand, but that’s certainly never stopped you before. The large amount of damaged pages, however, has. Quite often, in fact, but you’ll make the most of what you’ve got. You take the tome over to the table and begin to decipher the text.

 

***

 

It takes you about half an hour or so before you figure out the language. It’s similar to the one your Sand-Gator consorts used, although the messages they left behind weren’t quite as purposeful as the ones found in this place. Just a whole lot of gibbering confessions, usually just about the day-to-day goings on of Gator life. A disgruntled Gator-Husband and his grievances with his Gator-Wife, the ever rising Boon Tax causing stress for the working Sand-Gator, a shortage of quality grubs on the market, things of that nature.

The consorts of this Land must have left these records. You guess reptilian dialect doesn’t have much deviation in form. There are a few differences in nuances between the languages, but it’s legible. It’s a book about fate, and how the abrasive flow of time will whittle you down to your inevitable eventuality. Not a very cheerful subject, but you’re not foreign to the notion of an unavoidable predestined responsibility. It’s kind of tame compared to some of the things you’ve learned on your quest. You place the tome back on the shelf and claim the one next to it. It’s in the same language.

This one is about the meta-physical composition of time and its tendency to not maintain its chronological integrity on its own. What the hell, you already know all this stuff! You place the book back and move on to explore the library a little more.

You find a quaint little display area in a small hall that’s been tucked away in the corner of the room, just to the left of the banner. It reminds you of the type of attractions you’d find in a museum. There’s all sorts of artifacts and equipment housed behind glass cases, all pertaining to the domain of Time, ranging from directly related to vaguely associated. Clocks, metronomes, a pair of un-formatted time machines, some gears, quarts, an hourglass, a patch of… Green Felt? Huh, you’re not sure what the significance felt holds in regards to Time, but it’s probably pretty big if it’s in this memorial case thing. You move on.

There isn’t much in the way of non-literary entertainment in here. The only other thing in the library besides the archive and places to sit is a lone switch on the leftmost wall, just outside the display hall. You flip it without hesitation, as is protocol for exploring all ancient ruins. Unbeknownst to you, the line leading to the center symbol of the room upstairs lights up with a crimson glow. You shrug it off, thinking the switch was here simply because the room had a notable lack of switches. You can always appreciate a good switch. You decide to go back and take a crack at the extensive archive again, in search for any new information.

 

***

 

You’ve spent the past ten hours reading through the majority of all the books, tomes, and slabs these poor unsuspecting shelves had to offer up in ways of plunder. You can lose track of time pretty easily when it comes to sifting through information, even if it’s information you already know.

You set the last in-tact book down on the table with the other’s you had out. There’s a pile of twelve or so different records gathered around your area, taken from the last section in the library. There was a small module you found at the beginning of this section on the philosophical debates of “Selfs vs Selves”, in which time shenanigans might lead to a person becoming uncertain of themselves when subjected to the presence of multiple Selfs, a specified term otherwise referred to as alternate timeline doubles. You found the discussions enjoyable and a somewhat lighthearted way of comprehending the crippling identity disorder and dissociation a Time player will inevitably experience along their quest. Besides that, most of the books in this last section pertain to what’s known as the “Cosmic Tick-tock”, an event where a universe’s temporal flow is completely destroyed from slamming into a section of the flow further down on itself.

The collision causes this destruction, but simultaneously merges the future section of the timeline back with its paradoxical former self. Essentially snipping off the destruction of itself to a doomed offshoot-like section, if a doomed offshoot could somehow remain a part of the Alpha timeline without being segmented away from main-line continuity. Pff, like that could ever happen. The transition is supposedly unnoticeable, as are most cosmic events. While far fetched, the idea reminds you of a ritual you read about earlier in the day known as the “Final Tick-tock”, in which a player collapses every timeline that contains a version of themselves into one another until they're left with a single reality, collating their Ontological Existence into one final timestream, forcefully forming a sort of ultimate and final True Self. It’s said to be indescribably rare, to the point that no one is sure it has ever happened in the history of Paradox Space. Timeline collation sure is a neat subject, but you’re babbling to yourself again.

You stand up from the cove of books you set up at your table and stretch out all the knots that’ve formed in your back. Placing the tomes back in their section, you’re just about to head back up to the main room when you see a passageway hidden behind the staircase. Huh, guess you missed this when you first came in.

Jason, traverse yet another hallway.

You reach the end of the hallway and find yourself in a dark room, dimly lit with a red glow. There’s a set of twelve huge stone slabs, hung up on the circular wall encompassing the room, each bearing a different variant version of the Time crest, and each glowing crimson. What is this place?

You approach one of the slabs, one whose symbol looks the least like the Time crest, with only the vague shape of the gear outlined by a series of dots and lines. There’s a perfectly intact tome sitting on a small podium at its base. You pick it up. “Compendium of the Sylph of Time” Okay, consider your curiosity officially peaked. Not fully comprehending the potential nature of what you’re holding, you thumb open the book to its first page. It’s written in another language, but you’re able to comprehend every word, as if it were your native tongue. The first paragraph reads:

“In regards to a Sylph of Time, the most fundamental facet to such an individual is their strive to create Time and any relations that could pertain to the flow of Time in others, so that they may be healed by its presence. And in tow, mend any wounds in their Timeline that they might come across. As any good Sylph of Time would.”

You quickly flip through each page, only retaining a fraction of knowledge the book has to offer. From what you can gather, the tome is a complete breakdown of the player archetype for the Sylph of Time, including what you could expect from their personality to an exploration of their powers. Without thinking, you quickly rush over to the next tome closest to you. “Compendium of the Rogue of Time”

“The nature of a Rogue of Time, at their very core, would be to lend their resources, particularly their time, to their allies freely and without consideration of their own benefit. The reason of this if the fundamental flaw that every Rogue must overcome if they are to mature properly, this being their lack of acceptance for their aspect.”

Your mind has been thoroughly blown. You rush from podium to podium and quickly skim each tome, too excited at this unbelievable cache of lore you found to fully commit to one at a time. It isn’t until you reach the tome titled “Compendium of the Page of Time” that you finally get a hold of yourself.

You pause, contemplating what the text could possibly hold. What life-changing information will you find when you open its bindings? Will what you learn trigger some cosmic revelation about yourself? Will understanding everything there is to know about being the Page of Time lead you to some unseen destiny? Will it give you superpowers, even more super that the ones you already have? Super-Super Powers!?! Maybe you’ll just break down into a spasming fit, so overwhelmed by the shocking truth of who you really are that you can no longer function! You’re practically incapable of giving a shit about the consequences at this point. You tear the tome open in excitement! And-

It’s blank. Just a bunch of empty pages. You flip through it, in hopes of finding that it starts a few chapters in, but no. It’s just an empty book. What, are you supposed to write it yourself? Were the other Compendiums written by other Time players? Or, maybe you’re just not allowed to read your own book? You have to say, this is probably the most disappointed you’ve been in a while. You sit the tome back on its podium.

 

***

 

It’s been around six hours or so and you’ve just about made it through the last tome in this Compendium series. This one was on the Bard of Time. It’s notably more ambiguous than the others in pretty much ever department. The only sound info you can really get out of the text is that Bards are a passive destroyer class, and that they tend to be pretty unpredictable, erratic even. However the base foundation of their role doesn’t quite make sense to you when paired with the Time Aspect. They “Invite the destruction of Time”? Time destroys itself all on its own half the… time. What’s there to even do with a Title like that? Just kick back and relax, you guess.

You scan the text into your Digital Scribe Archive, as you’ve done with every other book in the library. Having a reference guide to any potential opponent could prove more than useful if you have the misfortune of running into these people. You place the tome back on its podium and are about to head out when you notice something odd from the edge of your peripherals. A Symbol on one of the stone slabs suddenly stops glowing. It's the slab for the Mage of Time.

You have a pretty grim idea of what this could mean. If you were a betting man, you’d wager a guess that these things are tracking who’s still alive in the Arena. Is this that roster thing Finlus was talking about? He said it was metaphysical, but maybe this is sort of like a physical representation of the abstract? Either way, this could be useful. You equip your Trans-Temp. Camera and take a picture of each slab, registering them into the device’s gallery. You should probably keep track of who’s still alive in the Arena, in the off chance you decide to pop your head up to fight. And that's a big 'if'. Finlus might be confident that this is a battle to the death, but you’re not quite convinced. Maybe there’s something deeper in these tombs or on another planet that holds the key to the actual objective. You’re not about to start killing people just because some monster troll guy said so.

You take one last look at the room before heading back out and up stairs, content with all the knowledge you’ve gathered. As you reach the top of the steps, you notice that a line on the floor leading to that weird emblem at the center of the central hub is lit up red. How peculiar, you wonder what it could mean. Oh well, you shrug it off, you’ve got bigger fish to fry. Which of the many halls shall you travers this time?

Huh, that gold banner with the weird looking wings, that was that troll girl’s symbol wasn’t it? Finlus said she was a Witch but didn’t say of what. It’s as good as any other reason to traverse a hallway. Jason, travers that mother fucking hallway!

You traverse that hallway so god damn hard that you complexly forget to cautiously descend the staircase, and go tumbling down that piece of shit on the first step. The whole ordeal takes you down quite a few notches, and your self-esteem takes a very serious hit. Brushing off both your injuries and your ego, you find yourself at the landing of this new library. It isn’t entirely different from the Time Library, only some different pieces of furniture and a different room lay out, but there’s still a lot of books!

You take a quick look around, trying not to get too invested in the extensive catalogs, eventually picking up one of the thinner looking tomes from the nearby bookcases. “Your Beliefs and You” Yeah, no. You place the book back on the shelf, you’re not looking to get caught in another reading bender. No telling how long you’ll get stuck researching about a topic you’re completely new to... maybe you'll come back to read after you've done a little exploring. You carry on through the library. Oh hey, another switch. Flip! Much like last time, the line leading to the strange symbol at the center of the room upstairs lights up with a golden glow. And much like last time, you're completely oblivious to this fact.

After walking around for a moment, you begin to wonder if this library has a display section like the Time library did. You go to the same area where it was in the- Oh Good Fucking Shit! What in god’s name is that?!

Standing, or rather, violently thrashing before you is some horrifying creature confined behind a heavily reinforced glass display case built into the stone wall. It’s some sort of giant white feathered worm thing that’s sprouted razor sharp teeth and wings. The plaque below the exhibit claims that this thing is an Angel. You slowly back away from the “Angel” and swiftly walk to this Library's mystery room without getting a chance to look at any of the other exhibits.

You find the hallway leading to said mystery room directly behind the staircase, just as you did in the Time Library. You travers the hallway in record time, still a bit shaken by the caged monstrosity you just bore witness to. Like the Time archive, the room is dim and decorated with a series of large stone slabs bearing some variation to the base ‘Wing’ look of the Aspect’s crest. These symbols, however, glow with a golden yellow. A few of these slabs have already been extinguished. You walk over to one of the ones that are still lit. “Compendium of the Rogue of Hope”. You flip open the first page.

“At the beginning of a Rogue of Hope’s career, it might seem that they conduct themselves in a rather contradictive manner. So often does the Rogue struggle with their aspect, hastily giving it away without truly embracing it for what it is; a core factor of who they are. As one who spreads Hope among their allies while rejecting it in the same motion, the Rogue of Hope themselves would appear to be the most hopeless individual of their respective group.”

So it appears that this is the Hope Library. That’s pretty neat. You’re not sure what that feathered horror out in the main hall has to do with Hope, but you suppose the same can be said about Green Felt with Time. You stretch your fingers out and turn the page of the Compendium, already feeling the lore binge coming on.

 

Jason, be someone else while you satisfy your borderline addiction masked under the guise of a hobby.

Chapter 5: > Page: Be Someone Else.

You are no longer the Page of Time, and you cannot be more delighted about this fact. You’d rather be a lump of imp shit than that whiny little runt. His mere presence never fails to get your goat. It’s his forte.

You are the Maid of Rage, and you are absolutely livid! You’ve been hopping around from planet to planet ever since that white text douche tricked you into falling ass backwards into your current predicament. You still can’t believe that you took his bait. “Free from your abysmal fate.” What a crock of shit! In hindsight, you probably should have consulted your resident Time-chump about this doomed fate garbage, but you’ll be damned if you go to him for anything again. So here we are. In a Golden Church, surrounded by assholes.

You stab your polearm, Heed No Warning, into the gold floor tiling next to you and drop to the ground in a frustrated huff. You’ve just about exhausted yourself toting about in whatever Land you’re in. There’s an annoying amount of enemies on this planet. Not those schmucks you’ve seen running around in pajamas, getting all stab happy with each other, but those big flying fuckers. The black serpent things with the huge-ass wings. Mother fucker, are those things hard to kill, and they pack a hell of a punch, er- bite. Whatever.

They don’t seem to be able to enter these big cathedral looking places, so in the meantime you’ve decided to take sanctuary here for a little while, at least until you get a second wind. Then it’s back to flying-demon killing. Someone’s gotta pick up the slack on demon killing duties. If not you, then who?

You notice the unbelievably loud thumping coming from your chest, your heart’s going a mile a minute right now. You’re a bit worked up from your most recent Strife with one of the more tougher demon things, and your adrenaline is still pumping. You’re not gonna get any rest while you’re this angry. At least, that’s what Milo would say to you when you couldn’t sleep. What did he recommend you do when you’re this stirred up? Meditate or something? Ahh… Might as well give it a shot.

You close your eyes, take a deep, calm breath in… and out. In… and out. In… out. Okay, you think it’s starting to work, feeling the relief in your muscles as they begin to unwind and you mellow out. In…… Out. In……… Out. This is actually kind of nic- “Did you hear that?” And it’s back to pissed in a snap of the fingers.

“No, what?” An entire planet of churches, and these twats just have to choose the exact same praise-hut you’re in. Don’t these Mother Fuckers Know That You’re Trying To CALM the FUCK DOWN?!

“I thought I heard someone at the door. You don’t think one of those things got in, do you?” You take a sharp, angry breath in, and you get up to deal with these idiots, making sure to bring your polearm along in case they try to start something.

“I don’t think they can follow us inside, we should be safe. Unless there’s someo-“

“HEY!” You shout as you round the corner from the side room you were in to the main hall of the cathedral. Two squatters who’ve invaded your sanctuary stand close to one another, lingering in the carpeted isle between the pews at the back of the room. They both jump with a start, clearly surprised by your sudden arrival.

Just a couple of kids in god-tier pajamas, like everyone else you’ve come across in wherever the hell that cube-portal sent you. Like a god damn pajama party going on in this place. One of them is wearing a sleeveless blue dress-like robe with tassels so long they go down to her ankles and an equally obnoxious looking hood. You’ve seen that symbol on some of the other dickheads you ran into before. Breeze or whatever.

The other, oh christ. You’d recognize that infuriating red fucking Gear anywhere. He’s a Time player. Hopefully nothing like your own Time player, else you might not be able to keep from cramming your fist down his throat. Actually on second thought, you hope he’s exactly like Jason. You could use a cathartic moment like strangling him to death right about now. Or at the very least, someone dressed like him. He’s wearing a short-sleeved dumb looking robe outfit, with a plucky little cape. What a chump. They’re both looking at you with a mix of shock and fear splattered across their faces, as per usual with most of your first encounters with the people here.

“You mind taking your little meeting, powwow whatever-the-fuck somewhere else?” You hiss at them. Time boy seems to take exception to it, and he equips two dinky looking red sticks from his strife deck. Batons, you guess.

“Leave? Why the hell should we?” He says, taking a step in your direction, although you’re at a far enough distance that the gesture loses any threat it might’ve actually had.

“I’ve got first dibs, jackass. Now get gone before I introduce your face to the floor.” You see his breath quicken, and practically hear the strain on his weapons as he tightens his grip on those dumb little batons. Like putty in your hands.

“We’ve got you out numbered, bitch! How about we make you leave?” His chest is rising and falling like crazy. You get the impression he’s not too experienced in fights if he’s getting this worked up from a single threat.

Slowly, you begin to walk to the center of the aisle, dragging your hand along the railing of the front pew, until you’re directly parallel with him, staring the two of them down from the other end of the room. You cycle Heed no Warning from one hand to the other, brandishing its blade towards your new opponent.

“I’d like to see you try.” You utter coldly. It might be a cliche line, but the sudden flash of fearful uncertainty crossing his face lets you know it’s worked like a charm. Seems he’s exactly like Jason.

“Hey, let’s all calm down now, before things get out of hand.” The girl says, coming up behind Time boy, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Okay?” Almost instantly, his breathing slows and he simmers down. He looks back at her for a moment and gives a slight nod.

“Right.” Time boy exhales, turning back to you, “Sorry… for… calling you a bitch and all, I -uh… that was uncalled for.” He awkwardly apologizes, like he’s working through the notion word by word. “Do you mind… do you mind if we stay here for a little while?” It appears he no longer wants to fight. Okay, looks like that boat sank in the harbor. And here you were, gettin’ all pumped for a Strife with something other than those unholy murder-birds. Damn. If you had balls, they’d be so blue right now.

You sigh in disappointment. “…Sure, why not.” You captchalogue your polearm back to your strife deck, letting them both relax. Time boy does the same with his batons, and you walk over to the two to formally greet them. As you approach, Time boy looks back at his friend. He gives her a wink in a sort of 'thank you' to her for keeping him calm. She winks back, as a sort of 'you're welcome.'

“Hi!” The girl in blue says once you're near enough to talk. “I’m Sara, I’m a Sylph of Breath!” She excitedly extends a hand out for you to shake, exhibiting a strangely high level of friendliness towards someone who was just threatening her. You grasp it in a moment of intra-species camaraderie. If your Mom could see you now, you’re sure she’d be filled with motherly disappointment having a daughter who would associate with such a peppy individual.

“Mia. And I’m the Maid of Rage. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Mia.” The girl smiles. “The hothead over there is Greg. He’s a Mage of Time.” He gives you a half-hearted two-fingered wave. You return in kind. “Don’t take anything he says too personally. He’s always had a problem being too quick to insults.”

“Bite me.” He grunts as he sits down in one of the pews.

“See?” Sara snickers.

“You two know each other long?” You ask, curious about their familiarity. You were under the impression that everyone who’s ended up in this place came individually, but you guess it’s possible there could be groups who came together.

“Yeah! Me and Greg have been bff’s since we were like ten.” She explains, looking at her friend fondly. “I was even his server player back when we were still building our houses. But I guess we didn’t start the game right or something, so we didn’t get the right session? How did you put it, Greg?” Greg sighs loudly at her question.

“I never said we weren’t in the ‘right session’. I never even mentioned our session.” He corrects her, clearly irritated. Sara cocks her head at him, which only seems to irritate him more. “I said we caused a splinter event that sent us into an offshoot on our timeline. How the hell did you get ‘wrong session’ from that?!” She shrugs, “Jesus, were you even listening to me before we agreed on coming here, or did you think we were just skipping through some random portal for the hell of it?”

“Hey! No need to get snippy just because you don’t know how to keep a conversation. Your monologues are unbearable, Greg. Learn to shorten the topic, maybe you’ll keep someone’s attention for more than a minute.” She sarcastically jeers at him, goofily smiling at his growing frustrations. Greg strains his fingers in the space in front of him, making it look like he’s strangling the air.

“It’s the continuity of our temporal existence, you can’t just shorten the information!” He barks. “What, you want a sparksnotes on theoretical physics as well? These aren’t things you can understand in twenty words or less. Proceeding with that level of understanding, with the powers we have at our disposal, would without a doubt tear our very reality apart!”

“Hehehe! Chill out, Mr Arbiter-of-our-Existence.” She giggles, pushing his shoulder as she sits down next to him. “I’m just messing with you. No need to get all bent out of shape.” You’re starting to like this girl.

“Yeah, whatever.” Greg scoffs, stewing into a pout.

“What about you?” Sara asks, turning back to you.

“ ‘What about me’, what?”

“Did you come here with anyone? From your session that is.” You pause for a moment. You didn’t tell Jason about the deal you made, for obvious reasons, but maybe that white text dick cut him the same deal as you. If you got offered a way out, there’s no reason to think he didn’t too. Even if he did though, you’re fairly confident that Jason’d be too chicken-shit to take him up on the offer. That guy could barely bring himself to fight an imp on his own, let along a whole slew of other players. He’s probably still cooped up on that shit-hole sand planet of his. Tff, good riddance.

“No. I came in alone.” You hope.

“Ah, well… sorry to hear that.” She apologizes, not understanding that that’s a good thing. “B-but we really do appreciate you letting us stay here with you. I understand how risky it is letting other people in.”

“It’s no bother, really.” You stretch, working a kink out of your back as you walk past the two towards the front entryway. “I’m probably going to get back out there soon anyways, so the place is all yours after that.”

“You’re going back out there? What about all those demon things flying around?” Greg asks, turning around in the pews to watch you.

“What about them? Just a couple of feathery assholes.”

“A-pff.” He scoffs. “I mean, they’re kind of intimidating, don’t you think?”

“Bitch, I am Intimidation.” You say without a second thought. They both look at you with the same questioning expression. Yeah, that does sound kind of stupid when you say it out loud. “Look, I’ve spent a lot of time fearing the things others told me to, long enough to know when it’s pointless to be afraid. Nothing out there is gonna scare me off, and anyone who wants to take a shot at me better think twice. Demon or not.” You strike a sick pose, and everyone is amazed.

“Inspiring, truly, but I seriously doubt those demons give a damn about how confident in yourself you are. I’m pretty sure they’re working off basic instincts alone. They won’t have time to ‘think twice’ if they’re too busy ripping your throat out.” Greg retorts, slowly begun to slide out of view as he lies down on the wooden bench.

“Please. Don’t let the sharp teeth fool you, they’re no more dangerous than you or me. I’m willing to bet they’re just angry having this many intruders on their turf. Might even be pretty cool to chill with once they take it down a fucking notch.” You theorize, recalling the various underlings you make friends with back on the Land of Misery and Warfare. “Certainly not going to stop me from killing them, mind you that. Fuckers need to learn their place.”

“Whatever. Go sprinting to your death if you like. Not like it’ll matter in the end. We’re all gonna be dead soon anyways.” Greg sighs. He’s completely lying down now. Sara frowns at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

 

***

 

It’s been a few hours and you’ve all but given up on getting any real rest with Sara chatting your ear off. You probably would’ve lost your patience with anyone else, but there’s something about her that you just can’t get mad at.

Oddly enough, she keeps trying to turn the conversation your way. Asking about your life before Sburb, the other players in your session, what your Land was like. You’re not exactly comfortable confiding your woes to someone you’ve just met, so you keep it vague or just avoid the question all together. She doesn’t seem to mind though, she kind of just goes with the flow.

Greg, on the other hand, has completely passed out, the lucky bastard. Those sweet Z’s were yours by birthright! He doesn’t have to endure a gauntlet of passively asked personal questions by a nice girl in blue pajamas. Does that monster even care about the torment you’re going through right now?

“So,” Sara calls, pulling you out from your thoughts. “Was there anyone… special in your group?”

“Special?”

“Ya’know, like someone you might’ve liked more than the others.” She clarifies. “Maybe saw something further with them than just friends.”

“Yeah, I wish.” You laugh, your eyes practically rolling out of your skull. “The guys in my session were such pushovers, I doubt any of them could’ve handled all this.” You motion to yourself, evoking a giggle from Sara.

“Heh, I get that.” Sara nods. “I mean, I’m sure it’d be nice, -a relationship and all, but it just seems so constricting. Especially right now, given the circumstances.”

“What about him?” You ask, nodding over to a snoring Greg. “You two certainly seem close. Thought there might be something going on.”

“What, Greg? Pff, no way. We’re just friends. I mean, he’s basically my brother.” She explains, waving off your looks of suspicion. “Did you have someone like that, at least? Someone you were thick as thieves with? Like a best friend or something of the sort?”

“Not really.” You tell her. “I’m not exactly the best with people. Yeah I had my group, but… we were never all that close. I was sort of adopted in with them since we had a mutual friend.”

“Did you not get on with them, then?” She inquires.

“It’s not that, it’s just we didn’t have all that much in common to talk about. Sometimes there’d be moments when we meshed well together, but a lot of times it was just awkward, trying to force an interaction with them. And when sburb started, everyone was so caught up with their own quests and leveling, I didn’t really get to see them that often. Even when I did, it always felt kind of cold, like they really didn’t have the time to be talking with me. Like they had something better to be doing.”

“Hmm…” Sara pauses, trying to think of something more to say. “What about that mutual friend you mentioned?”

“Aha…” You dryly sigh. “We don’t exactly get along anymore.”

“Did something happen?”

“Feh, something, yeah, something is putting it lightly.” You growl, your blood pressure rising just by the thought of him. “Over three years since we started the game and that little prick-“ You stop yourself, realizing that you’re saying too much. Sara gives you a concerned look.

“Mia, I… can tell you’ve got something that’s bugging you. I know you might not want to share everything with me, but whatever it is, it’s probably not healthy to hold on to like that. You might feel better if you… let it go? You know, just talk about it a bit.” There’s a long pause, with only the sound of Greg’s snoring awkwardly filling the void.

“…He was our Time player.” You eventually tell her. She leans in close, attentive eyes fixated on you. “We lived in the same neighborhood growing up, so I knew him since before I could remember. Back then, he was fun to hang out with, when the worst thing we had to worry about was trouble at school. But when our game started, and things got serious, he was always lagging behind in his quest, always needed protection from the littlest of things. I thought we were friends, but he was always trying to pass his weakness off onto me, like he was trying to tell me what my limits were just because he couldn’t keep up. He even told me to avoid getting into fights with Imps because they were too dangerous for me. Imps, for fuck sake!” You expected Sara to interrupt by now, telling you that you’re overreacting, like your friends always did. That he was just concerned for you, or just didn’t understand how different your progression was. But she remained silent, attentively listening to your baggage. She nods, as if to say ‘Go on’. “I thought…” You continue, “I thought that he would step up once he got his powers, that he would cary his own weight once he had enough time to figure things out, but no. I met future versions of him, versions that had reached the top of his echeladder, versions that had come back to pass on information to the dick, and they were Exactly. The Fucking. Same. Nothing had changed! Just as whiny, just as useless, but with a few new flashy powers he was still too much of a wimp to actually use. Even when he ascended to godhood, he was still a complete pushover! He just… couldn’t get stronger, he absolutely refused to. So instead he tried to make everyone weaker so he wouldn’t look as bad!”

“Do you hate him?” Sara finally speaks up when it seems you’ve finished ranting. You’re caught off guard by her sudden asking, as well as the bluntness of the question itself, which she must’ve noticed. “I only ask because you seem very upset talking about the guy.” You pause, thinking the question over.

“Yes. I do.” A moment passes, as you process what you just said. You’ve never actually put it into words that you hated him. You just kind of let those feelings sit on the back-burners of your mind, burning away at you. “I didn’t hate him because he was weak. I knew he wasn’t a strong person, and I should have just left it at that and kept my distance, but I couldn’t. I tried to give him some sort of… Something! A drive, a rival to compete against, anything that would make him finally grow a spine, even if it was out of spite! And when I was finally able to make him the slightest bit stronger, he-…”

“He what?” Sara asks. You don’t answer. You don’t get to. An enormous explosion from outside the church interrupts the conversation. Greg bolts up with a drowsy look on his face.

“Whas that, what’s happenin’?” He slurs out, a coat of spit covering the side of his mouth.

You snap up from your seat without hesitation and hurry over to the door. No telling what sort of shitstorm is brewing out there, better to get the upper hand before it comes crashing into the cathedral on its own.

You equip Heed No Warning and burst through the large church doors, expecting to find a hoard of Demons absolutely begging to be taught their place. Instead you stumble across a rather lively Strife between a few more members of the Pajama Murder Party.

The first one you take note of is dressed in some ridiculous get up, poofy shorts with socks hiked all the way up to his thighs with a tiny cape. He’s left his droopy looking hood down, exposing his long greasy hair, and… oh god, are those fingerless gloves? You’re having trouble holding in your laughter beholding this absolute melvin. His entire outfit is a light tan with a green little wavy thing on his chest. You’re not sure what that’s supposed to represent. Is there a grass aspect or something?

Puff-pants is wielding some sort of spraying device that’s leaking a sickly dark green gas out of its showerhead-looking nozzle. It’s attached to a tank that he’s got strapped to his back, awkwardly tucked under his dinky little cape. It reminds you of those weed-killer sprayers for sidewalks. God, it’s almost like he’s asking to be bullied, dressing that lame. Between the grass on his chest and lawn spray on his back, he looks more like a gardener than a god-tier.

The next one you notice is an odd looking girl in a deep maroon dress with striped socks and a Heart emblem on her chest. Her hood is split into two wavy looking tassels. While her outfit is completely on par with everyone else attending this pajama party, the thing making her deserving of the 'Odd' moniker is the grey skin and weird horn things she has on her head. They kind of resemble candy corn… gross. Drawing the whole piece together, she’s got a pair of blue wings poked out of her back that stand out starkly against the red outfit. Definitely also weird, but probably not the weirdest thing about her.

In her hands she wields two katanas, with a third still in its sheath tucked into a bit of cloth around her hip. Her fashion sense might not be the best, but her choice in weaponry is on point. Wielding a specibuskind that requires more limbs than you physically have access to practically demands respect. Her blades have little hearts at the hilt of the sword, which you guess you could dig if it weren’t so tacky looking.

There’s another grey girl stood between the two, a similar looking pair of candy horns adorning her head, but this one’s wings are teal… sea foam green… cyan? Whatever the hell color that is. What’s the deal with all these horns and wings all of a sudden, anyway? Did you miss some sort of memo of something? Some geeky grey-skinned cosplay, maybe? She’s dressed in the similar outfit as Sara, only with that infuriating red gear again. So that would make her a Sylph of Time, then.

Like the other grey girl, she wields blades, but she only possesses two of them, which is remarkably less respect-demanding. They’re short swords, judging by how short yet sword-like they appear. She lingers between the two other strifers, pointing the ends of her weaponry at the both of them, like she’s attempting to keep them at bay from one another.

“Alright, you two are gonna quit this shit, or so help me I will skewer the both of you like oinkbeasts!” The Sylph shouts. You instantly take a liking to this group. Cool swords, shouting, easy to mock? Man, these people are the best!

“This doesn’t concern you, Atrops. This is between me and Decima. There’s no reason for you to get hurt as well. Just leave.” Puff-pants orders her in a firm tone. 

“Don’t think I don’t notice your ♠black solicitations♠ towards her, human! She’s my kismesis! And I’ll be damned if I get dropped into an ♣ashen role♣ because some jackass can’t keep his alien junk in his oversized highblood pants! So step off!” She shouts back at him.

“This isn’t about your weird hate-love thing, god dammit.” He angrily groans, sneering at whatever was insinuated by the Sylph. “This bitch has been an insult to the Romero name since the moment we’ve met! It’s about time she’s taught some fucking respect.”

“Oh come now, Roy. Don’t be such a sour puss.” The other girl chimes in, wagging one of her swords at him. “It’s not my fault your guardian’s sad, pathetic little empire got destroyed along with your crummy world. I mean it’s not like it was worth a damn anyway. Really, I don’t know what you’re getting so worked up about.”

“You shut your damn mouth, you harlot!” Puff-pants snaps at her.

“What the fuck did I just say?!” The Sylph shouts back, shifting her full attention to the dork. She crosses her blades, attaching them at their hilts to form a sort of giant scissor weapon and takes a snip at Puff-pants’s windpipe. He jerks his head back before she can take it off his shoulders, instead cutting off a few locks of his hair.

“THAT’S IT!” Puff-pants shouts as he regains his footing, backing up a few feet from his aggressor. Seems he’s really losing it. “You both get to die now!” Aiming his spray-wand at the two girls, Puff-pants pulls the trigger, evoking a torrent of that green gas to come billowing out from its nozzle. You notice the ground where the gas touches begins to change shades, as the gold-plated sidewalk starts to rust over. Wait a second, gold doesn’t rust. The hell is that gas doing to it?

Before anyone can make a move, Puff-pants whips out a flip lighter and ignites the green fog that’s encompassed the area. The whole place is engulfed with an intense, fire-ball style explosion. 

Maid of Rage, it seems you might have your hands full at the moment. Perhaps you should go back to being the other schmuck for now?

Fuck. Fine, you’ll be the other schmuck, but the only reason you’d ever willingly be that asshat is if you were being blown-the-fuck-up. Which you currently are, so you guess everything works out.

 

Mia, be the other guy.

Notes:

Happy Easter!

Pronunciation note; Atrops (A-tro-pis)

Chapter 6: > Page: Be Yourself

What? What is that supposed to mean? How would you be anyone but yourself? That’s such a ridiculous instruction… You continue to be yourself anyways, just in case.

You close your eyes, the fatigue of deep reading straining your peepers. It’s been two…-ish, days since you’ve entered the library hub, which you’ve now begun to refer to as the Collective. You realized that you probably shouldn’t hang around in once place for too long, on the off chance that anyone found the massive fucking hole you left leading into the ruins. But there was no way you were going to leave this amount of pure, unfiltered Lore alone.

You began to distort your time flow about halfway through the third archive. You slowed down your chronological perception to (4 sec. your time =1 sec. local time). In actuality, you’ve spent a little over a week down here from your perspective.

You scan the “Compendium of the Thief of Doom” into the Digital Scribe Archive and place it back on its podium. Such a strange combination. To steal Doom for yourself. Seems kind of self-defeating and/or masochistic. Not surprising, the emblem on their Stone Slab has stopped glowing its dark emerald. Rest in peace, you dirty thief.

You stretch your back out and flex your limbs loose. Good god, the amount of knots that form in your body when you go on a lore-bender is unreal. Welp, better get out of here before some unforeseen assailant ambushes you from the shadows right behind you… You said; You’d better get out of here before some unforeseen assailant ambushes you from the shadows right behind you……

Okay good, no one’s here. You’ve been getting a little paranoid being cooped up in this place for so long. You should probably get going before you go full blown stir crazy. You travel out of the Doom Archive into the Doom Library and ascend the Doom Stairs. Wait, no, those are just regular stairs. You already have more than enough trouble with normal stairs, you don’t need any Doom Stairs in your life.

It’s considerably brighter in the hub area then when you first arrived, what with all the lines on the floor being illuminated now. It took longer than you’d like to admit for you to realize the switches down in the libraries were what was lighting up the lines leading to the symbol at the center of the room, but hey not every mystery has to be solved immediately. Speaking of mysteries, you wonder what that symbol could actually mean. You didn’t see it anywhere else in the Collective, so you’re guessing it has nothing to do with the Aspects. To your knowledge, a cluster of triangles has no major connotative implications. You walk over and poke at it a little. As any good explorer would.

On contact, the symbol begins to glow, and all the lines on the ground leading to it fade from their respective aspect’s colors into a stark white. You back up a bit. Oh god, what did you do?

With a loud -chsh-ing- noise, like a train arriving at station, the small circle at the center of the room the symbol is emblazoned on suddenly juts up from out of the ground, and slowly starts rising up. Ascending a few feet in the air, the pillar halts just above your own height, and stands there in uneventful waiting. More than a little confused, you carefully lean in closer to inspect the strange floor-protrusion when suddenly something on the pillar shifts with an unexpected quickness, scaring the living shit out of you. You reel back, nearly falling on your ass as you stumble over your own feet. Before you, the pillar now has an opened hatch, revealing a hidden compartment within.

You slowly re-approach the pillar, cautious of any more sudden changes this thing has in store for you, yet fiercely curious of the slot it’s revealed. There’s something inside. Oh, hey, another tome! Man this place is a gift that keeps on giving! You retrieve the knowledge-slab from the slot, and almost on cue, the hatch to the compartment closes and the pillar begins to descend back into the floor, and the glowing lines leading to the device extinguish. Oh okay then, guess you’re supposed to keep this one? You flip it open.

Skimming through the first few pages, you discover the book is about the Furthest Ring. Huh, another Void anthology. You wonder if you’re supposed to return it to its rightful place, maybe get some ancient Library treasures and/or late fees as a reward for doing so. On closer inspection of the book, though, you notice it doesn’t have the telltale dark blue tint the other books in the Void library had. It has a dark brown binding, like an old leatherback. It’s not like the Compendiums either, appearing very worn compared to the pristine condition the player books were in.

You give it a more thorough read through, hoping to find more about the book. Like your first skimming, you read about the Furthest Ring and the spastic topography that makes it a near unnavigable maze. It isn’t until you get past the first thirty pages where the subject of the book suddenly changes, veering off into the structural makeup and functionality of Dersites and Prospitians exile ships. That’s an odd set of topics to merge together, you think. Exile ships typically only ever travel through portals to their session player’s home world. What’s the connection between them and the void?

Reading further, now kind of getting what the point of the book is, you reach the next section, which seems to be a basic explanation on the complications of navigation through Paradox Space and what one could expect from nonsense space. From what you can gather, with the topics of the Furthest Ring and non-Medium based travel being paired with Carapacian vessel diagrams and directives, you’re fairly sure this book is supposed to act as a guide for crewmates of exile ships that’ve been lost in the furthest reaches of Paradox Space. Sort of like a handbook a captain might reference to help navigate a storm, except on a more cosmic level.

It’s pretty neat, but not really your cup of tea. You’re more of a historical text kind of guy, not so big on instruction manuals, despite how cool the manual’s subject matter is. You finish up your read through, reaching the end of the book, and are about to captchalogue it when you notice something odd. There’s something on the back cover of the book. It looks like a plastic flap, like the ones those old ‘For Assholes’ tutorial books would have, with the free shitty CD program or data structure stored in them.

You open it up and find a captchalogue card… oh. Oh my god. Oh my Fucking God! This is- this is it! The golden fucking ticket, baby! It all makes sense now! It all makes so much sense it hurts that you didn’t think of it sooner! You quickly place the card into your inventory and pocket the tome. You’ll be needing it real soon! You need to get the hell out of these catacombs and find… you don’t know who yet, but fucking anyone would do at this point, really. You just hope you’re not too late!

You burst through the doors leading back to where you first fell into the crypt, practically tearing the stone barriers off their hinges. Traversing that hallway at speeds you didn’t think possible, you reach the mural room in only a few seconds. You look up through the hole in the ceiling you made, basking within the light shining down through it, and for the first time in a while, you’re feeling hopeful! You equip your Rocket Gloves and Boots, it’s time to blow this archeology stand.

PSHOOOESN’GLOOOOOOOOOOOOVES!

As you go shooting out from the crypt in a rocket-propelled exhilaration, you take the fact that you didn’t fall directly on your face immediately after take-off with these things as a sign that fate is on your side for once. The only downside to getting to the surface this fast is that you didn’t remember to equip the Cosmic Joke Goggle on your ascent, and you rocket back into the world of blinding Light, experiencing its complete glory entirely unfiltered. Good lord, it burns. The intensity of LOKAT’s light paired with the amount of time you spent down in the darkness of the Collective, you’re surprised you don’t go blind on the spot. You hastily equip the goggles to preserve your eyesight, an action you realize probably wasn’t the best idea to enact while still hovering midair.

Now on, the effects of the goggles start taking root in your mind, and the world unhinges from reality. Your attention begins to drift to the flames of your rocket gloves, in an almost hypnotic fixation, and the colors of the propulsion unit begin to shift, its red and orange darkening into a deep green. The flames seem to dance upon your palms, evoking a chuckle from you, as you watch them twist and turn upon their tiny stage. Wholly entranced by the spectacle, you’re completely caught off guard when the flames erupt, bursting into an enormous inferno that tears through the sky. You’re startled to say the least, and instinctually go to keep the fire away from your face, not rationalizing that the sudden outburst is illusory, and has produced no heat. Pushing your hands out in fearful reflex, your balance is sent off-kilter, and you flip backwards, spiraling out of the air and face first into the coarse desert ground.

You get up, coughing a few times as you dust yourself off. Well that was embarrassing. Doing a once over on your body, probing for any injuries the fall might’ve caused, you find yourself relatively unharmed by the folly. Alright then, fate’s still on your side! You have your mission, you have your ticket out of this mess, and most of all, you have one hell of a pep in your step! Let’s go save the fucking world! Well, actually, you’re just gonna be saving yourself, the world doesn’t seem to be in any immediate need of saving.

 

***

 

Despite it only being a few days since you last had them on, you forgot how much you dislike wearing the Cosmic Joke Goggles. You can’t tell if it’s due to your own bad memory that you always end up forgetting, or if it’s some sort of self-preserving effect the goggles have, neutralizing any negative memories the wearer has upon removal to avoid being thrown into the nearest trash fire.

Speaking of fires, it is an absolute scorcher out on the lovely planes of LOKAT today. You thought you’d gotten used to the heat after spending so much time traveling the dunes of your own planet, but apparently not. One week down in the cool dank of the catacombs was enough for you to lose any acclamation to desert climates, and now you can’t stop sweating. Thank god these pajamas are stain proof.

It’s about time to bust out the Nuclear Energy Mini Fridge again. You’ve been steadily taking drinks from your stockpile since you’ve gotten back to the surface to mitigate the heat-exhaustion. Hopefully you can find a portal to another planet soon, or your beverage supply is in serious risk of being depleted.

You decide to retrieve one of the home-brews you’ve got in your stash this time, pulling out a mason-jar full of Universe-Lagoon Water. This one’s rather unique, since you didn’t actually make it like the other alchemized combo-drinks you’ve got squirreled away in the mini fridge. You had bottled this bev back on Lexie’s planet, the Land of Forever and Frogs. There were countless pools of the stuff scattered about the place. It’s some type of dark liquid with little glints of white, giving the appearance of a star-filled sky. You mainly took it since you liked the aesthetic of having a universe in a jar, but hey, you’re in a pinch and beggars can’t be choosers. You take a sip and almost immediately regret it.

At first taste you detect a metallic tang from the drink, like you’re sucking on a handful of old pennies, followed by a flurry of horrifying flavors hitting you one after another, ranging from battery acid to jet fuel. Not that you know what jet fuel tastes like, but if you had to take a guess, this would be it. The experience is finally capped off by that trademark uranium flavor that’s ever-present in all the drinks you keep in the mini fridge. The liquid fights you all the way down your throat, leaving a tingle on your tongue, not to mention the froggy aftertaste. It seems the starry night aesthetic of the liquid might not just be for appearances.

As soon as you get it down, you go in for another swig. You’d like to chalk it up to the joke goggle’s mental dimming effect, but for as bad as the taste was, the drink is incredibly refreshing. The second gulp goes down much harder than the first. You put it away for now, as you don’t think you can get another sip down. Thankfully, two seemed more than enough, as a coolness washes over you, like you’ve just walked into a Target and got hit by that sweet, sweet artificial breeze.

You re-captchalogue the mini fridge and are about to get walking again when you notice something off on the horizon. It’s hard to tell, but from where you are, it looks like an enormous purple flame hanging low in the skyline. What the hell? How did you not notice that before? You’ve been heading in its direction since you started walking. Curious, you quicken your pace towards it.

It isn’t long till the flame has a notable monopoly over the sky, erupting from the earth as if it were a geyser from hell! It’s even bigger than the flame illusions the goggles made shoot from your rocket gloves. You behold the firestorm in chilling amazement, a rush of goosebumps forming all over you as it gets higher and higher in the sky. What is this thing? Shouldn’t there’ve been something on that mural of the planet about this? Something of this magnitude seems at least a little noteworthy. Unless… You lift the goggles up, exposing your eyes to nominal-reality once more. As you expect, the gargantuan purple flame disappears from the sky, replaced by a slight sting from the light nipping at your sight. Guess it’s only a hallucination. Except, maybe not? As you slide the goggles back on, the flame returns once more, blazing high up into the skies of LOKAT.

Just like with the illusions surrounding the Knight of Void, the purple flame consistently returns in the mirages the joke goggles produce. Meaning they must be grounded in reality in some way. So if it’s not a hallucination, what could it-…is that a person? At the base of the flame, you notice them, it looks like there’s someone standing in the middle of the fire.

You find yourself mindlessly moving closer and closer, a figurative moth to a literal flame, too intrigued by what’s happening for any form of caution. As you approach, you can see there’s not just one, but two figures within the flame, with the second slightly obscured behind the one at the center. The flame has all but engulfed them both, leaving their silhouettes as the only distinguishable feature about them. Still, from that outline, you can tell the two are heading north, while your trek was leading to the east. Seems you accidentally intercepted the two, more interested in the giant flame than what it metaphorically represented, and stumbled across its source. You’re still a number of yards away from them, standing at the precipice of the flames, so it doesn’t seem like they’ve noticed you yet, as they continue on unbothered by your presence.

“Hello?” You call out to them. It’s only after you’ve spoken up that you remember you’re in the middle of a death match right now, and regardless of your own willingness to abstain, there’s no guarantee about everyone else giving you that courtesy. The silhouette at the center turns, focusing in directly on you, while the one behind them looks around aimlessly, clearly aware of your presence but unsure of your location. 

Immediately upon seeing you, the fire around the two explodes in size. You’re too close to tell just how far the flames go out, but it’s certainly far enough to encompass you within its blaze. The sudden influx of light is intense, even more intense than the light of LOKAT. You need to take the goggles before it burns out your eye sockets!

You rip the goggles off your face and cover your eyes to give them a moment to recover from the fucking flashbang that just exploded in front of you. Putting a forearm over your brow in a meager attempt to shield your sight from the sun, you look through squinting eyes at whoever the fuck you’ve encountered. You strain to focus on the duo through the light, but once you spot them, the sight before you sends a chill down your spine. Your legs automatically loosen beneath you, instinctually getting ready to run, but you already know how pointless that would be. She’s much faster than you. Standing just a ways away is one incredibly pissed off Maid of Rage. The one and only Mia Kruger herself.

“Aha. Aha. Ahahaha.” She chuckles. “Well isn’t this convent. All this pent up aggression and my punching bag comes marching back to my doorstep.” Walking towards you, Mia equips one of her enormous fucking spears, multiplying her scary-as-all-hell factor by tenfold. It’s got a golden blade connected to a red staff, with a little green ornament-thing hanging from the hilt. Oh christ, that's her Main Armament, the weapon of choice bestowed upon her by her Land itself. You've seen just how deadly she can be with that thing, and now she's set her sights on you with it. As an unconscious response, you’ve slowly begun backing away from her advancement, as your heartbeat goes through the roof.

“Ha- ah, hey, Mia. You’re here too, huh… What are the odds?” You try chit-chatting, doing your best to pacify her. She continues to approach you, seemingly deaf to whatever you’re saying. “L-let’s just calm down for a second, alright? This doesn’t have to get violent. I-I-I don’t want to have to…” You choke on your words when you see the unadulterated fury in her eyes.

“This is going to be… therapeutic.” She muses with a crack of her neck.

“Mia,” The other with her calls. She’s a Breath player, a Sylph by the looks of it. She has the front of her hood shoved down in front of her eyes, probably to act as a makeshift blindfold to protect her from the light. “What’s happening?!” Mia, seemingly ignoring her, continues storming towards you with an unbridled anger in each step.

“Mia-“ You begin, but are cut off by the downward slice of her spear landing directly between your legs, just missing you by an inch. The attack is quickly followed by a flurry of slashes and jabs that you’re barely able to keep from skewering you. God damn, how is she so nimble with that thing? It’s like seven feet long! You’d be impressed how fast she moves with it, if it wasn’t to your detriment at the current moment.

You’ve had the joke goggles off for too long now, and that tingling sensation at the back of your eyes has returned. There’s no way you can put the goggles back on with Mia generating that flame illusion, leaving you with closing your eyes as the only option for protection from the light. You jump back a bit, a meager precaution of the inevitable attack you can expect as soon as your guard is down, and slam your eyes shut. The soothing relief overtakes your corneas, but as you expected, you’re smashed upside the head with the bladeless end of Mia’s staff as soon as she saw her opening.

“Keep your eyes open, you little whelp!” She shouts at you. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?! This is a Strife, god dammit! Quit fucking around!” Looks like you aren’t getting out of this without throwing a punch. Mia was always… headstrong when it came to strifes. You equip Bane of all Mountains and take the best position you can muster, holding your weapon out like you’re ready to fence with it. You’ve still got your eyes shut, enjoying the reprieve from the sun while you can, so you can only hear the mean spirited laugh your pose evokes from Mia.

Alright, you don’t want to kill her, you’re sure of that. Well, you’re pretty sure. Regardless of how you feel about Mia, an ally as strong as her is a necessity if you want to get anywhere close to completing your newly found mission. Her being here is actually a blessing in disguise, the disguise being the beating she’s currently giving you. You’ll have to win her over… somehow. Time powers are definitely out of the question, she absolutely hates being put into time knots. A mistake you won’t be making twice. So if you want to calm her down, you’re gonna have to start speaking her language. The language of the Fist.

You charge her, taking a swipe at her head, slow enough for her to dodge but fast enough to let her know you’re taking this seriously. You see an enormous smile form on her face after you attack, letting you know she's pleased you're partaking in the strife. It’s hard to tell whether that’s a good thing or not. Hopefully she sees that you’re trying to make peace with her… by swinging a pickaxe at her head.

You don’t let up, taking swing after swing at her. You’d say you have her on the ropes if you didn’t know any better. She seems amused by your advance against her, humoring you by going on the defensive, dodging backwards with each of your attacks, laughing with each step. You only push her back a few feet before you see a drop in her expression, followed by a kick delivered directly to the underside of your chin.

While you’re busy checking to see if you bit part of your tongue off, Mia goes back on the offensive, making lunges at you with her blade. You manage to dodge them to the point where they only create flesh wounds, which while not great, is still preferable to the alternative full-impalement the attacks pose. It still stings like a bitch, though. You think it has something to do with the weapon itself, some kind of after-burn effect. Your god-tier outfit has been completely torn up by her assault, making you incredibly thankful for their self-repairing abilities. You’re absolutely awful at stitching up clothing slashes.

With a decisive parry, you strike the knuckles of her forward hand with the blunt side of your pick, knocking her attack off balance and sending the tip of her blade off-target into the dirt. Following up the attack, you spin, picking up momentum to deliver a hearty elbow into Mia’s midsection, just below her ribs. Hopefully if you can knock the breath out of her lungs, she’ll back off to buy herself time to recover. When she does, you’ll take the opportunity to convince her to call off the strife.

Your strike lands true, hitting her square in her solar plexus, putting all the force from your rotation into her stomach. Overconfident in your plan, you open your mouth to start explaining the situation to her, but the words fall short when your eyes meet hers, noticing that she’s completely unfazed by your attack. She looks at you with a stern fury, wordlessly asking if you really thought that would work. It seems your elbow did practically nothing. How is that possible? You hit her directly in her diaphragm, that should have knocked the wind completely out of her!

As you ponder the ineffectiveness of the strike, your elbow still pressed against Mia’s stomach, you notice the third participant of this Strife which you had failed to factor into things up until now. Standing in the background of your fight, eyes still tucked under her hood, is the companion Mia was traveling with. You moron, she has a Breath Player with her! The aspect’s mender, no less. Of course you wouldn’t be able to wind her! She’s got the Healer of Wind in her back pocket!

You’re so taken aback by how stupid you are, you fail to realize you’re still in close quarters with your opponent. Unfortunately for you, Mia’s not quite as taken aback, as she has known how stupid you are for a very long time now. She promptly headbutts you, hitting you neatly on the bridge of your nose, nearly crumpling you to the ground. A distinct metallic smell fills your nostrils as blood begins to pour from them.

Recoiling in pain, you grip your face trying to taper the bleeding. Before you can compose yourself, you feel a sharpness rake across your chest, opening your flesh up to the stinging, crisp desert air. You look down to see that Mia had slashed at your torso, leaving an injury reminiscent of Finlus’s Blood aspect over your own red Gear. It wasn’t deep enough to reach anything vital, thankfully, but that was most likely due to bad form on her swing rather than any mercy she might have for you. Now with the blunt end of her spear facing you, Mia jabs her weapon back, slamming it against the side of your ribs. You think you might’ve heard something crack. On the bright side, this new rib-pain is strong enough to distract you from your recently created chest wound. Aren’t silver linings the best?

As a jerk reflex, you swing Bane backhandedly at her, accidentally hooking the pick’s head around her spear staff in your followthrough, unintentionally knocking it out from her hands. The disarming doesn’t seem to faze her in the slightest, because you’re immediately met with a fist to your throat. God dammit, what the fuck is up with everyone going for your throat?! She's the third person to do so! It’s not open season on your jugulars, for fuck sake!

The punch sends you stumbling back, and you grip your now dented windpipe with both hands, letting your pickaxe fall to the dirt as you choke on the injury. You glance up through the middle of the pain just in time to see Mia’s high kick land square across your jaw. The hit takes you off your feet, and you feel yourself twirl in the air a few times before landing with a painful thud, flat on your back. You wheeze a few labored breaths as your mind seems to sway back and forth, trying to decide whether you should be unconscious or not.

As you lay upon the ground in your battered state, it being painfully obvious who the better strifer still is, you feel a sudden weight drop by your sides. Opening your eyes, you find that Mia is currently straddling your upper torso, holding your arms in place with her knees as she wraps her hands around your neck and begins to violently strangle you. Okay, time to stop pandering to her violent nature and try talking it out like the adult you’re not.

“M-Mia- staph… please… I -ave… a way out.” You manage to choke out from your throttled voice. She doesn’t seem to notice, or just doesn't care what you’re saying. Looking into her eyes, you see nothing but pure hate occupying her immediate thoughts. Fitting considering she’s currently trying to murder you. You’re gonna have to step up your recruiting method if you want her to stop crushing your trachea. With a bit of struggle, you manage to wriggle an arm free from her pin on you, and you begin rooting around in your sylladex, looking for the item you found in the back of the tome earlier today.

The thing’s catalog number is 36, so it’ll be in section 6x6, unless it’s in… 4x9? Or it’s inverse, 9x4. Or, wait, it could also be in 2x18, or maybe 18x2? But also- Shit! What about 3x12 and 12x3?! God, you hate multiplicative factors! Wait, shit, there’s also 1x36 and 36x1?!?! Why the fuck do you have to come across this problem now of all times?! Oh god, you’re starting to black out. Fuck it, you’re going with 6x6. Hopefully your sylladex is feeling sympathetic towards your current situation.

You enter the maze in the 6x6 section of the chessboard map and begin your frantic search for the hidden item as the darkness begins to encroach on your vision. Right, Left, Left, Right. Fuck! Dead end, go back. Shit, everything’s fading. Left, Right, Right. Left. Straight. Right. Oh thank fuck! You find the little node that represents the item nestled in the top corner of the section’s boundaries.

Retrieving the artifact from your inventory, you daintily hold it between two fingers, careful not to damage its fragile frame. Just as your consciousness begins to fade, and you verge on the ether of death, you hold out directly in front of Mia’s face the tiny Dersite Exile Ship you found within the Collective. You anticipated that she would release your throat upon seeing this monumental discovery, but this release never comes. She doesn’t react to the beacon of hope you hold in your hand the way you’d been banking on to save your life. Rather, she elects to continue choking you to death.

 

Jason, continue getting choked to death.

Chapter 7: > Old Friends

Mia remains lurking over you, her knees keeping you pinned beneath her, and continues to strangle the Fuck out of you. Come on, there’s no way you can let yourself die like this, especially not to her! You’re like… 90% sure she’s getting off on this. If she could just- loosen her hold on you only a little. Fucking christ, god damn you and your gorilla-grip hands, Mia!

As you writhe beneath her grip, Mia finally takes notice of what you’re presenting to her. She doesn’t seem to recognize it, or realize the significance it holds in the Arena, and so she continues to choke you. At least, you hope that’s the reason she’s still choking you, and not that she’s so overcome with hatred that she’s willing to forgo salvation just to kill you. Although you wouldn’t put it past her. Nevertheless, she does seem interested in the fact that you’re holding something up for her to see. She cocks her head back to get a better look at the ship, looking it over with a confused intrigue. This might be your only chance.

“I…-an geh us ought… ov he-re.” You gurgle to her. Her grip on your throat doesn’t waver in any way, but her pin on you starts to loosen, enough to where you can get your other arm out from underneath her. As soon as you're able to get a hand free, you frantically search the nearby ground with it for your pickaxe; Bane of All Mountains. Finding it just at the edge of your reach, you manage to drag it closer with your fingers, clawing it into your grip. Now armed once more, you focus the temporal energies you’ve had on reserves this entire Strife into the pickaxe. As you empower the weapon, the series of small exhaust vents on the sides of the shaft flick open, pouring out all the hot air running off from the rising dynamism within the pick. With enough of a charge built up, you drive the heavy head of your pickaxe into Mia’s side. What normally would’ve been a love-tap to her is sent into overdrive, and the kinetic explosion from the hit sends her flying off of you, tumbling across the ground a few feet away, finally allowing air back into your lungs again.

Thank god for your trusty pickaxe! It goes without saying that Bane of All Mountains is an incredibly potent weapon, given its innate power. You created the pickaxe it was originally derived from using equipment you discovered in an abandoned dig site on LORAH. Powerful excavation tools that were intended to clear out huge portions of earth at a time. Combining it with a few of your pickaxes, you eventually alchemized a pick that could create massive kinetic discharges with each hit, sort of like a bootleg gravity-hammer. Pretty powerful, sure, but you needed something with a little more control, since the pick would tend to bounce back at your face from the blast after each hit. After some trial and error, and a whole lot of grist, you were able to alchemize a configuration of this pickaxe that could harness temporal energies for kinetic transmodification, converting your Time powers into more powerful hits with your pick depending on how much juice you feed it. And thus you were first united with the coolest weapon in your arsenal, the Pickaxe; Bane of All Mountains.

Anyway, what was happening again? Ah, right, you’re still flat on your ass struggling to get air into your lungs. Guess you got lost in thought thinking about your prized pickaxe. That or you might’ve sustained a bit of brain damage from the oxygen loss and forgot yourself in a mental tangent. Either way, you have more pressing matters to attend to. The first being getting to your feet before Mia can get back on you again. Slowly and shakily, you try rising from the ground, but fumble back down onto one knee in your wobbly state. Man, you’re really messed up right now, covered in slashes and caked in blood and dirt.

“God *cough* fucking dammit Mia!” You manage to choke out of your shattered trachea. “You crazy bitch!” Recovering from the hit, Mia slams her fist against the ground in frustration, before practically leaping upright and marching over to you far faster than you were anticipating. Expecting another pummeling, you weakly raise a hand in defense. “W-wait!”

“Wait? Ha! I should be ripping your head off right now, and you want me to wait?” She scorns as she towers over you, fists clenched and ready to strike. “Give me one good reason I should.”

“Because… *huff* I have this…” You hold up the ship once more for her to see. It’s maybe four inches long with that iconic purple Derse tint, giving it the appearance of a 1/1,000,000 model of the actual thing. Look like a toy though it may, there’s no mistaking its impossibly fine-detailed craftsmanship and considerable weight in your hands, this thing is a shrunken Carapacian Exile Vessel.

“And what the hell is that?” She impatiently demanded. Her tone might suggest she’s not open to civil talk, but the fact that she hasn’t started hitting you again is proof that you’re getting somewhere with her. Seems you’ve peaked her interest.

“A *cough* way out of this place that isn’t *cough* *cough* in a body bag.” You hoarsely explain, still trying to get your voice back. “It’s one of those ships *cough* the chess people used to leave the Incipisphere *huff* and travel to the player’s home world with.”

“Home world?” She sneers at the words. “So what, this thing can take you back to earth?” Though not initially impressed by your artifact, she’s asking you questions in a calm manner now, and her fists have relaxed, meaning punching you is no longer item #1 on her agenda.

“No, *huff* we would need a portal *cough* produced by Skaia if we wanted to get back to earth.” You inform her, well aware that her eyes have begun glazing over with boredom. “But this bad boy is capable of *cough* long distance *cough* inter-dimensional flight. It can get us out of here to… wherever we want to go, really. So long as we know how to get there.”

“Umm, excuse me.” Mia’s Sylph friend chimes in. “What exactly is going on? I really only have my hearing to figure out what’s happening right now. W-who are you?” She asks, cautiously walking towards where she must think the two of you are standing, facing slightly to the right of you.

“Haaaa…” Mia sighs, rolling her eyes in annoyance. “Jason, this is Sara. Sara, Jason. She’s the Sylph of Breath.” She tells you in a gruff, dismissive tone, embarrassed to introduce you as someone she even knows. Still not fond of you, you see. If the savage beating wasn’t indication enough.

“I *huff* gathered that.” You deride, already well informed of who the hell this is. She gives you a snide look in return. “Hey, do you think you could *cough* *cough* do something for this?” You gesture to your throat, still finding difficulty speaking. The Sylph just stands there with a quizzical look on her face. It takes Mia’s mocking chuckle to make you realize that she can’t see any physical gestures with her eyes covered. “Help me get my breath back.” Hearing your clarification, the Sylph’s face lights up, her expression noticeable even from under her hood.

“Oh! Of course. Come over to me.” She instructs, holding her hands out for you to walk into. You approach and once close enough, the Sylph latches onto you, grabbing hold of your shoulder as a reference point and gently placing her palm upon your chest, right above your heart. You cringe at the touch, expecting the prodding of your fresh wounds to evoke a stinging sensation, but instead you’re met only with the light pressure of her hand lain against you. Looking down, you find that the various slashes Mia had left across your body have already closed up, seemingly already gone through weeks of healing in the time you’ve been negotiating with the girls. Huh, that’s… interesting. You didn’t even heal that fast back when you were immortal. Maybe there’s some sort of trade off when you enter the Arena, swapping out your God Tier immortality for super healing or something. You’ll have to keep that in mind.

With her hand still on your chest, the Sylph softly pushes against your left pec, blindly focusing in on her craft. Blowing a quiet breath out, she evokes a slight breeze to kick up around the both of you, her hood-tassels dancing ever so faintly around her. A little anxious being in physical contact with a complete stranger this long, you’re about to ask when her magic will take effect when you begin to feel it. What you can only describe as a gust of wind passing through your entire body, you feel as the chilling sensation gales past, the way water roars down a river. It’s so invigorating! Amazing! Indescribably spectacular! It feels like you didn’t just get the ever-loving shit kicked out of you only a moment ago! God, you knew her powers would be a sort of second wind, but you didn’t think it could feel so damn good! Without thinking, you emphatically grab hold of the Sylph’s hand, shaking it with your newly given vigor in a moment of intra-species camaraderie. If your Dad could see you now, you’re sure he’d make things really awkward by asking if this young lady was your girlfriend or not.

“Thank you!” You practically laugh, overcome by the rejuvenating effects of her power enveloping you. She smiles at how grateful you are.

“Always glad to help.” She says in a wobbly voice as you continue to shake her by the hand. “Sorry but, what was your name again? If you don’t mind me asking?”

“His name is Jason.” Mia answers for you. “He’s the one we were talking about before… you know.”

“Oooh,” The Sylph softly exclaims with a knowing tone, as if fully filled in on you. Politely yet firmly, she pulls her hand out from your grip, flashing you a forced smile. You’re not sure what Mia could have told her, but you’re positive it was inaccurate and judging by the Sylph’s reaction; more than likely incriminating. “It’s, uh… nice to meet you, Jason.”

“Likewise, Sara.” You tell her, feeling an awkward air blanket the conversation. “And, again, thank you.” As you exchange uncomfortable pleasantries, the tingle in the back of your eyes return yet again, reminding you of the harsh light bombarding your sight.

You think Mia has calmed down enough to the point where the Cosmic Joke Goggles should be bearable again. You slip them on and surprisingly enough, the enormous flame that was erupting from her has dissipated into a small fiery aura. You think that’s a good sign, signifying that she’s completely pacified. Although, you’re not entirely sure what the Rage to Flame circumference ratio is. That could only be one notch down on the Angermeter, or, god forbid, a notch up in some weird cosmic-joke metric. Regardless, you’ll proceed with caution around her, angry or not. Mia’s fuse can get set off pretty easily, which means you’ll be on egg shells either way.

“So,” Mia calls, regaining your attention, “If that thing can really get us out of here, why haven’t you already used it to leave yourself?” She might be calmer, but she’s still just as dismissive as ever.

“Other than the fact that it’s the size of a quarter,” You half mutter under your breath. She narrows her eyes at you, clearly annoyed at the sarcasm. “It doesn’t matter if I’m still in the Arena or not, I would still be doomed. Besides, this sort of ship would need more than one person to run it.”

“Ah! So you just wanted to show me your stupid little trinket before I killed you, then?” Mia chimes, retrieving a sword from her sylladex and setting it’s edge against your neck. “Fair enough.” Since when has she started using another strife specibus? You’ve only ever seen her use Spearkind before. Inspecting the weapon the best you can while it’s pressed up against one of your major blood highways, you notice her new sword has a little heart where the blade connects to the handle. Huh, seems kinda girly for Mia. The only time you’ve ever seen her enjoy anything heart-related was when she was ripping one out of an Imp’s chest. Poor guy never saw it coming.

“W-wait! I met someone!” You exclaim, stopping her before she can followthrough with her very impulsive decision to murder you. “I met someone when I first arrived here! He apparently got tipped off about what’s happening in the Arena b-b-by the guy who gave us the portal devices!”

“That pompous douche with the white text?” She asks, her brow furrowing as she slightly shifts the sword rather carelessly around your neck. You nod, carful not to cut yourself on the blade.

“He told me that each player brings something to the arena when they arrive. He thought it was meant for some kind of sacrifice, but…” You pause, trying to find the proper words to describe your mission. Despite your excitement for the artifact you found, you didn’t actually take the time to make a game-plan on how to use it. Damn, you thought you’d shook the habit of blind undertakings a while ago. “I think if we work together, we can amass enough power to save ourselves. I’ve been researching the different powers some of the people in the Arena might have, and if we can find certain players I think we can… trick Paradox Space into not killing us.”

“The fuck is paradox space?” Mia asks rather bluntly, finally taking the sword away from your throat. You rub your fingers against the paper-cut sized slice she left.

“Oh, I know!“ Sara excitedly exclaims, like she’s very knowledgeable on the subject and wants to share. “Greg used to… talk… about it all the time before… before he…” She trails off, all the gusto she so suddenly swiftly leaving her as she sightlessly looking down to her feet.

“Who’s Greg?” You clunkily ask Mia, seeing Sara is too distraught to answer. She gives you a stern but fraught shake of the head, as if to instruct you to back off from asking that question too loud.

“Greg was a friend from her session.” She whispers to you, which Sara more than likely heard. “He… didn’t make it.” You feel kind of like an ass for not picking up on that, especially given the current situation being in the Arena. You blame the social blunder on the joke goggles.

“Oh, I’m… sorry?” You tell Sara. It’s about all you can really think of with your head in such a fog having the goggles on. Even still, you can tell you’re being rather thick-headed, trampling over such a touchy subject. Sara just sadly nods, silently acknowledging your condolences. “Uh, well… Paradox Space is sort of another term for reality beyond reality, but specifically the term can entail preexisting time loops on a timeline that paradoxically… propagate, um… yeah.” You peter off, realizing Mia isn’t really listening to your explanation. It seems she’s deep in thought about something.

“Just a sec, Sara. Jason, a word?” Mia calls as she walks off, nodding for you to follow her. You do so without a moment’s hesitation. She’s about half a thought away from strangling you again, you are not about to keep her waiting. “What exactly were your powers, again?” She asks once you’re a good few paces away from Sara. This is kind of odd. She’s never really taken an interest in your power kit before. Aside from using them as sources for mocking you, that is.

“Ah, well, I can create a stable time knot in specific areas, essentially holding my target in stasis. Let’s see, I can travel back and forward through time, which is a pretty basic maneuver for any Time player, but I do have this thing called Checkpoints where I can sort of anchor myself-“ You were going to continue but she cuts you off.

“Okay, god- Shut the hell up.” Guess her interest didn’t last long. “Can you do anything for this?” She asks before retrieving a board construct from her Fetch Modus and snapping it over her knee. Break Modi always seemed way too simple for your tastes.

As the board construct shattered, it throws out- Oh sweet fuck it’s a dead body. She had a dead body in her inventory. Why does she have a dead body in her inventory?

“Why The Fuck Do You Have This?!” You exclaim, loud enough to draw Sara’s attention for a moment before she goes back to sulking in blind sadness. 

“Hey, keep it down, numb-nuts!” She tells you, putting one hand over your mouth and the other on the back of your nape, much to your surprise. “This is Greg. Sara doesn’t know I have him, so don’t say anything about it to her. Can you do anything for him?” Your eyes dart down to the corpse, dropped unceremoniously on the ground. It’s the Mage of Time. You remember seeing his Stone Slab’s light go out in the Compendium room. It makes you beyond uncomfortable to see the body in person.

Forcing Mia’s hand the fuck off your face, you get out of her grasp to get a better look at this guy. He has a startlingly large hole in his chest, going straight through to the other side, letting you see the dirt floor of the desert through the injury. On top of this, the joke goggles are making you hallucinate little black tendrils extending out of the gaping chest wound, slowly drifting back and forth as if suspended underwater. At least you hope that’s a hallucination. They’re like small octopus hands waving at you from their home inside his body… these goggles put some really fucked up imagery in your head.

“Uh, Mia. He’s… kind of… dead.” You whisper to her. “What the hell do you expect me to do here?”

“I don’t know? Can’t you just go back in time and save him or something?” She asks, as if it weren’t the dumbest shit she’s probably ever said, ever.

“Okay, Mia. I know you’re not exactly an expert in the field of temporal intervention, but if I could save him, I already would have.” You gently break it to her. “He’d still be alive if I was supposed to go back to protect him.”

“God, your powers are so fucking unless.” She groans. “What if you… I-I don’t know, reverse time around him or something? Like revive him from right here in the present moment, then?”

“It doesn’t work like that.” You say, looking back down at the dead Mage. “That would more than likely just send the body back in time, not rewind his lifespan. The most I could probably do with my abilities is prevent his corpse from rotting. If you want revival using someone’s personal chronology, you’d need the Sylph of Time.”

“The Sylph of Time?” Mia sighs, closing her eyes, seemingly frustrated by something.

“Yeah.” You nod. “Sylphs are the healing class, so their role would’ve given them some ability to mend temporal flow. I’m willing to bet they’d be able to heal the point in Greg’s personal timeline when he received the killing blow, making it so that he never actually died at all. Although that could drastically change the timeline, making an alteration to something as big as a player’s death. To do that while still in the Present no less, as opposed to changing the timeline while in the Past. No telling how that could affect things. Unless there’s some sort of anti-paradox failsafe, like the person is retroactively put into a coma for the duration they were dead. But that’s all speculation, anyhow… I’m rambling. Anyway, Sylph of Time’s who you want, not me.” You say with a huff, realizing that you didn’t stop to breathe that entire explanation. You love discussing new topics with other people, and with how much you've learned down in the Collective, you couldn’t really help but exposit as much as you could about the other Titles in the Arena, even if it’s to Mia, who probably wasn’t listening to half of it.

“Well… that’s unfortunate.” She says, looking off to the side despondently. You cringe seeing her retrieve another board construct from her Fetch Modus to break. You think you might know where this is going. Again, with the snap of the board, another corpse comes tumbling out. Good fucking lord, it’s the Sylph of Time. She has a similar looking wound in her chest as the Mage. Apparently she’s a troll, too. Huh, neat… wait. Your eyes shift to look up at Mia, as a creeping suspicion dawns on you.

“Why do you have so many dead Time players?” You ask her in a mixture of horror and caution. Is she starting a collection or something?… Oh god, was she going to add you to her Time Player Corpse Hoard?

“It’s a long story, don’t worry about it.” She half-assedly assures you, waving the question off.

“I’m a little worried about it .” You mutter to yourself.

“Do you know anyone who can bring him back, since you can’t? Sara’s real broke up about his untimely passing, so if I can do something about it, I’d like to.” You do your best to ignore how easily she brushes off your concerns, but you’re having a hard time not being freaked out by the two dead kids who you share an Aspect with. You feel a sort of kinship with them, even if one is an alien, and it’s kinda bringing you down seeing them slumped over each other like some kind of murder-pile.

“Why the hell do you even care, anyways?” You look at her, prying your eyes off the dead bodies. “What’s so special about this girl you’re helping? And why do you want to help her to begin with?” You fail to recall a time where Mia tried doing anything nice for anybody. Not since entering Sburb, at least. So you find it hard to believe she would take the time to help some random nobody she just met for no reason.

“Oh I don’t know, Jason. Why would I want to help her?” She hisses, catching you off guard at the sudden hostility. You take a step back as the purple aura around her flares up. “Maybe because she just lost her best friend and is all kinds of torn up over it. Maybe because she’s still grieving for the death of someone dear to her! Maybe that’s why I wanna help her! Have you considered that, you prick.” Your eyes narrow in stunned befuddlement under the joke goggles, questioning if you actually fucking heard her right. She seriously can’t be using this girl’s tragedy to mock you about your own friends' deaths, can she? Is she seriously that fucked in the head? Was making you kill them not enough, she has to rub salt in the wounds with some altruistic guide-the-helpless shtick?

“You-“ You bite your tongue, realizing you’re dangerously close to restarting the Strife yourself, already reaching for your pickaxe. Think, Jason! You need her help if you want to get out of this place alive. You can’t go pissing her off, even if she is a malicious little gorgon. Swallowing whatever insults you would hurl at her, you keep silent for the sake of peace for the mission. Instead, you put her audacity at the back of your mind, trying to forget she ever even hinted about your dead friends to you. “…whatever.”

“Are you gonna help or not?” She impatiently asks as her aura dies back down. “You said that Sylphs are healers, right? Would Sara be able to do something?”

“Look, healers wasn’t the best word for it. They’re more like fixers. Aspects tend to fall apart on their own, so it’s the Sylph’s job to put them back together when they do.” You ramble off, thinking of the best way to explain it to someone who doesn’t care. “Fixing certain Aspects in others can end up looking like healing if their injury is related to the Sylph’s Aspect, like what Sara did for my throat. She didn’t heal me, not directly at least, but rather she simply mended the air in my lungs. It’s handy, but I doubt it could apply to the deceased. Breath is about wind a-and freedom, courageousness even. Things that if fixed could help someone get over something tying them down, or let them find their confidence to do something. Maybe so far as to heal injuries with a soothing wind, but not resurrecting the dead. That’s a different jurisdiction entirely.”

“Hold on, how do you know all this?” Mia stops you, apparently listening close enough to what you’re saying to question your authority on it. “Or are you just pulling this out of your ass, like usual?”

“Read it in a fucking book.” You snip at her. You didn’t read for a week straight on this subject just to be doubted by some bitch who’s barely ever picked up a tome in her life. “Doesn’t matter how I know, I just know. You can believe me or you can not, I don’t care.”

“Fine, since you’re such a fucking expert, who could fix this?” She concedes the point, understanding that you know what you’re talking about.

“You’d probably want a Life player.” You tell her, cooling off from having your wisdom cynically prodded at. “Most of them could bring a doornail to life.”

“A Life player?” She sneers. “A Life player is what did this in the first place.”

“Wait, what? A Life player did this? I mean… I guess their motif is impalement, but most of them should have mellowed out by the time they reached ascension.” You quietly ponder to yourself. “Which one?”

“I don’t know, Sara called him a Duke or something.” She waves the question off. Again.

“Do you mean a Prince?” You ask, fishing for an actual answer.

“Yeah, prince. Whatever. So you don’t have a solution to this?” She asks, glancing down at the two cold cadavers.

“No, surprisingly I can’t reverse death.” You sarcastically huff at her. There’s a concerned look on her face as she glances back at Sara. Strange. It actually seems like she cares about this girl. “Just... hold onto them for now, alright? I can’t do anything, but if it’s any consolation, I’ll help you find someone who can.”

“Alright… Thanks, Greene.” Mia mumbles, slightly taken aback by your willingness to help her. It’s been so long since she’s actually thanked you like that, it almost feels weird hearing it come out of her mouth. She turns away to collect the cadavers when a thought occurs to you.

“Do you… have any more bodies in your sylladex?” You hesitantly ask. She pauses a moment, as if contemplating whether or not to tell you. After half a second of thought, she retrieves another board construct and snaps it over her knee. God damnit.

“That’s the last one.” She promises.

“Jesus Christ, Mia! What the fuck?” You whisper-scream as yet another body falls out of her inventory with a gaping hole in her midsection. Another troll. It’s the… Witch of Heart? How the hell did she get nicked? Someone like her should be able to manipulate away anyone’s ill intent if things got too heated. You actually had her in the top five people you were expecting to survive this. It doesn’t make sense she’d be dead this early on. “Why do you have all these?”

“There was a… fight.” She sighs.

“Like a strife?” You ask.

“No, like an actual fight. With, you know, emotions and words and all that dumb shit. It eventually did turn into a Strife though. These two,” She says, gesturing to the two troll girls, “Had something going on with that prince guy. I think he was trying to steal the Sylph’s girlfriend, or like… the alien equivalent to her girlfriend. Sylph wasn’t having it, and started a 3x Showdown with the prince and Heart girl here.”

“So, he killed them both? In a two on one?” You ask. A Prince isn’t someone you want to go messing with, but neither is a Witch. Especially with a Sylph behind her.

“It wasn’t quite like that. Miss Hearts here wasn’t really on either side. She took attacks on both of them. Egging them on with insults, provoking them when they seemed to be losing interest in the fight. Just completely toying with them both.” Sounds about right for a Witch of Heart. “It was pretty funny.” Sounds about right for Mia. “No idea what was riling them up so bad, but the Sylph especially seemed pretty heated about it. Even attacked Heart girl directly a couple of times.”

“A Kismesis.” You half mutter, apparently loud enough for Mia to hear.

“A what?”

“A-a kismesis, black-rom. Jess… would talk about troll relationships sometimes. It’s kind of like the antithesis of love. She even said you and-… Never mind.” You stop short, seeing Mia’s scowling as you bring up the subject. Guess she doesn’t have quite the experience with dead friends you do, even if she was what caused them to die. Seems she’s finally regretting her actions. About damn time.

“Anti-love, huh?” She says, recomposing herself. “If that’s the case then that ‘Witch’ must’ve been looking to see who could win over her black-heart first, her usual hate-date or the new angry human-suitor. Kept stoking the fires, getting them amped and ready to compete for her attention, not realizing her romantic intentions were getting lost in translation to a human. Prince-boy wasn’t actually courting her with the Strife, he was just trying to kill the both of them. The Witch must not have liked that, and so she did something to him… at first I thought she was just taunting him, but he flipped his shit out of nowhere.” 

“What did she do?” You ask, becoming more and more enthralled by Mia’s tale of botched dark romance.

“She just kind of… pointed at him, then gave him a thumbs down. I thought it was some lame tease, but all of a sudden, Princy’s practically blowing the whole place to high hell. Not even aiming for the two of them anymore, just emptying this dumb little gas tank he had and exploding the fumes like he was trying to level the whole city. I think he was even foaming at the mouth, the freak.”

“She pointed at him and he started freaking out…” You mutter, thinking of all the things that could’ve feasibly happened to the Prince. “It’s not unusual for a Witch of Heart to be able to manipulate another’s emotional state. If she wanted him to start acting more in line with a kismesis, it’s possible she might have messed around with his temperament, maybe tried making him more prone to negative responses. Although, there’s no telling how much humans and trolls differ in dispositions. Could be that she ended up scrambling his sense of identity, not knowing how to properly manipulate him, or just fucked with emotional levels too forcefully and drove him crazy.”

“Whatever it was, it backfired on her. Obviously.” She glances down at the corpse pile. “At this point, the entire area is scorched from all the firebombs he’s been setting off, and he’s showing no signs of stopping till the entire planet is a smokey pile of rubble. Then all of a sudden, he throws his dinky gas dispenser away, like the thing’s a piece of trash. So now he’s unarmed, and I’m thinking ‘Is this chump really going to forfeit the Strife?’ and then he starts doing this thing.” She seems to be struggling to find a proper term for it. 

“What kind of thing?” You raise an eyebrow at her, hoping she can elaborate.

“Huge tentacle things shot out of his back. Stabbed the Witch right through her stomach before anyone knew what the fuck was going on. Kind of horrifying, really. Worst part is he didn’t kill her immediately. The sick fuck kept her impaled, whipped her around like a rag doll, really savoring it.” There’s a disdain in her voice, as she glowers at the memory. Not much can get to Mia, but it seems this encounter really messed with her. “At that point, Sara couldn’t help trying to stop all this, and jumped into the Strife herself.” 

“Really? She picked a fight with the Prince of Life?” You look back over to Sara who’s still patiently waiting, none the wiser to the conversation about her. “She seems so… timid.”

“She’s dainty, yeah, but bold as hell. Helluva bruiser, too.” She chuckles, scratching her chin in admiration. ”I joined in after her, thinking we could take him down in a cinch, but he was punching holes through everyone with those tentacle things. Called them his ‘Green Meters’, whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean. Seemed pretty damn proud of ‘em too. Wouldn’t shut the fuck up every time someone dodged his attack, spouting something about how we couldn’t escape them or some shit.” You kneel down as Mia tells you of the Prince’s powers, curious if they could have anything to do with the little black tendrils stretching out from the injuries on the dead bodies. Examining the hole in the Mage’s chest, you count ten tendrils, each varying in size but generally staying between three to six inches in length. They’re sprouting out of the puncture wound the way a mushroom sprouts from a log. You lift the joke goggles and put them back on, resetting the visual anomalies in your hallucinations. Yet the tendrils remain, keeping both their position in the wound as well as their respective lengths. So it’s not just an illusion. Interesting. “Anyway, after the Sylph got spiked through the chest, I figured we should cut our losses and Abscond. Sara wanted to stay and kill the guy, but that fight was a lost cause.”

“Not like you to run, Mia.” You comment, getting an annoyed glare from her.

“It’s called a tactical retreat, numb-nuts.” She jeers as you get back up from your little investigation. “And you’re right. Normally I wouldn’t have backed down in a situation like that, but it wasn’t just me in that Strife. For as vehemently as Sara fought, Prince guy was way too fast for her. I was barely keeping pace with him. No way I could defend her and fight all at once, so it was only gonna be a matter of time before he got a lucky hit in on one of us. Wasn’t about to wait for that to happen, and with just the two of us left, there wasn’t much else I could do. So I Absconded us, practically had to drag Sara away kicking and screaming she was so invested.”

“Two? What about the Mage?” You ask, realizing she hasn’t mentioned how he died.

“Greg? He…” A notable somberness comes across Mia’s face, as she looks at the body pile. “He went down early in the Strife. Took a hit for Sara, and that was that. Didn’t think he had the balls, but when the time came, he didn’t hesitate to jump in front of her.”

“Really?” You look down with her. “Without a second thought?”

“I think he already accepted he wasn’t gonna make it in the Arena. Probably just wanted to do something useful with his death.” She theorizes, tapping the Mage’s foot with a light kick. “I can respect that.” A moment of silence passes before she captchalogues the mound of corpses. “Just keep quiet about this until we find someone who can bring him back. Alright?”

“No problem.” You nod, looking over to Mia. She looks back, with that ever present Conviction of her’s burning in her eyes. Something tugs at your insides, a sort of sad nostalgia. Maybe it’s the joke goggles getting to you, but for a second, you feel as if you’re back before it all. Before the Arena, before Sburb, before you moved away. Back when you were young. Back when she was still your friend. Your mouth opens to say something, but you can’t find the words. You can’t even find the sentiment of what you wanted to express. The thought’s gone. Your small moment’s dragged on too long, and you clear your throat, facing forward again. Mia looks at you funny, but doesn’t say anything. With the bodies reclaimed, you and her walk back over to Sara, who’s currently twiddling her thumbs.

“Hey.” Mia calls out, letting her know you’ve returned. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“What did you talk about with him?” She asks, looking over to the sound of her friend's voice. “I could only hear you muttering, but you were over there a while.”

“Nothing much.” Mia nonchalantly brushes off. “Just old friends catching up.” A faint smile comes across Sara’s face for some reason. Guess she’s happy for her?

“I’m glad.” She tells her. “So, uh, are we doing that thing, then? Tricking paradox space, or whatever it was?”

“If everyone here is up for it.” You say stepping up. Sara’s attention darts in your direction, like she didn’t realize you were there.

“Oh, um… y-yeah. I think it’s a cool idea. I’m not really sure what it entails, though.” Her mouth shifts to the side in a light grimace. Kind of a wishy-washy answer, but you’ll take that as a yes.

“Mia?” You turn to her. “You down to help, too?”

“Lemme hear what you’ve got in mind first.” She grunts. “If it’s got merit, sure I’ll tag along, but I’m not about to agree to some unworkable, snowball’s chance in hell posturing.”

“That’s… fair.” You accept her conditions. “It’s a simple plan anyway. Everyone in the Arena is Doomed, right? Meaning they’re no longer relevant in cosmic continuity, and are bound to die at the hands of fate one way or another. The Arena is offering a reward to the last person left alive, to free them of their Doomed status and send them back to their timeline, no strings attached. But only that one person gets the prize, meaning the odds are stacked a hundred and forty four to one. So instead of fighting over that single prize like a pack of animals with the rest of the god tiers, we find people who could replicate the effects of the Arena’s reward and un-doom ourselves!”

“Whaat?” Mia skeptically hollers, both unimpressed and unbelieving.

“Is that really possible?” Sara quizzically asks, much more open to the idea.

“Very possible.” You assure them both. “There’s plenty of people in the Arena with all sorts of crazy powers at their disposal. All we need to do is find the player who can bend and manipulate fates and immutable destinies and convince them to help, and with their powers we can Un-dooming ourselves. Then, while everyone’s busy fighting, we gather up a crew, make my ship flyable, and navigate out of the Arena through the Void. After that, we’re free to do whatever. I’ve got a basic idea of the all people we’ll need in order to pull this off, but…”

“But what?” Mia asks, narrowing her eyes at you.

“But... I don’t know where they are, or… how to get them to help us.” You admit with a bit of embarrassment at your unpreparedness. “That guy I met said there were twenty five different planets in the Arena. That’s… a lot of ground to cover, and I don’t think we have long before everyone starts going all Highlander on eachother. That means time is gonna be a factor.”

“So… do we just hope we get lucky stumbling across these people or…?” Sara asks, with an unsure look on what little of her face you can see.

“Not exactly. I’ve been giving it a little thought, and I’ve got an idea on how to find them. All of the people we need, actually. It’ll just take a bit of work at first, but once we find one, the rest’ll be a piece of cake locating. We’re gonna be looking for the Seer of Space, they’re our key player.” You tell them both, evoking a rather unimpressed scoff from Mia.

“Come on, Jay. Really?” She asks in a disappointed tone that you don’t think you’ve ever heard out of her. Pissed disdain? Of course. Disappointment? That’s a new one.

“What?” You ask, confused at what’s eating her.

“I get you’d want to see her again, but you can’t seriously think it’s her can you?” Oh, she thinks…

“It’s not that! I-I don’t-“ You stumble for words. “I know it isn’t Lexie, I’m not… Look, it’s not about that, alright? Don’t you remember the ability she had? Her sight was nearly omnipotent after I-… a-after she god tiered. She could see practically everything going on in our session! If we can get someone like that on our side, finding people won’t be a problem. We don’t have the time to hunt everyone down the old fashioned way, so if this plan is gonna work, we’ll need a power like that on our side.”

“Fine.” She huffs, dropping the subject “But, how are we supposed to find them, then? We don’t know where they are either, and it’s not like we can go around asking people.”

“We won’t need to ask anyone. If they have omnipotent sight, they’ll be able to see us right now.” You explain to them.

“Then why don’t we just ask them to help if they can already see us?” Sara suggests.

“Well, that’s the problem. Even with omnipotent sight, they probably don’t have omnipotent comprehension. They won’t be able to process everything they can see all at once, sort of like not being able to notice all the details of a big painting.” You elaborate.

“Heh, or not being able to find Waldo in a crowd.” Sara chuckles at her example.

“Exactly!” You excitedly affirm her understanding. “But I’m willing to bet this Seer pays attention to the bigger events going on in the Arena. All we have to do is… catch their eye.” On cue, you deploy the Emergency Stockpile of Explosives from your inventory. They land more gracefully than you’d expect from a hoard of volatile bomba, only kicking up a slight puff of sand.

“Ooh la la…” Mia coos, ogling the giant bomb pile.

“What?” Sara asks, still blindfolded. “What’s happening?”

“Waldo would be a lot easier to spot if he was detonating half the page with high-yield explosives, don’t you think, Sara?” You answer.

“…Ahhh.” She nods, understanding what you’ve proposed.

“Just an explosion alone won’t get their attention, but I’ve got enough here to blow up a god damn mountain.” You surmise, grabbing one of the c4 blocks to look at. The joke goggles morph the lettering from the ‘Charge Demolition M112’ printed on the brick, changing them to say ‘Ka-boom’. “Is there anything big you’ve seen on any of the other planets? Something that’ll really make a scene if we blow it up?”

“I’ve got something in mind.” Mia menacingly proposes as a smile slowly creeps onto her face.

“Oh man!” Sara exclaims, lightly clapping her hands together and jumping up and down in little bounces. “This is exciting! We’re like a team! I’ve never been on a team before.”

 

Jason, formulate the plan with your new team.

Chapter 8: > The Hope Train

As Jason and his weird friends make a plan to find the Seer of Space, a certain onlooker lying prone behind a small sand dune watches from afar. Jason, be that certain onlooker.

Wha-, what? There’s an onlooker? Uh, o-okay. You… be some… onlooker… somewhere? Okay, here goes nothing.

 

                                                                                                         ***

 

You succeed in being a certain onlooker on the dune directly behind you, and you think this was the best course of action. You rather like being the Mage of Hope.

Your name is Esspin Kalzah, and right now, you’re watching the three weird looking aliens through the scope of your rifle, On the Morrow, to see what they do next. These Humans are probably the best entertainment you’ve had in weeks!

You came across a Hero of Rage leading her blind friend, a Hero of Breath, through the scorching wastes of the desert world you found yourself marooned on some hours ago. The Breath Hero was practically oozing faith in her angry friend. Natural to place one’s confidence in another when you’re reliant upon them to lead you, though even with that considered, there exists a great trust for her within them. You felt that radiant belief permeating through the air almost half the Land away, and you’ve more than likely been subconsciously moving towards them because of it. Semi-Aware Serendipity has always been a rather handy tool. Thankfully, you spotted them before they spotted you, noticing the duo across the way on the flats. With nothing much else better to do, you decided to tail them, observing from a leering distance.

It wasn’t too interesting at first, just a lot of walking around, but then the Hero of Time with the goofy-looking goggles showed up. Out of nowhere, the Rage Hero whipped the ever loving shit out of the motherfucker, really looked like she was gonna cull ‘em too, but that frenzy seemed to have soothed for now. Maybe human relationships aren’t as one dimensional as the others have been telling you. Kimera informed you that their culture didn’t even have Black romance, but that must’ve been an untruth, because what you bore witness to was one hell of a raging kismesissitude if you’ve ever seen one. And the Breath Hero might make for a fine auspistice in this dynamic, seeing as her presence seems to calm them both.

Since then, the Rage Hero pulled her Kismesis off to the side to show him her corpse collection. A quirk that seems to be commonplace amongst her Aspect, considering just about every Hero of Rage you’ve come across had at least one cadaver with them, for some unknown reason. You’re not one to judge.

The more peculiar thing about the interaction is that the Time Hero seems to have gotten a boost in morale from seeing these bodies. It started out subtle, and waned towards anger a few times, but as their discussion over the trophies continued, he began to emanate a strange sense of positivity. Maybe humans have a different understanding of death than trolls. Or maybe he’s simply marveling at his Kismesis’s accomplished strife prowess. That or he’s just kind of fucked up. Again, you’re not one to judge.

Speaking of this Hero of Time, you’ve noted something else rather striking about him. There’s some way about how he moves that’s caught your oculum. So emphatic, so excitable, like he’s the top of the stemcluster. Even from the distance between you and them, you can tell he’s putting such passion into whatever it may be they’re speaking about. He absolutely emanates hopeful energy, more powerful than anyone you’ve come across in this dungeon of a Medium. It’s very alluring and you’re very curious what’s got him feeling so optimistic.

Simply observing hasn’t seemed to quell your fascination with this alien group, and your interests have gotten the better of you. Slowly growing closer, inch by inch, you’ve begun your approach, hoping to listen in on what exactly it is they’ve been speaking about. You’re just within earshot, hearing them discuss what they’re going to blow up with the Time Hero’s bomb collection. The stack of explosives sits behind the three as they discuss, nearly twice their height. They’re certainly an interesting bunch. A thought occurs that maybe you should consider introducing yourself.

Right now might not be the best time, considering that, while they certainly seem like lovely people, the three of them have an excess of detonative devices and are currently debating what to blow up with said excess. Though they may not appear particularly murderous, excluding the Rage Hero of course, it’s never a good idea to put blind faith in heavily armed strangers who may or may not want to kill you. You think you’ll just keep watch for a little longer, at least until you’re sure they won’t start hurling explosives at you as soon as you poke your horns out. Maybe not too much longer, though. Keeping your wings down by your side is getting strenuous. It’s like these things have a mind of their own, trying to flutter at every twitching impulse.

“I don’t know, alright?!” The Time Hero exclaims at the other two. “Explosions were Rich’s forte, I’m not exactly sure what the bomb-to-square-mile ratio is for blowing up a fucking Volcano!” A Volcano? The Forge? “I was just planning on using all of it, I don’t know.” You see the Rage Hero scowling at him, half expecting another quarrel to break out.

“Don’t you think we should save some of it?” The Breath Hero asks. “In case we need to blow something else up?”

“She’s right.” The Rage Hero agrees, “About half should do the trick. I can think of about a million other things the Boom-hoard can come in handy for.”

“Boom-hoard?” The Breath Hero asks, stifling her laugh under her breath.

“It’s what Rich would call the massive deposits of blackpowder on his planet.” She explains, “God damn powder-monkey practically tore his Land to shreds accidentally setting off those Boom-hoards. Anyway, seems like an appropriate name for a pile of explosives this big.”

“Rich was your Knight, right?” The Breath Hero inquires further.

“Alright, fine, we’ll only use half.” The Time Hero concedes, bringing the conversation back on subject matter “That still leaves the problem of getting there.”

“We’ll just retrace our steps.” The Breath Hero answers in a chipper tone. “Mia, that was where you were before Logaw, right? That can’t be more than three or four planets ago. It shouldn’t take that long to get back there.”

“No good.” The Time Hero dismisses, folding his arms. “Portals are one way, so backtracking is out of the question. The only way we can get to Locaf is if we find the Gateway there. Even then, I’m not exactly sure how to identify if it’s the right portal or not.”

“So we could be landing anywhere.” The Breath Hero says nervously.

“We’d be taking a leap of faith. I don’t like it.” The Rage Hero states. You perk up a bit at her particular use of vernacular. Faith, you say? This might just be your opening to introduce yourself.

You’re about to rise up and greet them when it occurs to you that you don’t have any real reason to help them. Sure you’ve been following their trail, but that was out of a chaste curiosity, was it not? In fact, if you are to believe what the others have been espousing, you should kill these alien malcontents while you’ve still got a clear shot on them. Considering your current positioning, it wouldn’t be hard to catch them unaware, three quick pulls of the trigger and they’d be gone. And come now, it’s not like blowing up the Forge is some righteous venture worth sticking your windshoot out for. But you’ve got a feeling about these unusual aberrants. A feeling deep down in your acidtubes that compels you to join them, a feeling you’ve learned not to ignore. You have an important destiny with these Heroes... It’s decided then. You get up from the dune you’ve lain upon and get their attention.

“I think I may be able to help with that!” You shout over to the three, causing them to jump at your appearance. Shouting might not have been the best course of action, given how close you had gotten to the group. The Rage Hero doesn’t hesitate to equip her weapon, while her Kismesis quietly explains what’s happening to their Auspistice.

“Christ, it’s another one of those damn cosplayers! Jason, back me up!” She shouts to her Kismesis, who seems to flounder looking for his excavation device.

“Wait! Please, I wish not to fight!” You tell them, captchaloguing On the Morrow, hoping they’ll notice your gesture of good faith.

“Then what do you want?!” The Rage Hero demands, still pointing her blade at your presence. The Time Hero stands behind her having finally retrieved his weaponry, looking a little more passive than her in ways of offense. “And why the hell are you wearing clown makeup?”

“I was… listening to your conversation. I couldn’t help but note that you don’t know where the portal to the Forge is.” You tell them, which seems to irritate the Hero of Rage, knowing she was being eavesdropped on without her notice. “I think I can help you with that!”

“You know where Locaf’s Gateway is?” The Time Hero asks, stepping in front of his Kismesis. 

“Uh… No, not exactly.” You confess. The Rage Hero rolls her sightglobes. “But, I know a way to get there. Rather, I know how to get you there.” You say taking a step closer now that you’ve gained their intrigue.

“The hell does that mean?” The Rage Hero scoffs.

“To explain… hm. You there!” You say pointing to the Hero of Time, since he’d be the easiest example. “You’ve an exceptional amount of hope for… something. It’s hard to know exactly what, but there’s no missing its remarkable potency. Now that hope is rooted in a very firm belief of yours, which makes it a particularly useful resource.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” The Rage Hero says with aloof.

“Everyone has Beliefs.” You try to convince her. “Yes, some might not seem very special. Ones held in passing, without any zeal, certainly won’t change the world. But it is how firmly one believes those beliefs, how much faith one puts in them, that greatly affects the power one can draw from it. I tell you this with certainty, that if I know anything, it’s that that boy believes something to be unshakably true. And that is a very powerful thing. If you let that belief take hold, it could take you… anywhere! I’m sure it could get where you need to go.”

“Okay, you seriously have to be kidding this time. You want us to go wandering around the desert because we think we’ll find where we’re going?” The Hero of Rage says, on the verge of laughing.

“She’s right.” The Time Hero says more to himself than to her.

“What.” She asks in a sort of disappointed disbelief that he regarded your wisdom with trust.

“Hope is… a powerful thing.” He nods with a determined look. “Mages are naturally talented with their Aspects, and Hope is the Aspect of possibility. As a Mage of Hope, the potential for her to get shit done is just about endless given the right circumstances.” The Time Hero explains, appearing to already be familiar with your given Mythological Role. “If you believe you can get us there…” He says turning to face you completely. “I’d be grateful for the help.” Walking up, he extends a grabber out to you. “My name’s Jason, it’s nice to meet you.”

 

***

 

In a wonderfully welcoming process, you’ve become quite acquainted with the humans and their plight. They’ve filled you in on their goal, not just of destroying the Forge, but of escaping into the unknown of the Furthest Ring as well. It’s a daunting task, but you’ve never met a problem a little hope and grabberjoint grease couldn’t solve. Okay, that’s not true. The fact that you’ve found yourself in the Arena at all should be testament enough that you’ve met such a dilemma. But that’s neither here nor there.

You find it rather odd that a Hero of Time of all people would be the one to find such a method of salvation. Your own Time Hero was quite the downer, and the ones you’ve had the pleasure of meeting in the Arena, the ones that didn’t try and put a spike through your pan the moment they saw you, have been… pessimistic to say the least. So resigned with their current situation, almost willing with an eagerness to accept their doomed fate. It’s honestly kind of a shock there’s one so, well, Hopeful. You rather admire his resolve to dash such a terrible fate! That’s a drive you could disciple under.

“So how are we supposed to do this?” The Sara human asks, seemingly towards you. A tad hard to tell who she’s addressing with her hood down. “Do we spin around and head towards the direction we fall in?” A faint giggle rides the coattail of her voice.

“No, although I appreciate the absurdity of that idea. What we’ll be doing is more follow-the-leader -esk.” You playfully inform her, which evokes an audibly groan from The Mia Human.

“I’m still calling bullshit on all this.” She declares, “Jason, there has to be some better way of doing this other than to go wandering around this dust-bowl, relying on Asspine’s fake-ass magic to find the way.”

“Esspin.” You correct her, which she seems to ignore.

“If you’ve got any better ideas, let’s hear ‘em. Otherwise, we’re going Hope Hopping.” The Jason Human states, matter of factly.

“Ehehe!… Hope Hopping.” Sara chuckles to herself.

“You’re just gonna have to have a little faith.” He smirks.

“Ugh. Fine, on with it then!” She yells, throwing her grabbers in the air. “Let’s let the magic space clown shepherd us around the fuckin’ desert for absolutely no reason at all. Goodbye logic, goodbye reason, don’t let the door sever your spinal column when we slam it on your way out.”

“Great. Esspin?” Jason prompts you to start the ritual. You find your place behind him. These humans are so small that you can easily rest your chin on the top of his head. Granted, you are tall, but no more so than any other highblood. You wonder if these three are a part of the same caste back on their home world if they’re all genetically predisposed to smaller statures.

“First, close your eyes.” You instruct, setting up the dominoes of this Troll Rube Goldberg machine. Placing your grabbers on either side of Jason’s head, you focus his attention forward. This doesn’t do anything, but it sure does look like you’re doing something, which is the important part. Image is everything with these kinds of things. You can practically feel the Mia human rolling her sight globes at your performance, still skeptical of the operation. Jason seems unabated by her doubtful opinions, so it shouldn’t interfere with much. “Now, concentrate on all the different paths there are, all the different directions you could find yourself going in, all in hopes of finding your way to the Forge. From walking, to flying, to spontaneously teleporting there. Now, try to sift through them, searching for your route like a fabric mender in a grainstalk pile. Visualize it; The Gateway.” You massage the sides of his temples as you speak. Again, this doesn’t physically do anything to refine the ritual process, but a subtle appearance of confidence can take you a long way with beliefs. “It’ll feel like you’re being slowly pulled towards it, like a light breeze suggesting your movement. Like gravity drawing you closer and closer to a heavenly body. Like a compass inside your thoughtsponge, directing you where to go. Concentrate on it. Let it amplify, and grow until you can recognize it as a destination. As your destination… Can you feel it?”

“I… think I do.” He opens his eyes and turns around, facing just right of you. “This way.”

“Whoa! That’s so cool!” Sara exclaims, “Let’s get a move on, already. I can’t wait to be able to see again!”

“Hold up.” Mia calls, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Sara, Jason. A word in private, please?” She directs, motioning to the side before walking several paces away from the group. Jason, with a sigh, tugs on Sara’s wrist and leads her off, joining Mia for their human meeting. “Don’t you think we should err on the side of caution here? Accepting help from outsiders is risky enough already, but for god’s sake, she’s an alien. A total unknown quantity, how are we supposed to trust that?” You hear her whisper to the two, just loud enough for you to hear. Sort of defeats the point of having this talk away from you, you personally think… Oh, wait, she’s trying to telegraph that you’re not fully a part of their group while still being able to voice her gripes with you directly to your face. Duh. “She could’ve done something to your head with all that spell shit, made you see what she wanted you to see.”

“You’re being too paranoid.” Jason disregards with a judging smirk on his face.

“And you’re being too trusting.” Mia retorts. “Someone just waltzes up to you out of nowhere, saying ‘hey follow me, I’ll take you where you need to go’, and you don’t think twice? Ever read a german fairytale? Cause you’d be the kid who winds up in the witch’s oven, doing shit like this.”

“So your evidence that we shouldn’t trust Esspin is ‘cause fairytales’?” He mockingly asks, seeming to grow more confident in the argument.

“My evidence is that I don’t get into vans on the promise of candy, you gullible twat.” She growls, thumping Jason on the forehead with the flick of her middle prong. He flitches back, annoyed by the small contact. “What if this little pathway you dreamed up is all her doing? She’s the one with the supposed magic, she could’ve put that feeling in your head so you’d go skipping right into her trap.”

“Mages can’t do that.” He informs her. “And neither can Hope players… for the most part. Mages don’t manipulate. They… they… huh.” He seems to trail off, as if losing himself in thought. He appears to be perturbed by something.

“So what if Mages can’t? What if Trolls can?!” Mia asks, realizing he’s not adding anything more to his statement. “Like weird freaky alien psychic powers or whatever.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Jason adds, snapping out of his ponderings.

“Um, excuse me.” You call over to them, “Some trolls do… actually have psychic powers. I don’t, though. I’m an Orchid-Blood. Members of my class tend to be physically larger than the other castes, and more adept at combat, but that’s about it. Low-Bloods tend to have telekinetic abilities, while Mid-Bloods are the one’s more incline to develop manipulative telepathy. Although there is chucklevoodoo… but I never really got the hang of that. I’m kind of passive for my blood color.”

“See, they do have powers. Bite me.” Mia says to Jason with a sneer.

“She just said that she didn’t! Are you even listening?” He snaps back.

“Oh whatever. The fact remains that we could be walking right into an ambush! What if they capture us, and probe around our insides?! Aliens love that kind of shit!” Humans must have a very strange relationship with other life in their universe.

“That’s what you’re here for!” Sara interjects with a lighthearted tone, “You’ll be like our bodyguard, keeping an eye on things so we don’t get caught with our pants down. I’m sure you can take on whatever evil this wizardly alien mastermind has cooking in her spell book.” Playfully, Sara nudges Mia with her grabber joint, softly coaxing her to let you aid them.

“I- wha… I mean, well yeah I could handle her but… agh! Fine, fuck it.” Mia aggravatedly huffs, having found little to protest against with the confidence her companion has placed in her. Sara’s quite the Auspistice. “Don’t come crying to me when a facehugger goes laying eggs in your throat.”

She storms past you, headed in the direction of Jason’s… Hope compass? Hmm, that doesn’t sound quite right. Hope… Rail-network Transportation Coach? No, doesn’t quite roll off the flavorappendage. What do all the other highbloods call it? Train, right? Hope Train? Yeah, that sounds pretty good. Mia hops aboard the Hope Train!

“Mia-“ Jason starts, seeing his Kismesis is genuinely upset. You guess they’re not to that point in the relationship yet.

“No. Fuck it. Let’s get this shit show on the road already.” She dismisses him.

“Yes! Make way for the Hope Train! All aboard!” You excitedly yell, throwing both grabbers in the air. On second thought, it doesn’t sound as good out loud as it did in your thinkpan.

“Shut Up!” Mia orders in a very firm tone. You notice Sara quietly giggling at how angry her friend is under her breath as she follows after her voice. You look over to Jason to get his sentiment on her outburst. He shrugs in response, looking rather silly with those goggles of his on, before following after the two. This should be fun.

 

                                                                                                           ***

 

You’ve all been walking now for what feels like an eternity, and the heat has been taking an unbearable toll on you. Having rarely spent any time outside during light hours or in the warmer regions of Alternia, you’ve naturally taken to the extreme climate rather poorly. And despite having a destination in mind, crossing these dry wastes is taking longer than anticipated. Jason, in the meantime, has been kind enough to provide the group with hydration cylinders from his mini thermal hull, helping mitigate everyone’s exhaustion. The beverages he’s supplied has certainly been a nice reprieve in this blistering warmth, and you appreciate the sentiment of his donations, but they’re no Wicked Elixir. You don’t mean to complain in the face of charity, it’s just… what you wouldn’t give for a Faygo right about now…

Even with the refreshments, though, the light alone on this planet has been a bitch, nipping at your sight globes every chance it gets. You’re too accustomed to the dark for this kind of excursion. On the bright side, pun most definitely intended, your stylish eyewear has thankfully been able to protect you thus far against the irritating effect of this luminosity. You believe the light appears to only feel intense, while not inflicting any major damage aside from that typical of prolonged exposure to a sun. You believe this because while the eyewear on your face is indeed stylish, there’s nothing inherently special about the glasses, meaning what you feel when the light reaches your sight must be phantasmal. Jason, however, insists that the light is incredibly harmful and requires extraordinary measures to prevent permanent damage, despite the fact that Mia herself isn’t wearing anything to cover her sight globes yet remains relatively unbothered. She claims that she’s canceling out the effect with pure rage, which you find yourself inclined to believe.

While you’ve been on this ever-extensifying walk through the wastes, you’ve noticed something quite peculiar. Jason, at the front of the group leading this Hope Train, seems to lose his balance from time to time. Not in the sense that he missteps every now and then, rather he consistently develops a stride that would summon the idea into one’s pan that he was inebriated. These stints of vertigo come on every few minutes, but always seem to correct themselves when he adjusts his goggles. In the meantime between these bouts, he’ll fixate on something off on the horizon, as if viewing some invisible presence too intriguing not to stare at. You think the heat might be getting to him. Hopefully you’ll arrive at the destination soon and find a place for him to cool off. However, queer behavior isn’t the main mannerism you’re concerned about in his regard. What’s really got your worry’s attention is the dark liquid he keeps drinking from. Whenever he goes into his beverage vault for more refreshments, he’ll take out a large jar of the stuff and take a sip, shuttering as it goes down his proteinchute before putting it back and handing out the other drinks. Each time it looks like he’s about to retch when the liquid first meets his lips, which begs the question of why he keeps drinking it.

He offered you to sample the drink when he noticed you looking at him funny, but you declined after getting a whiff of the substance. It has an odor reminiscent of fresh sopor slime. When the aroma first graced your senses, it caused a flood of memories to come recollecting back into your thinkpan, leaving you reminiscing of all the late nights spent in your respiteblock reading scripture, leaning up against your recuperacoon, letting it’s mellowing effects dull the horror you felt reading of the events illustrated within the sacred texts. Regardless of the fond memories the scent evokes, you think drinking it might not be the best idea. You’ve heard stories of foolish Troll’s who’ve taken the plunge into the pie. It never ends well. That could be why Jason’s acting so odd, or at the very least, it isn’t helping him any.

After a few more minutes of walking, which feel like sweeps at this point, you’ve finally reached a temple of sorts. It’s quite the monument… A tiny little box hut with a staircase leading into the ground. This perturbs you. This perturbs you to no end. This planet is intolerable enough being a lifeless badlands with a Lux measurement of half a million, but to add insult to injury, their idea of a fane is four walls and a roof no bigger than a scuttlebuggy receptacle? This is the entrance to a temple, not some dungfiend’s day nest. Not to think overly highly of oneself, but you wouldn’t dare label the job done if all you did was erect four measly stone barriers, even if it is only the entrance. If you were tasked with constructing any form of ceremonial or religious establishment, you’d certainly do it better justice than this shit. Some rinky dink little hovel nestled in the middle of nowheresville. And you certainly would’ve done better than those fucking big tops!

“Yugh.” You bleat at the unimpressive structure, more to yourself than anyone else.

“What?” Mia asks, somehow managing to make a single word sound like an insult.

“Kind of underwhelming, no?” You prompt, still glaring at the stone box.

“So what?”

“So what? So What?!” You snarl, beginning to feel your blood boil at the straight ignorance she’s kickin’ it with. “Where’s the inspiration? Where’s the Spires and Bell Towers, the Grand Halls, the Sacrificial Alters for attending Cults and various Social Movements? How’s a motherfucker supposed to be filled with the overwhelming etheric vigor of belief when all they’s got is a striped fucking tarp and a couple of support beams?! You bulge-fondling chuckle-fuck Clowns don’t know Shit about inspiring your hoard-followers! What the Fuck do you Mean So What?!" You feel a vein pulse on the side of your cranium as you rabidly defend the sanctity of sanctuary. Okay, okay, calm down. No reason to get so riled up over the past. Breath in… Breath out.

You’re about to continue on when you notice the others all look at you. Jason appears nervously bewildered while Mia already has her weapon drawn. Even Sara looks a bit shaken up, although it’s hard to fully see with her hood tucked down so low.

“L-… let’s just get inside.” You stutter, apologetically smiling as your face is left aglow with embarrassment.

 

***

 

You’re descending the zig-zag inclines in an awkward silence now. Your companions didn’t mention anything about your small loss of temper at the entrance, though they didn’t have to in order for you to know you’ve blundered. You can feel a divide between you and them now, having made things tricky with that inappropriate lashing out at Mia. It appears that question of her’s, however innocent, struck a nerve with you, and you couldn’t help but lose yourself at it. Troubling to say the least, that your composure can simply disappear like that, but hopefully you can regain the ground you lost with the group soon enough.

“We’re here.” Jason announces as he reaches the bottom of the zigzags. Collating at the small landing at the beginning of a corridor, your group takes a small moment to look around.

“Wah!” Sara softly exclaims, feeling comfortable enough with the light levels in the cave to pull her hood down. Billowing out from the fabric are lovely locks of golden hair that reach to the mid of her neck, which she ruffles with her prongs to work a few tangles out of. Blinking a few times, she acclimates herself to sight again. She has vibrant blue irises, with a splattering of freckles decorating her nose and cheeks. Her features lightly glow as they reflect the light shining in from the stairway, as if someone has adorned a halo around her crown. You’ve never seen anything like her before. You can’t help but let your attention linger for a moment, appreciating her more… bewitching characteristics. She notices you looking at her, and gifts you a small smile as she puts on a pair of clear spectacles. “Hm! Such lovely horns you have, Esspin.” She compliments, having finally seen you, before walking off.

“Oh my…” You whisper to yourself, feeling a strange stirring in your chest.

While you’re caught in this curious moment, the others venture further into the temple you’ve entered. There’s a larger room at the end of the corridor, with a series of murals and tapestries decorating the walls. At the center of the room stands a large stone fountain, carved in the shape of a croakbeast, spitting water from its lips into a pond below. Two large open thresholds lie at either side of the fountain, leading off into other chambers. Still not quite up to your standards for a significant landmark, but it’s an improvement from the entrance.

It’s a lot cooler here underground, which is a relief. Mia seemed alright with the heat, but Sara was getting a bit dizzy, and Jason was beginning to mutter to himself. He’s still muttering to himself, but you think it has something to do with the wall carvings he’s reading from. You guess the heat was even getting to you too, judging by your outburst outside. At least you hope it was the heat...

“Hey, jackass,” Mia calls to Jason, breaking him out of his little trance. “Is this the place, or are we just dicking around for no reason? Wait- Did you bring us here to look at more cave paintings?! I swear to god you get off on this shit, you fuckin’ weirdo.”

“No, I didn’t bring us here to read wall scribings.” He grimaces at her with an annoyed look, “Although this is a nice surprise.” He adds on, turning back to study the wall. “The tunnels of Lokat are a maze, and the Hope Train only led me to the entrance. I don’t want us getting lost this close to the gateway, so I’m just getting a lay of the land.”

“What do they say?” Sara asks, looking at one of the murals. It’s of a large Volcano, so you think it’s safe to say you’re getting close.

“It’s about the Forge.” He confirms. “Some bits about the Genesis Frog, some random babble about the cosmos. This is definitely the right temple, but that doesn’t mean we go traversing hallways willy-nilly. No way to tell if someone else is traveling these tunnels as well, or if someone followed us in. Isn’t that right, Nolan?!”

“Nolan?” Sara asks, confused by the odd comment.

“Willy-nilly?” Mia asks in the same tone.

“Just… be on your guard.” He sighs, still vigilantly watching his surroundings. Maybe the heat’s still got him a little paranoid. “There’s a few ways to go, but from what I can tell, there’s two immediate sections the temple is split into, a left wing and a right wing. It doesn’t say which part the Gateway is held in, and this place is pretty big… Looks like we’re gonna have to go searching.”

“Splitting up might make finding the gateway go faster.” You suggest in earnest. As soon as you do though, Mia shoots you an angry look. Perhaps you should have let them come to that conclusion naturally, instead of saying it yourself. Your outburst wasn’t the best for your reputation with the Humans, and suggesting to divide their forces might appear a tad suspicious given their position. “I-… I figured since time is limited-“

“No, that’s a good idea.” Mia dryly says while looking directly at you. “Jason. You and Sara take the left wing. Me and Esspin will take right.” She doesn’t remove her glare from you the entire time she speaks. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“Mia.” Jason says, pulling her off to the side to whisper something to her. It wasn’t like before, though. This was actually meant to be kept quiet. She just grunts at him, and gives a begrudging nod. “Good. Sara, let’s get to it.”

“Wooh!” She shouts, following after him into the room’s left chamber. You warily wave as they vanish from the junction.

“Oh, and this place connects into other underground networks, so turn back if you stop seeing a distinct number of frog carvings on the walls!” Jason calls from out of sight, his voice echoing through the halls.

Now it’s just you and the Maid. Oh Profits, she’s still staring at you. Quick, say something! You still have a chance at getting on her good side, all you need to do is just break the ice. What do Humans like? All you’ve seen them do is talk a-… and try to kill each other, of course! Her Kismesis!

“So you and Jason, huh? That’s quite the courtship you’ve got yourself.” She just sneers at you in disgust, as if sickened by your words. This might be an uphill battle. Maybe you’ll have better luck in this conversation from the other side.

 

Esspin, try your hand at the other side.

Chapter 9: > A Purple Heart to Heart

‘Try your hand at the other side’? That has to be the absolute dumbest way of saying “Be someone else” you’ve ever heard. Just traverse this stupid fucking hallway already.

You and begrudgingly your new companion, Esspin, traverse this hallway so fucking hard, you swear the very universe shutters in pure ecstasy at the maneuver. Not much else really happens beyond that, and you continue walking.

For whatever reason, the lanky Troll girl is trying to talk your ear off, fumbling her entire way through the conversation. You guess Troll’s aren’t too good with interspecies mingling, which isn’t surprising. All aliens ever want to do is conquer other worlds and abduct supple young maidens to do scandalous experiments on. At least that’s what your comics say. You definitely prefer the last Trolls you met over Clown-Car Chatterbox here. But alas, they’ve both been hole-punched by the Douche of Life. Would still probably make for better company, in your opinion.

Bad company or not, Jason made you promise not to kill her. Whatever, jackass! He can be the one on the probing end of their invasion for all you care! You, on the other hand, are gonna keep her at a comfortable goring range for the time being, especially after seeing her flip shit back on the surface. No way you can trust an alien with a temper. Speaking of Jason, though, Esspin keeps trying to bring him up for some reason. Does she think you have a thing for him? Or… does she have a thing for him? Ugh, you can’t tell which thought disgusts you more.

“So, how long have you known him?” She asks in that stupid melodious yet prim-and-proper sounding voice she’s got, continuing to try and fulfill some awkward social contract she feels is present between you two.

“Who?” You answer, fully aware who she means. You aren’t allowed to hurt the mongrel, but you can at least make the conversation as difficult as possible for her.

“Jason. Who else? He mentioned that you both come from the same session, correct?” This is probably the eighth question about Jason she’s asked you, and she has yet to pick up on the fact that you aren’t exactly keen on the subject.

“Yeah.” You blankly say, giving her no kindling to keep the conversation-fire going.

“Well, did you know him before entering? It sure seems like you knew him.” She muses, which sends shivers down your spine.

“And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?” You hiss at her. You’re beginning to feel like you’re being mocked. That’d be icing on the cake, wouldn’t it? An alien, that you’re not allowed to kill or maim in any way, who after completely brainwashing your idiot friend despite giving him every reason not to trust her, and could very well be leading you into her trap at this very moment, has now started to mock you directly to your face. What a fucking day! Fucking aliens, man.

“Nothing, nothing. I’m just saying you’ve got nothing to worry about when the Drones come-a-knocking.” She says, lightly ribbing you with her elbow.

“W-…what?” Fucking aliens, man. So goddamn weird. “Drones?”

“What? Humans don’t have drones?” She asks, cocking her head to the side to gawk at you. “I guess the cultural divide is bigger than I thought.”

“N- I mean, yeah. We have drones, but they don’t usually come knocking on our doors. Unless it’s like… with a high velocity airstrike or something.” You tell her, still confused by her weird, possibly sexual reference.

“Huh… yeah. That sounds about right, actually.” She pauses, her jaw cocked to the side in thought. “Well, do you-” It begins again.

“Let’s take it easy with the questions for now, alright, circus freak?” You interject before she can rattle off any more queries. You’ve already been through the Passively-Asked-Question gauntlet with Sara, something you barely got through the first time, and you actually like her. There’s absolutely no way you’re going for a second time around with clown girl here.

“Oh… apologies, I didn't overstep any boundaries, did I?” She oh so innocently asks.

“No, no, it’s not you, it’s… actually it is you. But it’s not personal, I swear. It’s just every time you open your mouth, I’m filled with an overwhelming urge to rip your throat out so I never have to hear the sound of your voice again.” You say in your most straight face. Intimidation is crucial when you could be on the verge of being invaded. Fear tactics and all that.

“That… sounds… kind of personal.” She manages to whimper after a moment of silence.

“No, no, not at all. Well… maybe a little.” You chuckle, glancing at the chick from a side-eye to gauge her reaction. Usually when you threaten someone, they either have a threatening comeback of their own or are too scared to do anything but try and keep their composure while they shake in their boots. Esspin, however, sadly looks down at her feet, like she’s about to cry. Shit, you were going for an oppressive dread, not pitiful sadness. Did you overdo it? You feel like a bit of a dick now. “Hey, don’t take it too seriously, I don’t really mean any-“

“Ha!” She exclaims, causing you to jolt slightly as she points at you. “You totally cracked! I knew you had a soft spot.” The sad look seems to completely evaporate from her face, replaced by a moronic smile, accentuated by that stupid facepaint she has on. Did-… did she just fucking play you?

“You sneaky bitch.” You mutter, causing her to laugh even harder than she already was at you.

“So-“ She starts, back on her question bombardment.

“Hey,” You manage to cut her off before she can get anything out. “What was that outside?” Her cheerful smile suddenly turns forced, as she grows noticeably uncomfortable at your inquiry. You could give a damn of whatever her baggage is, but if it can keep her from asking any more questions about fucking Jason, you’re all ears.

“Heh. W-what… what do you mean?” She sputters, trying to avoid the question.

“Oh, ya know, when you went all psycho-like? Back outside, when I asked you why you cared what the entrance looked like.” You clarify without a shadow of a doubt.

“What? Come on,” She awkwardly laughs, waving you away. “that little...? N-no, that wasn’t anything. I mean it was bright out, I was just a little irritable, that’s all. I-I-I mean Trolls a-aren’t used to sunlight, nocturnal n’ everything. It was- it’s just-… d-don’t worry about it.” She’s really spazzing over this one simple question, huh…

“Esspin. I know the difference between a grouchy snap and actual Anger. I’m kind of made of the stuff.” You tell her. “Honestly, I don’t really care if you tell me or not. I noticed, that’s all.” She sighs, as if admitting defeat.

“It wasn’t about you.” She groans in an apologetic tone. “Just got bad memories on the topic s’all.” She bashfully pokes her two index fingers together, tucking her chin into her hood’s scarf.

“On… architecture?” You watch as a frown forms on her lips, making her look like one of those sad clown paintings with her makeup still plastered into a smile.

“Not just architecture.” Her head falls to the side, limply resting on her shoulder. “Back on my planet, there were certain expectations of my caste. A properly raised Orchid-blood would take an active role in the Following. Building religious framework for our hives was just a small part of that.”

“The Following?” You ask.

“The Following of the Great Miracle. My caste’s enforcement religion, meant to instill a sense of righteousness in young purple blooded Trolls as they mature.” She expands, giving you a small glimpse into what her planet was like. “Looking back now, it seems kind of obvious that it was all musclebeast shit. Simple propaganda meant to get the genetic brutes to act as cultural enforcers for the Empire, but… I’ve still got my makeup on. Guess the indoctrination was thorough, if nothing else.” She lightly runs her hand down her cheek with a conflicted expression. Taking a closer look at her makeup now that she mentions it, you notice it’s quite the design, with her entire face painted white and a series of black patterns layered over it. The spots over her eyes are large blotches with hooks that curve in towards her center forehead, with sharp tear tracks that carve into the sides of her nose going down, forming a sort of wide S pattern on her right eye and backwards S on her left. There’s a small bat-head-like shape over her lips, and her smile stretches out wide, fuzing into brackets painted onto her cheekbones. The bracket shapes are made up of three sharp points, one straight spike that reaches down to her jaw, and two points with a slight Z shape lightning-bolt accent at their ends which reach up just under her eyeline, somewhat resembling the two horns on her head. You wonder how long it takes to put all that shit on.

“Okay, I think I get it so far.” You nod along to her alien woes. “How does that relate to you sperging out over buildings, tho?” She blows a breath through her nose at your question, seeming to reminisce over it.

“Growing up, all I ever wanted was to be the High Priestess of my local Brood. It was one of the greatest honors a member of the Following could achieve on a regional level. When our last High Priestess had turned of age and left for her affairs off-planet, that opportunity had finally arisen for me. All the other members who were old enough to replace her were organized into a contending, and whoever proved to be best fit for the job would take up the mantle. The competition for the position was stiff, but I was a shoo-in, I know I was...! That is, until our praisehive got destroyed by a rogue Drone, and the topic shifted over to how we would rebuild it. Usually, the responsibility for repairs to communal spaces was held by the Brood leader, but since we didn’t have one at that moment, we decided that each of the Contenders would propose an idea for what to do.”

“I’m guessing this is where the building obsession comes from?” You ask as the two of you enter into a small junction of hallways. You’re actually starting to see Esspin’s point on temple design, this place is an annoying discord of rooms and passageways.

“More or less.” She sighs, her shoulders slumping as she recalls the memories. “I had some heated arguments with my peers on what route we would take in the building process. My competitors wanted to go with the classic Big Top Tent look synonyms with the Subjugglators, which each got them a boost in support with the other members. I, on the other hand, wanted to take it in a different direction. Something new, never seen before. Something that would make you drop to your knees and sing worships to the Heavens the moment you saw it! So I sketched up a few ideas, rough blueprints of the new praisehive to show them what I had in mind and… they said my designs were terrible. Blasphemous even. Like those nook-shovers had any right to declare what was and wasn’t sacrilege!” You feel you’ve been thinking this a lot lately, but fucking aliens, man. Unprecedented levels of Weird. “Eventually, like with any heated argument in our Brood, we broke down into full on Strife. At times, it seemed like I’d quarrel with one of the other Contenders every other hour, scrapping and thrashing over the sanctity of my sketches. It grew tiresome, having to defend my beliefs so often and with such ferocity, validating them with my very blood on a near daily basis. Nevertheless, I remained steadfast, proving victorious against any challenger. I was a naturally gifted opponent, which inevitably caught the attention of the rest of the Brood. Soon enough, a consensus was beginning to form among the masses, that someone as accomplished in battle as I would surely make for a grand leader, regardless of if they thought my designs were good or not. With each Strife won, I gained more and more traction in the contending, and it seemed only a matter of time before I was declared High Priestess. Unfortunately, that dream would never be realized… In a final attempt to terminate my bid for the position, the other Contenders devised a gambit against me. They banded together, thinking they could intimidate me into stepping down if I believed I could no longer physically defend my argument. They even recruited other chapter members of the Brood, non-Contenders, to fight alongside them. A vile little trick they thought would go off without a hitch. However, in their egotistical impudence, they failed to realize one thing.”

“What’s that?” You glance over again and see she’s scowling as she looks ahead.

“I was Stronger than they were.” She answers, looking back. “More Resilient. More Brutal. Tougher than any of the shit they could throw at me. A true mother fucking Orchid, through and through!” A sudden look of realization flashes across her face, and for a moment, she appears distraught over something. Quickly, she steels herself, hardening her expression once more. “Even acting as one, they couldn’t best me. I had something inside, something that they couldn’t touch. A drive pushing me on towards my dream, so deep in my core their blades couldn’t reach it. And so I thought that they’d tire themselves out. Run out of steam and realize I wasn’t budging. But they just wouldn’t… back the Fuck off! One after the other, practically falling over each other, clawing at their chance to get their pound of flesh! Just as they did the countless days beforehand, when they came for me, hoping to prove themselves right with a forceful hand, beating and bleeding me as if my beliefs resided somewhere as shallow as my veins. There was no end to it. There was just no end to it... No way to prove to them, no way to convey to their narrow thinkpans that I was not going to back down. Those stampeding halfwits kept coming, and after so much ridicule, after so much violent derision and scorn, I had a moment of jaded impatience, and I couldn’t help but lose my temper. And so… I hit one. Hard. Harder than I had ever hit one of my Brood members. I thought if I could rough one up worse than the others, make an example out of one of them, the rest would stand down, but when that motherfucker hit the ground, h-he just, he… started leakin’. Pouring out the back of his cranium was this ocean of motherfuckin’ blood, painting the hive floor purple. Everyone stopped, all at once, and we all stared at the desecration unraveling before us. Watching as he slowly faded away, all thinking the same thing. ‘No one had ever painted with purple before’.” There’s a soft tremble to her voice, almost unnoticeable under her cadence. You also spot what look to be plum tears beginning to well in her eyes. Looking away when she notices your gaze, she clears her throat before bringing her wrist to her face, wiping the tears away to compose herself. “I didn’t know at the time, but in that moment, they had won. They used that death to turn the congregation against me, declaring that I was a heretic who killed other Orchids and proposed profane ideas in order to undermine the Following. They couldn’t overpower me, so they had to rely on less conventional methods to force me out. Within a week of that last Strife, a notice was filed for my Imperial Excommunication.” Her fists clench, tightening in anger as she recounts the events. “In normal circumstances, Highbloods were usually left to their own devices in ways of caste-conflict, and usually, that’s how those problems were solved. By other members of the caste. Even if the process ended with a casualty or two, no one much cared. Death wasn’t a rare commodity on Alternia. But, if enough Trolls of the same class made a request, external action would be taken. The people I was supposed to lead summoned a squadron of Drones to come and remove me from the Brood. Those cowards forced my hand then played pretend that I was the dissenting nuisance, reporting me as some sort of nonconforming apostate that was interrupting their system. I tried to explain that they were the ones who instigated this turmoil in our Brood, but there’s no reasoning with a Drone. It was either pack my possessions and leave the Hive I had grown up in or be culled on the spot. I ended up having to move to a different Stemcongregation all together. My Lusus was furious that I had got us kicked out, and… I don’t know if she ever really forgave me. She had spent sweeps raising me to be the best, to live up to all the expectations the world had for me, and I truly believed that if I fought hard enough, that I would be just that. The Best. A Troll that others would look up to as an example. Someone who could truly inspire their peers. Yet somehow, in the blink of an oculum, all that I had worked for... vanished. That dream that I would rise to greatness? It cost me everything to hold onto it. And all it got me was a life in the gutter…”

“Hmm.” You hum, processing all that was just said. There was a whole lot of alien-spew in that tangent, but what you gather from her woeful tale is that Trolls are some cold motherfuckers.

“Hmm?” Esspin mimics, taken out of her sorrowful moment by your curt response.

“Hmm.” You emphasize. “Signaling the act of pondering. You do have pondering on your world, right?”

“No, we just blurt out whatever’s in our thinkpan without any form of higher thought.” The sarcasm in her voice could cut through steel.

“I’m not being a dick, alright? I’m just sifting through everything you said, is all.” You explain. “I can… sympathize with a lot of it, actually.”

“What, speaking without thinking?” She smugly smirks. “I kind of picked up on that.”

“No, smartass.” You half laugh, half scoff. “Being ridiculed by idiots who don’t know what they’re talking about. That pretty much sums up my entire experience with my Session. My entire experience with life, really. So… you’re not alone with those feelings, that sort of unconstructive anger you’re not sure what to do with. I get it.”

“Hmm.” She… w-… was that a purr? Did she purr at you?

“Hmm?” You ask.

“Hmm. Signaling the act of pondering. You do have pondering on your world, right?” She recites back at you in full. This bitch is fucking made of sass… Made of Sass. Maid of Sass. Huh...

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry. That was a very touching story, Esspin.” You say, doing your best not to smile at her jeers. Fuck! You really did crack! You were supposed to keep her at a disdainful arm’s length, and now you’re getting all buddy-buddy with the potential maybe-enemy? Fuckin’ despicable. You expected better from yourself.

“Thank you.” She warmly says, nudging into you with her shoulder. “I hope that clears matters up for you regarding my outburst.”

“Sure did.” You sigh. “Also let me know to not go digging into people’s pasts or else I’ll get an entire monologue dropped on me.”

“Hmm.” She jeers again, giving you a sly look. “So anyway, about Jason-“

“Oh My God!” You bellow as she somehow loops all the way back to Jason questions.

“I can take a hiiint. If you don’t wish to discuss him, we mustn’t.” She thankfully cancels the subject. “It’s just, when I see the way you glare at him, how you yell at and berate one another with such tenderness, I can’t help but envy something genuine like that.” She sighs like a schoolgirl. “Let me tell you this, my purple friend, what you’ve got with that boy is some ♠serious black shit♠.”

“Ah, yeah. Thanks, I guess, my… also purple friend.” You say back. Her wings flutter at your comment, which makes you a bit uncomfortable. While strange, you don’t see anything directly nefarious about butterfly wings fluttering. So, you guess you’re okay with it.

“Hey, do you have a moirail?” She asks after a moment of silence.

“A what?”

 

***

 

Finally, you reach some form of landmark before Esspin is able to ask you too many more questions. It’s a series of joint rooms that looks exactly like the other series of joint rooms you just came from. Whatever ancient society built these tunnels sure didn’t give a damn about their infrastructure. Not that you’re an expert on the matter, but you know half-assed laziness when you see it. Jason used the exact same copy-paste method when building up your house and ended up fucking collapsing the thing under it’s tragically unsupported weight. You regret ever letting that fuckhead be your server player. Thinking about how long it took to grind enough grist to rebuild always makes you want to put a hole through the wall.

Anyway, what this ancient society actually did seem to give a damn about was making this place so impossibly fucking hard to navigate! As much as you hate to admit it, Greene was right. This place is a goddamn labyrinth. Intersections and path forks every ten fucking feet, this is the only series of rooms you’ve come across so far that only has four possible paths leading out instead of fucking twelve. Maybe you’ll find some useful information in all these walk carvings. Mia, examine the ruin walls.

Not really much to see here. Just a bunch of scribbles and frog engravings. You’re sure Jason would be getting his rocks off about them if he was here right now. In fact, he’s probably getting his grubby mitts all over these wall doodles somewhere else in these caves, the little fuckin’ deviant he is. You continue on marveling in the wonders of these shitty wall scribbles. Yep, this sure is some top-notch chipped wall you’ve got here. Totally not fucking stupid in any way, shape or form.

"Mia!" Your totally genuine marveling of the wall is interrupted by Esspin calling for you. Sounds like she’s a few rooms away, but from the tone of her voice, it seems like she’s found something. You think she might be in the room cluster’s center chamber, based on the echo. The way these rooms have been set up is in a sort of grid pattern, with nine total rooms making a cluster, with eight outermost rooms surrounding an inner, more smaller chamber, in an annoying display of total roomception.

As you enter through to the neighboring room and take a small passage into this cluster’s center chamber, you’re greeted with a very… interesting sight. It looks like Esspin’s found the Gateway portal, judging by the fact that the Gateway portal is in the room. Esspin is currently striking a very odd pose at the base of the steps leading up to it. She’s down on a knee with both her arms raised up to the sides, as if presenting the discovery to you. Is she trying to… what? Emphasis a point? Yeah, Esspin, it’s the portal. Stop… doing whatever it is you’re doing.

“Guess what I found!” She says, clearly overjoyed by her accomplishment. “I’ll give you three tries.”

“Can I phone a friend?” You sarcastically ask, walking up to her at the bottom of the steps. “So this’ll get us to Locaf?” You glance up at the portal, watching it hang immobily in the air.

“If Jason’s Hope Train was on the right track, yes.” She says after getting back up from the floor. “Although providence can be a fickle thing, there’s no way to tell for sure. Save for stepping through the portal, that is.”

“I thought you said that your train-thing was supposed to get us there.” Your suspicions about her are beginning to creep up on you again.

“It will… m-...maybe.” She admits, embarrassingly avoiding your eye contact.

“Maybe?" Okay, you’re back on high alert.

“It’s a bit complicated.” She begins rubbing the back of her neck. “Hope is a very… loose concept. There aren’t many restrictions, so usually when you want to get something done, all it takes is a bit of grabberjoint fluid. But we’re riding Jason’s train, so it could be a little more complicated.”

“First off, never say ‘riding Jason’s train’ again.” You say, firmly drawing the most basic of ground rules. “Second, so what if we’re following Jason’s train thing? Shouldn’t it lead to the same place regardless?”

“Not necessarily.” She cringes as she speaks, most likely feeling your judgment. “My fear is about the divide between his Aspect and mine. Both paths revolve around fate, but they vastly differ in their definition. Hope is about creating your own path, while Time is about fulfilling a predestined obligation. My Time player made that abundantly clear…” She trails off, going down memory lane again.

“Yeah yeah, Time players are self pitying assholes.” You speed along, getting her attention back. “We’re on the same page there. How does this affect us?”

“Well, in regards to going places, Hope would take you where you want to go. Time on the other hand... Time would take you where you need to go.” She leans forward towards you and squints her eyes, like a weirdo.

“Okay, again,” You lean back away from her. “I don’t see how that’s supposed to affect us. Jason seems pretty sure that he needs to do this, shouldn’t that be enough?”

“Needs and wants are different enough on their own, but it takes on a whole other meaning when you take into consideration the looming presence of Paradox Space.” She puts a hand up to her chin. Ah yes, the universal thinking sign. “Wants in Sgrub are a personal thing that don’t have much impact on the game overall, unless they’re a Hope player’s of course. A player can want to kill an imp, or want to make a generic object without drastically changing the course of the game. But Needs in Sgrub are shared by both the player and Paradox Space.”

“You call it Sgrub?” You ask, which she seems to ignore.

“Paradox Space has the Need to maintain its integrity.” She continues. “Completing time loops, producing new Universes, and other odds and ends. Basic upkeep, really. The Player shares this Need out of self preservation. Failure to fulfill a Need of Paradox Space is disastrous, often resulting in death, void sessions, reality breaking paradoxes, and other such pleasantries.”

“Esspin, I know we just met and all, but you should really know that my tolerance for this kind of shit is incredibly low.” You tell her, feeling the boredom seeping into every crevice of your brain.

“What I’m trying to convey is that if Jason needs to be somewhere, there’s not much getting around that. “ She folds her arms. “This portal might lead to the Land of Constellations and Frogs, or it might lead someplace else entirely. You could say that it’s a… matter of faith?”

“Or we could not. Or we could not say that.” You dismiss. “You sure know a lot about all this. Kind of remind me of Jason’s boring monologues about his stupid quest.”

“Are you kidding?” She practically laughs. “Paradox Space is so fascinating! It’s the closest thing to a divine power I’ve ever experienced. I don’t know if you noticed but… that’s kind of my field of expertise.” She smiles, bashfully twirling around a lock of her enormous mane of a hairdo with her finger.

“Yeah, Esspin. I noticed.” You frankly tell her. “So there’s really no guaranteeing this is the right Gateway. What are the odds, then?”

“What?” She raises an eyebrow.

“I mean what are the odds that this is the portal to Locaf?”

“Statistics aren’t exactly my strong suit, but… I’d guess fifty-fifty?” She shrugs, glancing up at it. “It either is or it isn’t, that’s about all I can say.”

“Alright then, how about we stop beating around the bush and hop through already.” You say with vigor, interlocking your fingers and stretching them till they crack.

“Shouldn’t we find the other two?” Esspin asks, reminding you of the other half of this team. Shoot, almost forgot about them.

“Ah, right.” You nod, turning and exiting down the passage that you took into the central chamber.

“Perhaps we can leave a trail of some tort while we look for them?” Esspin suggests as she follows after you, the two of you entering into the connecting room and stopping at the hallway you came in through. “I have this large spool of string that if we tie it to something, we could easily find our way back through the labyrinth, or-“ While Esspin’s busy playing with her yarn or something, you stop and take a stance, readying your voice. These caverns are pretty extensive, it’ll take a lot of umph if those two are gonna hear you. You take a heavy breath in.

“HEY JACKASS! WE FOUND THE PORTAL! FOLLOW THE PATH WE TOOK AND GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!” You howl, your voice erupting into the black void of the hallway. You can hear your message echoing down through the halls, bouncing every which way through the different branching paths.

“Gahh! Great Profits! What the hell was that?!” Esspin cries, covering her ears a bit too late.

“Hm? My Shout?” You turn to her as you rub your vocal cords.

“Yes, your shout! What else could I be referring to?! How can you get your voice that loud?” She asks in a flustered tizzy.

“I just… you know, kind of yell.” You try to explain, not really knowing the best way to describe your talent. “No real trick to it. I think it might be Maid powers, I don’t really remember being able to get that loud when I was younger. Although I don’t really remember being allowed to get anywhere close to loud back then either, so maybe I always had it and just didn’t know.”

“Mhh! Got my hearducts ringing like the twelfth Perigee horn-gatherin’s n’ shiz. Ay, give a Clown some warning next time you go bustin’ out those pipes, sister!” Her tone of voice was way too elegant for what she just said. You notice she dips into this weird vernacular every now and then, and her voice will sometimes fluctuate from a sort of prissy uptight tone into this mellowed out easy-going vibe as well. You just thought it was a weird alien thing, but after hearing about her upbringing, you’re guessing it’s a weird clown cult thing. Probably isn’t intentional, either. “I coulda went deaf, ya dig?” She scolds you.

“Ah, sorry… I didn’t… I-, I’ll be more careful next time.” You apologize, realizing you could’ve hurt your friend and-ahfuckingshit you just realized this girl is your friend now, god Damnit! You were supposed to keep her at arm’s length, Mia! What are you, some middle aged dad whose family just got a dog? ‘It’ll be your responsibility to walk and feed it, little Timmy, not mine’ smash cut to you cuddled up on the couch with the damn pooch like an absolute chump!

“Do you think they heard?” Your friend asks, still rubbing her ears.

“Yeah, I’m sure that call had enough power to reach them. They’ll have to work their way here, but yeah, they definitely heard it.” You assure her. “I’d say to get comfortable for now, they might be a while.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t go and get them?” She proposes, offering up her ball of yarn still. “Wouldn’t that be quicker?”

“Eh. Not our problem.” You shrug, heading back to the portal room. “If Jason really is concerned about time, he can use his Time powers to help get him here. As much as he tries to convince everyone, he’s not completely useless. I’ve seen what he can do if he actually uses his powers… it’s nothing to sneer at. If he’s smart, he’d be here by now. But he’s not, so fuck ‘em. Not our problem.”

“So, if I’ve gathered this correctly;” Esspin begins, following after you. “You hope to motivate Jason to use his powers more effectively… by placing him in situations… that could otherwise be to his extreme detriment… if he doesn’t otherwise comply?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” You nod. “That about sums it up.”

“About as textbook as ♠black-rom♠ comes.” She mutters.

“Yeah, yeah, weird alien mumbo-jumbo.” You say, shooing at her. “Hate-Love whatevers. Look, I don’t think troll relationships apply to humans. We’re not as… complex.”

“I don’t know, seems pretty complex to me.” She says, tauntingly. You roll your eyes and walk down the passage, back into the central room, finding a cozy-looking corner to set up shop in.

If Jason’s gonna be his usual slow self, then it’s about time to bust out something comfortable. You go into your sylladex and search for your Plush-Leather Recliner. There was no way you were leaving home without this bad boy! The thing’s just too comfortable. Ah, there it is! Right next to your dead body collection. Your Group Organization Modifier always seems to put this thing in the Dead Objects section of your inventory, which makes you wonder what “Plush Leather” actually is. Not enough to make any actual efforts to find out, but enough to ponder thoughtfully as you sit comfortably in its fuzzy clutches. What were you in your past life, oh sweet, innocent chair? Some majestic beast struck down in it’s prime? Doth I tarnish thou legacy when I perch upon thyself come yonder rump?

You select the card from your inventory and your Board-Breakers™ Retrieval Modus produces a construct for you to break. You promptly do so, and deploy your recliner. Ahh, Board Breakers, you never fail me. Board-Breakers! Break some Fuckin’ Boards! (Board-Breakers™ is not responsible for any grievous bodily harm or other serious injuries caused by board constructs. Board-Breakers™ is a Hard Construct Retrieval Modus, please break responsibly)

You throw yourself down into the white fluffy seat cushion and pull up the foot rest. Nothing like a good chair to make your stress melt away. Or at the very least, put it out of your mind for the time being. Esspin seems to follow your lead and retrieves some sort of pod-looking furniture filled with a pungent green substance. Before you can ask what it is, she jumps into the large hole at the top and nestles herself rather comfortably in the slime. Fucking aliens, man. You cannot get over how weird they can be.

 

Mia, kick back and fuckin’ chill.

Chapter 10: > The Winds of Fate

You do your best to kick back and fuckin’ chill, but Esspin keeps flopping around in her pod thing, completely ruining the chillin’ vibes. You’re trying to ignore the constant sloshing coming from the goo sac, but god damn! It’s like someone’s fondling a bowl of jelly next to your ear! She’s making it progressively more difficult to execute your plans of kicking back and fuckin’ chillin’. What the hell’s got her so agitated about?

Fuck it, there’s no relaxing with this much noise going on. You should probably just be someone else while your Troll friend sorts her shit out. Jason, maybe? Hahahaha! Fuck no. You’ve said before that you’d only ever willingly be that guy under very specific circumstances, and seeing as you’re not currently being blown-the-fuck-up, you think you’re going to be someone else instead.

Mia, be someone else.

 

***

 

Yet again, you succeed in the laboring endeavor of being someone else. How Exciting! Who are you, exactly?

Why, you’re Sara Strong, of course! The one and only Sylph of Breath. Er, at least, the one and only Sylph of Breath that you know of. Chances are there’ve been other Sylphs of Breath at some point in Paradox Space. If not, then statistically you’re the most valuable thing in existence, but you’re pretty sure that’s not the case. From what you understand of the ‘Arena’ you’re in, you’re just the Sylph of Breath currently here at the moment.

As the resident Sylph of Breath, you’ve taken up with a team of other players looking to find a way out of the Arena, you know, without having to kill anyone. Since brutally murdering others generally isn’t a thing you enjoy doing, this cause is something you can really get behind.

You and your Team (You still like saying that) are looking for the Gateway portal to the Land of Constellations and Frogs. Or, rather you were looking. It appears that your new friend Mia has already found the portal, judging by the banshee screech that came tumbling down through the catacomb halls. She’s quite the set of pipes on her, you can still feel your ears ringing!

Since then, you’ve been traversing hallways with your other new friend, Jason, trying to find your way to them. You and him have been talking quite a bit, which is a nice change of pace. And with a Time player, no less! Greg is never this talkative with you. He-… Was. He never was this talkative with you. Ah man, you made yourself sad again…

Come on, chin up! Can’t be getting down now. We’re on an important adventure right now! Greg never wanted to ruin an adventure, even if it was because of his own death. He’s said so himself. On multiple occasions, actually... He was strange like that, always seeming so glum about everything. ‘This’ll break, everything’s going to end, it won’t be worth it, we’re all gonna die.’ and what not. But at the end of the day, he never let anyone get down in the dumps, even with that poor outlook of his. Can’t get all choked up now, Greg would have your head if you did! Try and get your mind off of him for the moment.

You manage to get the thought of your dead best friend out of your head in exchange for your brand new, shiny living friend! Hmm, that joke was actually really appalling. You’re gonna pretend you didn’t say it. Anyway, another nice change about your interactions with Jason is that he actually seems to value your advice. No one from your session gave your suggestions the time of day, save for Greg, but Jason really listens to what you have to say. And he was the one to ask for the advice! He actually asked! You don’t think you’ve ever been more ecstatic!

From the exchange you’ve had with him, it’s become pretty apparent that Jason has an unhealthy hangup involving your mutual angry friend, Mia. You knew something happened between the two of them after talking with her in the days following the cathedral incident, but she’s a real steel trap. Barely told you anything, just that some people she knew ended up dying because of him. Jason was pretty quiet about it at first, but you’ve been able to convince him not to hold on so tightly to his problems.

According to him, Mia was the one who ended up killing his session mates with her magic, which he thinks was a part of some vendetta against them and him. That was about all he told you, but that’s all you really needed to know to understand the hangups they both have with one another. Mia gave the impression that Jason was at fault, and Jason outright told you that she was the cause of it. Regardless of who’s in the wrong, there seems to be some hard feelings on either side. You suggested he talk with her directly about his grievances over what happened, and perhaps gain some closure over it. Unfortunately he was uncomfortable with that idea, afraid calling her out so direct would set Mia off on him. You hadn’t suggested he accuse her of anything, but that seems to be where he naturally concluded the conversation would’ve gone, you guess.

He asked you to speak with her about the incident, to see if she was still ‘unhinged’. His words, not yours. You were probably going to ask her more anyways once you got the chance. It seemed like she had a lot of complex feelings about her friends bogging her down, and you think it would help her figure things out if she had someone to talk to about it. Maybe you’ll ask about that magic of her’s Jason mentioned too. In all the strifes you’ve seen her get into, she had only ever brawled, never using any sort of evocation or spells or anything. You’ll get to that later though, after you find out for certain if whoever this Seer character you’re looking for can help with the mission. Also, it’d probably be good to give her a chance to decompress after having such a heated reunion earlier today before you go poking around her personal business.

“About fucking time.” You hear someone call from in front of you. You look up to see none other than your angry mutual friend, Mia, with Esspin hanging close behind. Esspin smiles and waves at you, and you do the same. “The hell took you so long?”

“What do you mean ‘What took us so long?’ Why didn’t you come and get us?” Jason asks, with the faintest bit of vinegar lacing his voice.

“Why didn’t you use your powers to get here faster?” Mia asks back, quite promptly.

“I-…” You look over to him in time to see a dreadful look of regret set in on his face. He snaps out of it with a huff. “Fair point.” He sighs. “Let’s get going.”

“Oh! Also, you might have led us to the wrong portal.” She adds, brandishing quite the malicious smirk. Yep, that’s some serious bad blood between them. “So kudos for that.”

“What?” The look of regret seems to be creeping onto his face again. “But Esspin said-“

“Esspin said that your stupid time chores could be fucking up the path. Way to go, dickhead. Looks like you derailed the hope train. Dozens perish, and the date goes down in infamy as the Great Stupidity Crash of ‘86.” She chuckles a bit. Jason shifts his gaze over to Esspin, probably looking to see if he’s being messed with or not.

“D-don’t worry!” She stutters once she notices he’s looking to her for confirmation over what Mia’s saying. “If this isn’t the Gateway to Locaf, this’ll be to wherever you need to go in order to fulfill your obligations as a Hero of Time!” He’s visibly relieved. Mia’s smirk sours, and it looks like she’s about to say something.

“Alright!” You interject before she can get Jason riled up. “Should we get going?”

“Right.” Jason agrees. “No more lollygagging.”

“Lolly-Gaging?” Mia meanly snickers. “God, it’s like you just mailed me a formal request to hit you.”

“Would anyone want the honors of first-through?” You ask, hoping to get Jason to disregard her little quip.

“Right fuckin’ here!” Mia blurts out, marching to the portal. “I’ve been getting antsy waiting this long. ‘Bout time to kick some tires.” Without another word, she presses a hand against the portal and vanishes with a flash.

“I should probably make sure she doesn’t get too far.” Esspin says, following quickly after her. “It’s nice seeing you again, Sara! Uh-, y-you too, Jason.” She adds on before touching the portal with a flash.

“Aw, that was sweet.” You coo at the kind sentiment. Now it’s just you and Jason in the room.

“Welp.” He says. “See you on the other side.” You smile at him and he steps up to the portal. With another flash, you’re left alone in the room. A light current of air blows through the cavern halls, cooling the back of your neck and bringing your attention to the isolation that fills the moment.

Huh. This is the first time you’ve been alone since you were on your quest. You forgot just how freeing it feels, to not have anyone by your side. It reminds you how much you’ve missed just doing your own thing. No arguments, no drama, just you and the breeze. Not that you don’t like the others, but there’s something about performing a solo act that gives you such a pep in your step! As if you could go anywhere, do anything, and not have to worry about all the messy consequences that comes with the baggage of other people...

Alright, can’t keep your friends waiting all day, don’t want them getting worried over you. With a jaunt, skip and a perfect-form long jump, you're up the little staircase set at the base of the portal, ready to be transpormorphised. Lightly laying your hand upon the Green glowing construct, you feel yourself being swept away by the invisible river that connects all forms of Point A with every iteration of Point B, and with that, you're spirited away from the underground temple.

 

***

 

You open your eyes and find yourself… in a… Where are you? Is this a broom closet? You didn’t know what to expect from the Land of Constellations and Frogs, but this seems… off. You can hear quite the ruckus outside your room. You hesitantly walk up to the door, cautious of what might be on the other side, and twist the handle.

Carefully and quietly pushing the door open, you peer out. You appear to be in some sort of museum, by the looks of it. You’re in a huge gallery with black polished floors and marble-white walls, with numerous art displays throughout the rooms. It looks like the commotion is coming from the large number of socialites that populate the halls. A race of purple chameleons, which you assume to be the Land’s Consorts, are walking about, observing the exhibits and talking amongst themselves. There’s tons of things on display here, sculptures, busts, paintings, each with their own audience of lizards surrounding them. You’re feeling culturally enriched just by proxy of seeing such masterpieces!

You step out from the closet’s threshold and feel your eyes strain slightly. It’s a tad bright, compared to the dimly lit cave you just came from. You already had a hand raised to your hood, about to bring it down again when you realize that your eyes just needed to adjust to the lighting shift. Thankfully the brightness level here isn’t nearly as damaging as the ones on LOKAT. Nothing against Jason and Mia’s leading skills, but getting dragged around by a bickering duo all day gets a bit tiring.

Wait, where is Jason and Mia? You look from side to side, but find nothing but purple lizards as far as the eye can see. No sign of Esspin either, which is really startling cause she’s tall, and those people stand out in crowds! Oh boy, this isn’t good.

“Mia!?” You call out into the mob. “Are any of you guys here?!” The closest chameleons all look at you, seeming rather annoyed at the disturbance, before huffing and turning back to their conversations with an overdramatic snoot. This really isn’t good.

Why would the portal send you here without the others? Every portal you’ve gone through so far has always kept you together with Mia or Greg. Why start splitting people up now?

You walk about the halls searching for any sign of the others, but it looks like you’re the only one here, besides the lizards of course. As much as you enjoy having time to yourself, chances are if you arrived here alone, the others were transported to different locations in the Land too, which you can imagine Mia is none too happy about. She was suspicious of Esspin to begin with, now it might seem as if she’s to blame for the separation. From her point of view, it might seem like Esspin ambushed you and Jason once she left through the portal. You should probably get in contact with her first. You don’t want her coming across Esspin in a mindset like that.

Almost on cue, a Captchalogue card comes fluttering out of your Sylladex on a light breeze. Ah, it looks like your Winds-of-Fate Modus is acting up again. Quite the useful thing, really. As of late, it’s been in sync with your needs regarding inventory items, which certainly saves on time searching through your poorly kept organizer. You never were one for tidying up that much.

The card your Modus has retrieved for you is your High Frequency Sonar Headgear. Huh… Not what you would have gone with, but the Winds know best… you guess. The Headgear’s main function is to assist with pinpointing objects using it’s sonar proximity-finder, which would ideally aid in the discovery of hidden treasures and items that the gear pings. The novelty of the gadget doesn’t go far unfortunately, since any setting above a twenty foot locator-radius would probably kill you, frying your brain like a dolphin trying to communicate with a submarine. It has a computer built into it though, so you think you’ll just use that, instead of its intended purpose. It wasn’t what you were expecting, but it should still do the trick. Although, simply wearing it gives you a headache from the bad memories, and it makes you look like kind of a doofus too. It’s a uni-goggle with an attaching helmet and a little spinning radar dish sticking out on top of it. Total nerd attire. Let’s make this fast, you don’t want anyone seeing you wear this thing.

You equip the Headgear and access your Pesterchum. Hopefully Mia hasn’t- wait what?

 

 

PESTERLOG:

-- delightfullyFlammulated [DF] is currently unable to pester syntheticKarma [SK] at 16:08 --

DF: Hello?
(not sent)
DF: Not sent? Come on!
(not sent)
DF: Stupid thing!
(not sent)

-- delightfullyFlammulated [DF] continues not pestering syntheticKarma [SK] at 16:09 --

It looks like you aren’t getting in contact with Mia that easily. Guess Pesterchum is having difficulty sending messages right now, which is odd because you can’t recall their servers ever being down before. Although, now that you think about it, how are its servers still up to begin with? Shouldn’t they have been eradicated with the rest of the earth? Unless it’s a part of the game, acting as Sburb’s built-in messaging system, which isn’t too implausible, but then that begs the question w- wait stop. You’re getting off track. Focus on the task at hand.

Okay, so Pesterchum isn’t an option right now. But that doesn’t necessarily mean you’re completely cut off from the others. There has to be more than one way to get in contact with them. There’s… ah… well. Hmm. You could… no, that’s just silly. What if you… darn it, that won’t work either! Wait, Esspin has that troll messenger system, doesn’t she? You could try giving that a shot! Sure, you have to go through Pesterchum to do it, but you never know. What did she say her handle was, again?

 

 

PESTERLOG:

-- delightfullyFlammulated [DF] is currently unable to pester fortunateOracle [FO] at 16:11 --

DF: Hey, Esspin? This is you right? I’m not sure if I got your handle right.
(not sent)
DF: Not that it matters…
(not sent)
DF: Because this piece of junk won’t bend anything!
(not sent)
DF: Oops, send not bend.
(not sent)
DR: What? No don’t send that!
(not sent)
DF: Or, I guess it’s not sending anything, really… Just don’t put it on the screen!
(not sent)
DF: Damn it! I’m never gonna get used to psychic typing!
(not sent)
DF: Grahh!
(not sent)

-- delightfullyFlammulated [DF] continues not pestering fortunateOracle [FO] at 16:12 --

Well that was productive. It’s official. You’re completely cut off from the others. You remove the Headgear and recaptchalogue it, no point in looking ridiculous for no reason. Also it gave you a nose bleed when it formed the psychic link with your mind. This just isn’t your day…

You wipe away the somewhat alarming amount of blood streaming down your face and are about to get back to brainstorming how to find the others when your Modus blows another card out of your inventory. Snatching it out of the air, you find it’s your High Frequency Sonar Headgear… again? Sorry, old gal, doesn’t look like that’s an option right now. We can’t get a message out for some reason. Thanks for trying anyway, you appreciate the effort.

You recaptchalogue the Headgear again, and in almost the same instant, your Modus spits it back out. It lands directly in your arms this time. Hey, come on now. The Headgear was a nice idea, but that’s just not going to work. You need to come up with something else.

Once again, you recaptchalogue the Headgear, and, once again your Modus blows it back out at you. The card slaps you across the face, causing you quite the bit of fluster.

“Piss off!” You shout at the open air, firmly clutching the card. This little exchange with your stubborn Retrieval Modus has provoked you something fierce! An interaction you’re all too familiar with. You’d thought you and the Winds were past this point in your relationship, having seemed to have reached a mutual understanding between one another. But apparently it’s gonna throw random useless items from your inventory directly in your face again. For no reason whatsoever! Just like the gOoD oLd DaYs!

Calming down, you realize that there’s a small group of chameleons that’ve formed a half circled around you, talking amongst themselves. Do they think you’re an art display or something?

“Hey, scram!” You bark at them. You’re in no mood to be thoughtfully contemplated upon by a bunch of scaly critics. After seemingly piecing together that you’re just a crazy vagrant and not some new interactive exhibit, they politely disperse.

So it appears that the Winds of Fate want you to do something with your High Frequency Sonar Headgear. You consider trying to recaptchalogue it again, but this isn’t the first time your Modus has thrown cards in your face. You’ll be here all day if you continue being this stubborn. For something so absolving, the Winds can be quite the strong-headed ox at times.

You equip your Headgear and try to figure out what the hell your Modus wants from you. Pesterchum is all but useless, so maybe the Winds want you to use the Sonar Function? Damn it all, you really don’t want to, but if the Winds insist… You take a breath, this is gonna suck. You activate the search-wave.

 

--##!@#&$%&^I&%&$#@!@!@$%$^%I&^*&%$^$&%#$@%#!$@!#@^$&%*^(%*$&%#^$@%#!!@$!^&*^##--

 

Oh god, it’s so much worse than you remember! All the information feedback is coming rushing in all at once! It’s like you’re sitting under a waterfall of pure thought, gallons upon gallons of information go unforgivingly slamming into your mind. It’s just about impossible to keep a coherent line of thought for more than a few seconds at a time. Okay, yeah, you’re at your limit, time to take this god forsaken piece of junk off.

You rip the Headgear off and feel the crippling regret that is the brain-splitting headache it gave you hit like a sledgehammer. Oh god, everything won’t stop spinning, you think you’re gonna be sick. Gotta find a trash can or a bucket or- Hey, you’re outside.

It appears that in your mind-melting stupor, you’d lost track of your footwork and wandered out of the museum. You’re in a garden in the front courtyard of the museum compound. There are a few chameleons in the area with you, closely observing and appreciating the patterns of the different flowerbed designs in the gardens. These guys sure do love their purposeful design.

It’s night time, and from Sburb Land rules, it’s most likely always been night time. The sky is absolutely beautiful, though. You don’t think you’ve ever seen so many stars in your life! You take a moment to appreciate the view. Yep, that sure is one mighty handsome sight! Alright, that’s a sufficient amount of appreciation. Back to business. First thing’s first; where are you? 

No idea! You had thought the museum you landed in would be useful for getting a point of reference to where you were, but the surrounding area, and likely the entire rest of the Land, is comprised of similar looking buildings, which you assume to be more museums. You’ll have to find a more distinguishing landmark if you want to figure out your location. Although landmarks would only really work if you already knew the area. You have no real point of reference to go off of, so blunder all the way!

Alright, since you’ve reached a dead-end on the first point of business, onto the second. How do you find your friends? You could always try the train thingy Esspin did for Jason. How did she describe it? You have to think about finding the others and… you’ll get a feeling of where they are, or something like that? Don’t you have to whittle down the… paths or-? Shoot! You weren’t paying close enough attention when she was explaining!

You begin to rub your temple out of frustration, feeling your options dwindling by the second. Normally you’d just walk around the Land until you find what you were looking for, but lives could be on the line right now. Esspin’s specifically if Mia finds her first. Concentrate! You’re lost, right? What do you do when you’re lost? Ask for directions, of course! But the only ones around are these chameleon guys. They do seem to be of an educated persuasion, although Consorts aren’t typically the most helpful with direct informational exchanges. It can’t hurt to try, you suppose.

“Hello,” You say, approaching a chameleon who’s off on his own, lingering away from the bigger lizard talk-circles. “Do you think I can talk to you for a minute?” 

“Salutations!” He addresses you, rather eagerly.

“Oh, uh, Greetings!” You greet again, trying to match his same level of enthusiasm.

“Of course we can talk! I didn't want to impose,” He begins to doddle with his hands. “but when I noticed your attire, I was practically dying to start up a conversation!”

“Really?” You ask, looking down trying to see what he means. “Oh, because of my- yeah, the outfit. Sorry, I didn’t think you knew about-“

“Oh certainly! Someone dressed as eccentrically as you are no doubtably has an appreciation for the most obscure facets of art.” He explains. Eccentric? What is this guy talking about? Your dress isn’t eccentric... A little unorthodox, maybe, but you didn’t design the thing!

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“Well I would hope not! There are so many pseudo-designers out there trying to make a statement with their fashion, but in my honest opinion they’re trying too hard! They go over the top to make their work seem deep or complex and it just ends up coming off as shallow and uninspired! Honestly, it gets sad after a while, seeing all these lost souls running around practically in clown paint and tattered wrappings. You would think that they’d wise up and take a look at how ridiculous they appear. I mean, come on, bright yellow as a primary textile? Your scales are dark purple, those colors clash, sweetie! If you want to make a statement, you really have to let it flow naturally. You certainly nail the ‘Simplistic yet Alluring’ look, I’d say. What is this fabric, by-the-by? I’d love to get your supplier’s information.” Okay, wow. This is just… wow.

“Actually, if I could interject for a moment, I just wanted to ask-“ You try to get in before he begins again.

“Oh yes, of course,” He begins again. “I can imagine someone of your experience has grown absolutely disgusted with conversing such mundane topics as color coordinations or intended fashion statements. Unfortunately, some of the simpletons around here aren’t as well versed on such subjects, as much as they might like to think.” He disgustedly glances at the crowds of conversing lizards from the sides of his tiny little eyes. Seems he’s not exactly a social butterfly. “No, I know when someone wishes for higher discussion! How about these floral arrangements, they’re a rather new addition to the grounds, and I’m told they’re relatively new to the Land in general, so I’m sure you aren’t quite the expert just yet, hahaha. Personally I’m drawn to the use of Red Lilies to act as a surrounding perimeter to the group of Blue Hydrangeas, while the Beige Petunias lie just outside their formation.” This is less of a conversation and more a hostage situation. Seriously, it feels like you’re in a cage right now.

“If I could just-”

“Typically,” This was a bad idea. You realize that now. “the Lilly is synonymous with funeral arrangements and by proxy, symbolic of death, but the red is where it really gets a deeper draw to it. Red evokes a very angry array of emotions and is typical as a representation of violence, bloodshed, etcetera. Alone this particular pairing symbolizes a violence in death, and a serious anguish with the deceased, but the fact that it surrounds the Blue Hydrangeas gives a whole new definition to the arrangement.”

“Uh…“ You’ve begun trying to discreetly move away from the conversation, but the little guy keeps in tow after you, continuing with his monologue. You guess he’s brushing it off as you trying to find other flowerbeds to critique.

“Hydrangeas are typically used for sending messages, direct emotional conveyance. It can be both positive and negative, depending on the coloring or arrangement, but the calming nature of the Blue petals suggest a more lighthearted implication. Whimsy, freedom, innocence, things of that nature. Death surrounding Freedom, yes? And this is where the image is finalized, here with the Petunias at their boarder. Petunias are the flower of resentment, you see. It’s what you send to someone you are cross with. Pair this with their Beige coloring, this drab, monotonous color, it tells me that this is an entity of confound anger, driven to harming those around it out of the sheer boredom of Life! And so what happens when this, coupled with the fact that they’re surrounding the Red Lilies who are shielding the Blue Hydrangeas, it paints a picture, a-a situation, a moment of Sacrifice to save an innocences from the threat of senseless destruction. It’s moving, truly, how something so simple can be so powerful. How about you, anything poignant that catches your eye?” He asks, finally seeming to let you talk.

“Uh, yeah that’s… that’s actually…” Sacrifice. Why does that… “Do you think you could elaborate a little more? I mean, you’re so much more well versed on… floral... arrangement than me. I’m still new to the field, I don’t think I could contribute as much to the dialogue, but please, go on…” He smiles enthusiastically at you, as enthusiastic as a lizard can smile. Which is pretty enthusiastic, but also really odd looking.

“I knew you were an individual with good tastes.” He playfully wags a finger at you. You can’t tell if what he said is more a compliment for you or for him. “Well, take these Dark Pink Roses and how the Crimson Poppy Flower is planted low to its roots.” Hopefully this hunch plays out, because hearing him talk is starting to make you grind your teeth.

 

Sara, continue to listen to the long-winded Lizard.

Chapter 11: > New Fronds

Update; the hunch did not play out. Not completely at least. But if you’ve learned one thing, it’s that your Chameleon friend sure knows a lot about the deeper significance of flowers, and the deeper significance of color… and the deeper annoyance of talking for a really really really long time. He sure is long winded for such a little guy. You think you might be to blame for that. His eyes practically exploded with excitement when you asked him to elaborate on his ideas. Damn it! Why are you so good at being encouraging?!

“-and that’s just about the entirety of this section of the garden installment. Now really, I would love to get your take on this. Surely you have something substantial to toss into the conversation?” He asks, breaking the somewhat glaze-like sheen that had been forming over your eyeballs. Oh shoot, that’s right, you were supposed to be finding your friends! You had gotten distracted hoping this guy would tell you more about the Red Lilies and Blue Hydrangeas, but he never rounded back to them.

“Actually… I don’t.“ You captchalogue the little lizard before he has a chance to say anything else. “And don’t call me Shirley.” Hot damn, that sick reference was so off the absolute his-ain that it nearly hopped you up an entire God-tier Rung on its own. Dang, so close! Next time, Owl-eyed Wrigglesitter. You will be mine…

With him now in your inventory, you’ve decided to name your new companion after legendary actor and suave celebrity heart-throb, George Clooney. For ironic purposes… mostly. What can you say, the little fella was able to keep you captivated, emphasis on captive, for all of his seemingly pointless rhetoric, all forty something minutes of it. That has to count for something, regardless if it was like pulling teeth.

Although, while his ramblings might have seemed pointless at face value, you’ve learned on your quest that you never ignore what the Consorts have to say. It’s almost uncanny how much information they can give you without even realize they said anything important, like it’s ingrained in their DNA to be informative. Like they have this subconscious compulsion to be little walking insight-nuggets. Not too hard to believe, considering how most things are brought into being in the Medium. The Carapacians, Imps, the Genesis Frog, even yourself had some sort of higher purpose in mind during your creation. You’re still not sure how to feel about the whole “slime baby” thing, or however Greg put it.

You remembered George saying something that seemed off when you were first talking to him. He said that the Gardens were a new feature across the planet, and that they showed up only recently. What strikes you as odd is that Lands are static entities, at least from what you observed on planets from your own session. The players are the ones who’re supposed to bring change to the Land. Which leads you to believe that these flowers were added only after the first players arrived in the Arena.

You wouldn’t think much of it, but the coloring seems… distinct. It’s just a theory, but you think that the flowerbeds symbolize events in the Arena. Ridiculous? Sure. Impossible? Come on, this is Sburb you’re talking about. You were sent to Earth on an asteroid that entered your universe through a cloud-world’s defense matrix, after you were created by being cloned from your own future-self. That is, if you’re to believe what Greg told you. Although he could have just been jerking your chain when he said all that. He did have a habit of chain-jerking from time to time. Regardless of his sincerity about your coming-into-existence, record-keeping/possibly prophetic flowers isn’t the strangest thing you’ve heard of.

You’re pretty sure the Blue Hydrangeas with the Red Lilies surrounding them is supposed to be when Greg… when he went Down. So that means that you’re represented by the Blue Hydrangeas and the Beige Petunias are that bastard Prince. This is the only section in the flowerbed where the Blue Hydrangeas are surrounded by the Red Lilies in a defensive shield from the Beige Petunias. Once the Petunias disappear from the arrangement, the Lilies take a smaller presence in other flowerbeds, with only a single small Red Lily poking up from the root at your Hydrangea’s base. If that means what you think it means…

Before you can follow that train of thought any further, you’re interrupted by your Retrieval Modus. It’s blown another card out from your inventory. That or George Clooney’s figured a way out of your Sylladex. You’re not too comfortable keeping him locked up in there, but you might need his assistance in decoding any future encrypted art messages. It’s not like it’s a permanent thing, you’ll let him go before you leave to another Land. Sort of like catch-and-release fishing, except you’re getting art commentary from the trout you’ve just reeled in.

Oh, it spit out your High Frequency Sonar Headgear again… goodie. Well, no point dragging your feet, you’ve been here long enough as is. You really need to get a move on with finding your friends, so might as well just take your medicine now. Damn, right when your headache went away, too. Oh well. You equip the Headgear and activate the search-wave.

 

--##!@#$%^&*(*$!(*&^%%^&*^&(&^#@$%^&*((*&^%!~#$%$!*&#%@*%^()*_*&($#$@#(*$##$%##--

 

***

 

You’ve had the Headgear on for what feels like hours, but you know well enough that it’s probably only been around five or so minutes. The fact that you know this makes the experience at least ten times worse, but you manage to soldier on. For at least ten, maaybe fifteen seconds longer.

You remove the Headgear and feel your nose absolutely erupt with blood. Christ, you really need to get rid of this thing. Just focus on figuring out where you are before you pass out from blood loss. Oh look, another museum garden, who would have saw that coming. It appears you’re at the side of the building, right at its base where its stone foundation peeks into the courtyard. It’s hard to tell if you’re in the same hedge enclosure as your were before or if you’ve wandered into another museum’s outside area while you had the Headgear on. The layout is pretty much the same, but the flowerbeds look unfamiliar. Guess that means you’re in a different garden, then? Does it matter? Maybe? You didn’t know where you were before, and you don’t know where you are now, so… net-net?

Oh jeez, you’re gonna need a minute. This much thinking directly after sonar usage is starting to make you nauseous. The world won’t stop spinning! You place one hand against the ivy-covered museum exterior for support, and continue to wipe away blood from your face with the other, all the while trying to keep from adding a new vomitorium installment in the garden bushes. Yeah, you’re pretty sure you’re about to puke.

“Excuse me.” You hear from the left of you. The panic of realizing someone’s snuck up on you puts emptying your stomach on hold…for now, and you shoot your attention up towards the source of the voice. It’s another player, and he’s a troll, too. “Are you alright?”

You stare at him like a deer in headlights, breathing heavily as your heart pounds in anticipation waiting for him to start a Strife. It takes his look of unsettled bewilderment to make you realize you’re being really weird right now. From his perspective, all he did was ask if you were okay and he gets some freaky mouth-breathing alien ogling at him as a response. You catch your breath and calm down, seeing that he doesn’t seem immediately hostile towards you, as all he’s done so far is awkwardly stands around, watching you try to pull yourself together. You gulp, swallowing the spit forming due to breathing out your mouth, and go to speak.

“I’m… fine, I think.” You tell him, your outfit and hands still smothered with your own blood. “You wouldn’t happen to have a bucket with you by any chance, would you?” You add on, feeling your stomach begin to turn again. He seems to tense up at your question, and his face illuminates with an intense green blush.

“Uh, well I, I-I-I don’t- I mean, n-no? T-that’s kind of a personal question, don’t you think?” He stammers.

“Sorry?” You apologize, not sure what’s got him so flustered. “I didn’t mean anything by it, I promise.” Looking him over now that you’ve had a moment, you notice he’s a lot smaller than Esspin, maybe even just shorter than yourself as well, but definitely a troll. The moss-green butterfly wings are a dead giveaway. Also the grey skin, but that doesn’t undeniably mean troll. Anyone can have grey skin, doesn’t make ‘em a troll. You assume he has candy corn horns as well, but they must be small enough that they can hide under his hood with ease.

Speaking of Trolls, you should really get back to finding Esspin, given Mia hasn't gotten her hands on her by now. Maybe this guy can help with finding her… It doesn’t seem like he’s looking for a fight, so you think he’d be open to helping you. And trolls have psychic powers, don’t they? Maybe their species has a mental-link hivemind with one another, and he could sniff Esspin down like a bloodhound for you! Wait, is that racist? Assuming he can find Esspin just because he’s a troll? You hope not…

“I-it’s fine, just kinda caught me off guard, is all. Not the first thing you expect a bloodied stranger to ask when you say hi to them, hehe.” He says, seemingly settling down with a tug of his collar. “But really, are you sure you’re alright? I came across you tw- y-you? Just you… only you, and you were just kinda stumbling around in circles like a drunk strutgoblin.”

“No, no, I’m fine, really.” You assure him as you straighten out, tilting your head back to peter off the nose-gush. Also what the heeeck are strutgoblins? “I’m feeling better now that this thing is off my head.” You hold the Headgear up by it’s strap for him to see. “Thank you for asking… and, you know, for not killing me. I was a bit exposed there.”

“Oh, yeah, you don’t really have to thank me for that.” He scratches the back of his ear at the gratitude. “Kinda common curtesy, not killing someone when they’re wobblin’ around in a debilitating stupor.”

“Well, thank you either way.” You smile, lowering your head, confident the blood’s stopped Niagara Fallzing out of your face. “With our situation, I’m surprised there are still people who don’t start fights on sight. Oh! I’m getting ahead of myself.” You hastily rub your hand against your hip, trying to wipe the blood off it. “I’m Sara, uh Human. I’m the Sylph of Breath.” You extend your now clean paw to him, proposing an Acquainting Shake, as is customary with your Team’s inter-species introduction ceremony.

“Nice to meet you, Sara Human. I’m Amvinn Orrick. Seer of Heart.” He says, accepting the shake proposal as he takes your hand. New friend, nice!

“You wouldn’t happen to know if anyone else is here, would you, Amvinn?” You ask him, giving a glance around the courtyard in the slimmest chance of spotting your Team.

“N-no! I mean… Nope, just you and me. And these scalebeasts, of course.” He says, looking around with you.

“Scale be-, ah right. Troll.” There’s a few chameleons trotting about the garden you’re in, undoubtably scouring for more exhibits to feast upon. Guess trolls call lizards scale-beasts? Unless that’s the actual name for the species these consorts are. “But you’re absolutely sure no one’s here? You have’t seen anyone, even in passing?” You ask again, fishing for even the slightest clue to go off of. His eyes dart to the side for a brief second, looking at something behind you. Confused, you follow his gaze, glancing over your shoulder, but there’s nothing there.

“Sorry. No one.” He shrugs as he looks back to you, reaffirming his first answer.

“Ahh, dang. If they’re not here then…” You huff, braining up a storm trying to think of more ways to find them. Ah, ask him about your hivemind idea! “Hey, would you be offended if I asked you to find someone with your psychic powers?”

“Why would that offend me?” He tilts his head, giving you a quizzical look.

“I-…Just checking.” Okay, good. He isn’t offended and you finally have a lead towards the others!

“I can’t, by the way.” He adds. “I don’t have psychic powers.”

“Double Dang!” Back to square one.

“Why do you ask? Are you looking for someone?”

“Yeah, my friend. Another troll, actually.” You sigh. “Her name’s Esspin. You wouldn’t know her, would you?” Okay if your first assumption wasn’t offensive, that one’s definitely pushing the race boundary. What, are all Trolls supposed to know each other, Sara? Oh my god, Sara, you can’t just ask people why they’re a Troll. “She’s pretty tall, big horns with zig-zags at the ends, she’s a Hope player. Big purple wings and-.”

“Purple?” He questioningly interrupts. “You met a highblood…? And they didn’t try to subjugglate you on the spot?” Sub…juggle-hate? “Nothing personal, but your blood, it’s just… absurdly too red for their tolerance. To an almost comedic degree.” He gestures up and down to your red-cell stained dress with his index finger.

“I don’t… what?” Mia might have a point, trolls are weird.

“Ah, it doesn’t matter.” He says, folding his arms. “So this Esspin, you say she’s your friend?” There’s a tone of unbelieving in his voice, still skeptical that you’re acquainted with a high blood, whatever that even is?

“Yeah, her and two other humans. We came to Locaf looking for someone, but the gateway separated us.” You explain, only showing him the surface of recent events that’ve been absolutely flummoxing you.

“What do you mean ‘Locaf'?”

“The Land of Constellations and Frogs.” You say pointing up towards the sky. He still looks just as confused. “Ah, right! Um, constellations are like… stars clusters that can form an image if you can connect them the right way.”

“I know what a constellation is, but this isn’t Locaf.” He clarifies. “I was already on Locaf, and this isn’t it. I mean, do you see any frogs?” Man, this really isn’t your day.

“What? No, dang it! We’re never gonna get to blow up the Forge!” Mia was right, then. That wasn’t the right portal. “Then where are we?!”

“I-I’m not sure. I haven’t bothered asking the Consorts for the name.” He says while taking a step back at your sudden frustrated mood. “‘Blow up the Forge’?” His eyes narrow in confusion, curious for an explanation.

“Yeah, we’re trying to find this person who can see everything so they can help us with this super cool mission me and my Team have, but we have no idea how to find them so we thought hey! get their attention with a big explosion so they’ll be like those guys are super cool and would come find us, and we were gonna do that to the Forge but we have to find the Forge first, so we got on the Hope Train because it was supposed to take us there but instead it took us here and so getting there’s been a shoddy operation in-and-of-itself obviously, and even when we got here, we got split up and now my friend might be trying to kill my other friend and we’re all scattered and not even in the right Land and my modus keeps making me wear this dumb nerd helmet that slowly cooks my brain every time I put it on, and I’m like ‘no I don’t want to wear it’, but my Modus is like ‘no you have to wear it’, and I’m like ‘but I don’t want to’, and it’s like ‘no but you have to’ and everything seems to be going wrong, so it feels like one step forward and two steps back and that we’ll never get out of this place cause tricking Paradox Space is too hard and we’re all gonna end up dead with Holes in our Chest before we even find the stupid Volcano in the first place!” You hadn’t realized, but your volume was slowly getting louder and louder as you vented all your troubles to this Troll guy. You have to take a breath once you finish talking, but when you do, it feels like a weight off your shoulders getting all that off your chest. You’ve been very stressed lately.

“Uh… Have you tried asking directions?” Amvinn asks, seeing you’re done with your tirade.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t able to get a word in edgewise!” You exclaim again, remembering yet another thing that’s been stressing you out recently. “You wouldn’t believe how much scale-beasts can talk.” Amvinn’s eyes narrow, his incredulous expression asking if you even heard the word-vomit you were just spewing. You don’t notice, though, too busy dwelling on George’s lecture which still liners fresh in your mind, somehow having survived through the brain-damage the High Frequency Sonar Headgear gave you.

“But… you didn’t actually ask?” You can feel yourself turn red at his question. Today has just been blunder after blunder for you. How could you not actually ask George Clooney directly?! He’s a three foot tall purple art snob, why didn’t you take charge?! As you expect, your Retrieval Modus blows his card out from your inventory, and it sways back and forth in the air, gently floating down until it lands directly in your gobsmacked hands. Just uncapping the saltshaker and dumping it into that wound.

“Come on out, George.” You sigh, deploying him in front of you like some bootleg pokemans.

“Oh, hello again, Madam. Have you buffed up on your interpretation since we last spoke? I’m sure I’d make a good subject to test your hand against.” He spouts off as soon as he sees you, seemingly unfazed from being in your sylladex for an extended period of time. You can breathe a bit easier knowing he wasn’t too troubled being cooped up in there.

“No, George, I’d like to-“

“Oh, how nice! Another eccentric! How do you do, Sir?” God damn it, it’s happening again.

“Hello! I’m well, thank you for asking!” Amvinn returns the pleasantries before looking back up towards you. “You captured one of these guys?”

“He isn’t captured! He’s just… assisting me right now.” You say, poorly defending your actions. “I need his help figuring out where I’m supposed to go.”

“Is that so…?” He asks with an disbelieving suspicion, cocking an eyebrow at you. “I thought you didn’t ask him directions yet?”

“I didn’t, but he knows a few things about what’s going on in this Land. He’s sort of like my intelligence source.” You explain.

“Huh, I didn’t think these guys knew much about anything.” Amvinn says, crouching down to get a closer look at George. “No offense.”

“None taken.” George replies as he turns to face the both of you, straightening his posture for emphasis.

“I’ve only ever herd them talk about random art babble or make snide comments about one another.” He says while peeping the various lizards wondering about the garden.

“That’s… kind of what I need help with? W-wait! I’m getting off track again! George!” You call to him.

“I’m George, right?” George asks.

“Where are we?!” You finally snap.

“Hmm.” He begins. “Well that’s a very deep question, isn’t it. Where are we? I think before you even start to answer that, you need to first look inward. Who are we? And the best way to go about that whole existential trial of discovery would probably be-“

“Geoorge.” You groan.

“He’s right you know.” Amvinn interjects, looking up at you from his still-squatted position. “It’s always good to take a look at your inner-self before deciding where you’re going in the world.”

“The Land’s name, George. What is it?” You clarify, doing your best to ignore Amvinn playing devil’s advocate.

“Oh. The Land of Art Exhibits and Forge.” He answers like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“Wha- Forge? Like the Forge? The Volcano?” You ask, unsure if you heard him right.

“Correct. But I wouldn’t get too excited if I were you, there’s absolutely nothing interesting about the rock pile. No deeper significance or symbolism, just a great big eyesore.” He groans as he rests his hands on his hips.

“Land of art exhib- what the hell?” You hear Amvinn mutter to himself. “How would you even pronounce that? La- Laee- Leea- Laeaf?”

“Do you know where it is?” You inquire with the faintest bit of hope rebuilding itself in you.

“Not in the slightest.” George confidently tells you, swatting that hope back into the ground like he’s blocking the game winning shot. “Nothing there to critique. Not really memorable. Remembering the way to it would be a waste of Energy.”

“Gah!” So close, yet so far.

“Why do you have this guy with you, again?” Amvinn asks, lightly poking George in the fin shape on the back of his head, as if unfamiliar with his anatomy. George swats the troll boy’s hand with his tongue in annoyance.

“He can read the flowers.” You huff, feeling that ever looming sense of defeat again.

“Read?” Amvinn looks back up at you while wiping lizard spit off his hand, onto his shirt.

“Yeah, like, he can see the secret message they hold within.”

“Mm-hm?” He hums, cautiously nodding his head. You realize what you just said might sound a little crazy. “And that means whaat exactly?”

“It means that I’m an art connoisseur of the highest degree!” George proclaims, pointing upwards for added exclamation. Amvinn stands back up again, getting a better vantage point for the performance that’s inevitably about to happen. “Interpreter of the most elite of high cultural art. I bestow upon the ignorant true enlightenment of the deep complexity that lies within these noble works, of which they can only dream of understanding. I am, in every sense of the word, a Renaissance Man.” He shuts his eyes and raises his chin up with pride. He certainly has a high self-image. Amvinn looks to you for confirmation.

“That’s not… entirely inaccurate.” You tell him, trying your best not to disappoint George. He seems fond of you, and what kind of friend would you be if you took down his monumental ego? A pretty good one, actually, but you still need his help and you don’t want to piss him off. “I think the flowerbeds might be recording everything in the Arena, maybe even predicting them as well. George here is helping me understand events the flowers are depicting.”

“So that’s how it is?” George asks, bringing a hand up to his scaly chin. “I can’t say I blame you, my insight is quite the commodity.” You won’t do it now, but you’re gonna have to have a serious talk with George about self esteem. His claim evokes a slight snicker from Amvinn, but he straightens up almost instantly for some reason, like he’s focusing to listen to something.

“Huh? Oh,… uh, w-what if they’re just flowers?” Amvinn asks a bit awkwardly, almost like he’s reading from a script. You knew there was a large chance the flower thing is all a high-frequency-sonar-induced delusion, but you don’t have a backup plan for finding the others, so you’ve really placed all your eggs into one basket on this one.

“Impossible! Take this for example.” George scoffs, sauntering up to the nearest flowerbed. “If the context of these floral arrangements are as you propose, then I think I’d be confident saying… these! These right here are representative of the current moment!”

You walk over beside George and take a look at what he’s talking about. You just see a mess of flowers, all different colors and breeds. One, however, stands out to you. Your Blue Hydrangea with the Red Lily at its root.

“Could you… elaborate.” You force out through gritting teeth. You see a smirk form on the lizard’s face as he glances over to you.

“I’d thought you’d never ask.” Oh god, what have you done? “If I understand correctly, you believe yourself to be represented by the Blue Hydrangeas with the Red Lilies, yes?” He says, pointing to you. “I hope this is due to a more personal reason, and not simply because you’re dressed in blue, but regardless, we can say this is you for now. And see them here, with the light purple Asters, a flower symbolic of Knowledge and Wisdom. I think it’s obvious that these are representative of yours truly. They’re located between you and the Maroon Protea with the Dark Green Chrysanthemum bud at it’s base. If we’re going by the horribly simplistic interpretation of color coding, I suppose that would make them you.” He points to Amvinn. “It’s a perfect depiction of the current moment. Of I bridging you two together with the knowledge I possess. But if it is based on color, and good grace help me if it is, I’m unsure of what the flowers at the base of each of your stems might repres-

“I think that’s a good enough explanation.” Amvinn says, stopping George before he’s able to get on too long of a tangent. Thank god, you have an ally in this. You lightly smile at Amvinn, and he gives you a wink in return, as if to say 'no problem'. As he does, for the briefest of moments, it looks like a glint of red flashes across the iris of his open eye. You blink a few times, unsure of what you just saw. It must’ve been the light reflecting strangely off the sheen of his eye, but it caught you way off guard. And that wink too, it seemed… familiar...

“Are you sure? How about I interpret another bed?” George proposes slyly, leaning towards you. Amvinn nods your way, more than likely indicating for you to put your foot down. “There seems to be a rampant strain of Light brown Iris taking over the neighboring garden. Perhaps one of you eccentrics has become-“

“George.” You cut him off. “I think that’s enough for now.”

“B-, but what of the Black Gladiolus and how passionately they interact with the Red Hyacinth?”

“Geooorge?” You try again, in a lighter tone.

“The Lush Green Lilac, and how they envelope the Dark Pink Roses, doesn’t that peek your interest? Look look, these Golden Tulips? I mean, come on! They’re surrounding a nursery of Grey Daffodils. Surly that has your att-”

“George.” You say firmly, which seems to quiet him into a sulk. You don’t like being so forceful, but you’ll be here all day if you let him talk as much as he wants. “Thank you… And don’t call me Shirley.” That reference had a seriously short shelf life, and was nowhere near as off the his-ain as your first go around of it. The title of Owl-eyed Wrigglesitter eludes you yet again. Oh well, at least Amvinn's getting a chuckle from it, laughing when you make the joke. Strange, how would a Troll know about an Airplane reference?

“Alright, I see where you’re coming from with the flower thing,” Amvinn says as he taps a knuckle to his chin. Huh, that’s funny, Greg used to do that same thing when he was brainstorming about something. “but what if it’s just a coincidence? Or, say it isn’t a coincidence. Can you really figure out how to find your friends with them? I’m not trying to be a downer, but you said you were running out of time, right? So…” He makes an odd, yet familiar motion with his hands, shaking them parallel to one another. You recognize that he’s saying ‘Think it through’… because Greg would make that same gesture when he wanted you to reevaluate your plans. How does he...

“Preposterous.” George interrupts, grabbing your attention away from Amvinn. That brief period of silence didn’t last long. “My mentor assured me, when it comes to the natural world, there’s always a deeper complexity to the little things. I’m sure you’d find your way if you just take a closer look.”

“You had a mentor?” You ask him. The notion never crossed your mind that one of these guys could have a teacher, but it would make sense that his culture would thrive on a knowledge-exchange dynamic like that.

“Of course! All great critics have mentors. That’s basically fact.” George informs you. Amvinn leans his head back and looks at him with a great deal of skepticism.

“Really?” He asks, obviously taking his story with a hefty grain of salt. George nods, the faintest bit of pride plastered all across his face. “Uh-huh. When did you first meet your mentor then?” He taps his chin again, waiting for the answer.

“Oh, I remember it like it was yesterday. Mainly because I met her yesterday. She was an eccentric, like you two. So naturally, my eye for talent drew me towards her. She agreed to teach me the complexities of the fine botanical arts and the rest is history. Funny, she wore a dress quite similar to yours,” George says, looking to Amvinn.

“Uhh, not a dress. It’s a Robe.” He corrects him, flaunting his outfit.

“The only difference is that her dress had a green wisp emblazoned upon it, not that silly little heart emblem.” He continues, ignoring Amvinn’s correction. He broods at the disregarding. “She was quite the vast wealth of knowledge, you really had to be there to appreciate it. Such smugness, such condescension, a true critic of the natural world! I think you both would have been delighted with her input. And such a foil her angry companion was, nihilism set forth in front of unadulterated anger. Truly a sightly duo of the arts.”

“Wait, angry companion? W-was she wearing purple?” You eagerly ask.

“Yes, she was practically made of purple, I’d say.” There’s no way it could be Mia, could it? There’s probably more than one female Rage player in the Arena, and this was yesterday, he said. But… Esspin did mention that there could be Time shenanigans afoot, so there’s a chance it could be her, how little it might be. Even then, what are the odds future-her is still hanging around, though?

“Where’d they go?” You ask, to which he nonchalantly shrugs. God-… Mmmph!

“She left as fast as she came. Like a breeze in the night. Truly inspiring.” He explains.

“Well, what about her angry friend? Could you describe her in more detail?” You try again to grasp at straws.

“Certainly.” George says, bringing a ponderous hand against his chin. “Let’s see. She had long dark hair, went down to about just past her shoulders and it seemed to curl towards the ends.” Check. “She had the most bone chilling glare. Definitely the worst I’ve ever been on the receiving end of.” Double Check. “Aaaand she wore a maid’s outfit, if I’m not mistaken. I found that rather odd, but not the strangest thing I’ve seen in terms of fashion statements going around lately. Rather mundane, all things considered. Not anything like you eccentrics, with those daring ensembles.” He glances between you and Amvinn. Long black hair, icy glare, maid most fair. Yep, that’s Mia alright. Looks like there’s going to be some temporal rumpus happening soon. Or, already happening. Happening right now, even…? You miss Greg.

“Well… at least she’ll be alright for now.” You try looking on the bright side. “I still have no way of getting back together with them…” You glance between your new allies, considering any possible ways for them to help. Amvinn has been a big help so far, if for no other reason than being a warm figure in all this mess, like he’s already a close friend just after meeting him. He’s also been helping you manage all the emotional baggage these past few days has been forklift-loading by the crateful into your brain. He seems preoccupied at the moment, though. Looking back and forth between two random spots in the garden, with an attentive expression on his face. You guess he’s busy in thought? George is knowledgeable about the flowerbeds, which led to your discovery about the plant records on this planet. Maybe you would try that again, just very, very carefully this time? ”George?”

“Yes?” He stands impatiently for what you’re about to request, already seeming to see the look in your face.

“I’m gonna ask you to do something for me.” You tell him.

“Yees?” He prompts you to go on.

“But I only want this one thing, alright? Nothing else.” Boundary officially set. “I’m very short on time, so I need to know you can handle only talking about one thing.”

“Hm.” He grumbles, judging whether or not to take your deal. “Fine. I suppose that’s acceptable. What is it you need my talents for?”

“I need you to read through the flowers and find a point where I reconvene with my Team.” You request. “And help me figure out how to get to that point.”

“Alright, I’ll see if I can take a crack at it.” He agrees, beginning his search. “Hmm.” He walks past, sauntering through the garden like he’s taking a stroll through the park. Which you guess this garden is kinda like a park, so he should be well within strolling-parameters. You follow in tow, nervously glancing around the various beds for your Blue Hydrangea/Red Lily bunch. In the middle of your search, a light breeze catches your attention, blowing a cluster of petals down an aisle in the hedges.

“Huh?” You glance down the leafy-corridor the gust led down, and at the end of the junction is an odd looking rock, about the size of a small car. A few chameleons are circled around it, busy in their critique. It’s a weird red color with a few tufts sprouting from it. They’re all different colors, but even from this distance, you can spot your Hydranglies growing out of the stone. “George, look.”

“How peculiar, these Purple Gardenias have a series of Golden Orobanche entangled around them.” He mutters, pondering upon the vegetation. “It should be starving its growth, but it seems to have more than enough to give, leaving it unbothered.”

“Wha- George!” You exclaim, seeing him not keeping his word of helping undistracted.

“Right, apologies.” He sighs as he walks past you towards the weird rock. “My, my, quite the accumulation.” He rather bore-headedly pushes a few other chameleons out of the way to get a better look. “I see you’ve spotted your flower.” He mentions, lightly brushing the underside of a Hydrangly petal. Closer now, you notice there are actually several Hydranglies sprouting out of the rock at different points, mixed in with a series of other brightly colored flowers. It also appears that the red color of the rock is due to a sort of moss that’s covered it entirely.

“So, George.” You walk up beside him. “What’s your prognosis?”

“Mmmm.” He both thoughtfully and noisily ponders, garnering a few dirty looks from his surrounding lizard brethren. “Looking at the foundation of the piece… Volcanic rock, blanketed in a Blood Colored Moss, and this orange and red grass at it’s base. A stage, to say for certain, but the question that follows, what is it trying to preform?”

“Tf.” A chameleon in a yellow dress scoffs at his vocal evaluation. “Yes, a conclusion already a week stale. Keep at it junior, I’m sure if you say it louder, you’ll sound a little less incompetent.” They’re muttering to themselves, but it’s nowhere near quiet enough not to be intended for others to hear, causing a collection of quiet snickers to come from the nearby crowd. George glances over at the snarky lizard, mouth left slightly agape in surprise at the comment, before looking down in a disheartened sulk. This bitch…

Seeing your Consort buddy having all the wind taken out of his sails rustles the hell out of your jimmies! In response, you cock a paw to your side and flick up, subtly evoking a sudden gust of wind to blow through and flip the bottom of her dress up, revealing a ridiculously old fashioned pair of bloomers. They squeal while trying to push the frill back down, but their sudden cry only draws the attention of the immediate area to them sooner.

“My, going for a swim later?” One chameleon with a (possibly fake?) mustache sarcastically comments, which causes a few others to chuckle in response. The jeer embarrasses the dress lizard further, and they quickly dash away. George glances up at you, having seemed to notice your small jape, looking confused why you did it. You smile, giving him a wink to let him know you’ve got his back. He smiles in response.

“W-well…” He cheerfully turns back to the stone, having regained his confidence. “As previously said, I see your Blue Hydrangeas with the Red Lilies, but they’re also accompanied by a myriad of others we’ve seen at other beds, which I would say gives credit to your notion that each strand of flower signifies a particular individual. Your Eccentric friend with the Heart Dress, his flower is here too, the Maroon Protea with the bit of Dark Green Chrysanthemum at its stem. There’s also Gold Cornflowers and a strand of Black Dahlia with Purple Stripes in the mix. There seems to be a cluster of those Dark Pink Roses with the Crimson Poppy Flower at their root we saw before, centered towards the top, surrounding a patch of Red Hyacinth at the very peak. Although, since the Roses and the Hyacinth can be found scattered elsewhere on the rock as well, mixed in with the other strains, I can only assume this moment is meant to be a freeze frame of chaos. All these flowers spastically peppering the rock, each one a sprouting progeny nourished by the Blood Colored Moss, it says that there’s a loss of any sort of sequence or cohesion in a violent, messy blitz, yet they remain connected by their roots. Affixed together by this one moment set upon the Volcanic rock. However, there exists another force within this fray, nearly invisible, yet overly present.”

“Really?” You ask, looking between George and the rock, with it seeming like he’s already described everything.

“Yes, look close, see?” He points to the slightest shade change in parts of the moss. “A lining of Lush Green roots girdle the rock beneath the moss covering. It’s hard to say for certain what strand of flower those roots belong to, but they wrap around the stage, thoroughly binding it together. As if to suggest the entire structure were to fall apart in its absence, lending a sense of order that tries to keep the chaos from completely destroying the piece altogether. And they all collate to the very top, just beneath the Red Hyacinth patch.”

“I’m definitely seeing some familiar colors.” You mention once George finishes his analysis. “Specifically those Red, purple and golds. So that means we do manage to reunite. That’s a load off…” A heavy sigh escapes your lips, relieved that Mia probably isn’t gonna kill Esspin. “Now we just have to backtrack from this moment. See if you can find any flowerbeds with the same flowers as the rock in them. If we can string together enough moments, we can figure out how to get there from here.”

“I’ll get to analyzing.” George nods, turning his attention to a nearby nursery.

“Hey, Sara.” Amvinn calls, walking around the garden, having seemed to finally come out of his apparently very deep thought.

“Over here.” You call back, waving once he pokes his head past the corner at the other end of the hedge hall.

“Hey, um…” He murmurs, walking up. “So about that angry friend of yours. I’ve been thinking and well, how angry would you say they are, really?”

“How angry?” You repeat, not quite sure what he’s asking. Angry is angry, isn’t it?

“Like on a scale from one to ten.” He expands his unusual inquiry. “One being sort of snappy, ten being…” He struggles for a good example, glancing up at the night sky.

“Nearly beating an old friend into a coma immediately after reconnecting with them?” You propose, which seems to catch him off guard.

“Uh, y-yeah.” He agrees in confusion. “This friend then, you’d say she’s… passionate? About certain things?”

“That’s one way to put it.” You chuckle at his understatement. “She’s a real powder keg. That’s actually why I’m in such a rush to find her. I’m afraid she’s gonna kill the troll girl I was telling you about if I don’t get to her first.”

“Would that be to say that her emotional level could be rather high at this very moment?” He continues on, glancing up every few words. “Or rather I should ask, could her anger light up the sky? Like, if you could physically see it, it would be substantial enough to do so?”

“If you put it like that. Kinda weird, but yeah, I guess. Why?”

“Because I can. Physically see it, I mean.” He states, scratching the nail of his thumb as his face turns greener and greener. “Emotions. I can see them as a sort of vapor emission that escapes out of the nugbone. And there’s a lot of it in the air tonight. Anger, to be specific. And I mean, like… a lot.”

“Wait, what?” You ask, a bit baffled that he didn’t tell you about this sooner.

“Seriously, Sara. It’s like someone set the god damn sky on fire.” He looks up once again, clearly impressed by whatever it is he’s beholding. “I don’t think I can do it justice. I’d say it’s like an aurora of purple fury, but even that doesn’t come close to the pure magnitude of unfiltered-“

“Amvinn. Not to interrupt, but why didn’t you bring this up earlier?”

“Sorry, it didn’t seem that relevant up until now.” He shrugs. “It’s also a twinge hard to bring up naturally in conversation. You can’t just say ‘Hey, there’s a dynamo of rapidly unraveling hatred somewhere on the planet making for one hell of a light show. How are you today?’ …S-... Sorry. I didn’t mean for that to come off as rude.” He adds on at the end. Guess that empath sight clued him in on the fact that you’re growing more and more fumed as time goes on.

“It’s whatever, look, can you track her down with this?” You ask, almost certain that Mia is the one at the end of this Contemptively-Colored-Rainbow. “Does it form a trail you can follow, or does it like, I-I don’t know, disperse after a certain point? Or segment into independent blobs like clouds do?” It should be quite obvious that you aren’t exactly sure how emotions interact with the atmosphere, proposing all these ideas.

“Not quite a trail, but I can certainly lead you to the center of it’s vortex, sure.” He says, oh so nonchalantly. Doesn’t he know how monumental this is? You’re finally free of the stupidity that is your current situation! “W-, uh I mean, definitely! Yeah, I’m-… yeah! Let’s do it!”

“Okay…” That was odd, he really perked up there. Oh right, he probably just saw you were getting excited and wanted to match your emote-levels. Empaths, man, what an odd bunch. However, seeing your elation sink at his own sudden moment of enthusiasm, Amvinn walks back his reaction somewhat, unsure of how to adapt to your emotional expression.

“Wait!” George yells, grabbing your attention again. “What about the flowers? We’ve already made good headway here. Don’t you at least want to see if we can figure out your avenue this way first?”

There’s a very noticeable look of sadness in George’s eyes. His tiny, squinty little eyes. He’s looking to you for any sign of approval, having already begun to think of you in such high regard, you're sure. You walk over to the little guy and kneel down so you’re at about the same height as him, giving a warm smile once you’re face to face.

“No.” You sweetly inform him. “Now come on. Amvinn, lead the way.” You grab George by the arm and start escorting him after yet another new Troll friend. Today is just full of new friends!

“But the floweeeeeeers!” George moans, digging his feet into the ground as you drag while pointing back to the flowerbeds. You aren’t exactly sure how old George is, but you’re beginning to believe he might be on the younger side given this little tantrum. He is a lot smaller than the other chameleons, but you just thought he was a runt.

If he is a kid, doesn’t that mean you can’t give him back now? That’s how it works, right? Once they’re around humans long enough and get their scent, the mother won’t want them back and will just eat them or something? Oh my god, you have to be his parent now! Oh God, how could this happen?! It was just one night of fun, you didn’t mean for it to come this far! You don’t even know this woman! She’s lying! The kid’s not yours, damnit! She’s just trying to pawn her responsibilities off on some poor sap with enough money to ring child-support out of! Oh hell, what are you saying, of course the kid is yours. Just look at the resemblance! You don’t think you’re ready for this kind of responsibility, but you’ll be damned if you let this kid grow up in a slum like this without a half-decent role model like yourself to show ‘em the way!

Okay, Sara. Enough of this silliness. It’s time to get serious. You have a thousand pounds of anger in a hundred and twentyish pound bag to find. As you set out with Amvinn and George by your sides, you notice something poking out of the brick base of the flowerbed the Volcanic stone display is placed upon. A White Tulip has sprouted from between a crack in the mortar. At the bottom of the tulip’s petals are faint splashes of Purple, staining the flower to look as if it were being drained of its color. In the brief moment you spot the small bloom, it wilts over, dead. As if it was waiting to be seen one last time before passing on to the other side. Well, that certainly was ominous. Maybe you should just focus on finding your angry friend.

 

Sara, follow the Purple Mist Road!

Chapter 12: > Days of Branching Futures

You fail spectacularly at following the Purple Mist Road because you can’t see the Purple Mist Road! Amvinn’s the one who sees Mia’s anger trail, not you. You also fail spectacularly at following the Purple Mist Road because you are no longer Sara. What, you didn’t notice? Come on, try and keep up.

Let’s see, who are you going to be? You haven’t been Greg yet, how about you try being him? Oh, right, he’s dead. Or… is he?

He is. About as dead as a doornail that had a hole punched through it by a sociopath in goofy pants. How about you try for the next best thing and be a living Time player.

It looks like you’ll be Jason then. It’s about time. You were getting a bit uncomfortable being all those other people for so long. He’s the main character, after all. Your main squeeze, your confidant, your favorite puppet with no strings attached. The only downside to being Jason at the moment is that you’re currently a bit busy. Not too busy not to be yourself, obviously, just mildly preoccupied.

This mild preoccupation has taken the form of you being fuckdeep in snark-lizards right now. After arriving in some strange museum where no one knows how to talk about anything other than fucking contemporary art, you began wondering around, looking for your allies, as it seems you didn't end up arriving at the same landing as them. During your search, you made the absolutely appalling blunder of taking a step too close to a Frog statue and accidentally knocked over a velvet rope barrier, nearly scratching the display. A display which A) is one of countless exhibits in a myriad of museums on this purgatory of a planet, and B) wasn’t even damaged in any way by your actions. Diabolical, you know. God forbid any of these stupid paintings ever go through the indignity of having the mere suggestion of being minorly damaged besmirch their presence ever again.

Following the loud clanging sound the barrier you knocked over made, the entire room’s attention zeroed in on you. In a split second you were surrounded by the mob of scaly critics, each and every one outraged by your horrific transgressions of you being in general proximity to some of their art. Now all these tiny-eyed weirdos are swarming you with a fevered frenzy, bombarding you with reprimands on public decency and hurling loads of disrespectful absurdities your way, most of which you don’t understand. Doesn’t mean they still don’t hurt, though. It’s the intent of the insults that really bothers you.

Since you aren’t too fond of being on the receiving end of a continuous stream of verbal canings, seeing as you get enough of that from Mia as is, you begin wading your way out from the crowd. You’re trying your best to get out from the mob’s clutches, but god damn! These guys are packed tighter than a Nun’s Blouse on Easter… What? It’s a simile, keep reading!

Slowly but steadily, you get closer to the edge of the lizard-hoard. Come on, almost there, aaaaaand… Got it! Fucking finally, you’re free! You glare back at the crowd as they bark their final insults as you leave. Looks like they’ve calmed down now that you’re away from the statue, but they’re still herded together, like a group of arrogant, scaly penguins trying to block you from getting close to the exhibit again. What the hell is with these guys? The Sand-Gators back on LORAH were nothing like this! You miss your sand-land...

Whatever, back to business. Where the fuck is everyone? The thought never crossed your mind that the Gateway portal might not bring you all to the same place. Wouldn’t you know it, today is just full of surprises!

You had hoped the portal split you all up in pairs, and that Sara would be following shortly after you landed, but after about ten or so minutes of pointless waiting around, it seemed pretty clear she got sent somewhere else as well. You figured you’d find them on your way to the Forge, but you’ve been walking for a while and haven’t seen hide or hair of either your friends or any volcano. Honestly it’s just been one headache after another lately.

Speaking of headaches, here comes another wave of Chameleons, hurrying down the hallway after you. Probably coming to throw a few more insults your way. Maybe tell you you’re a ‘cheeky pheasant handler’ like the last group. You stop in your tracks and try to mentally prepare yourself for the quickly approaching barrage of mean words, but are surprised when they run right past you, rushing around you like a river around a rock. You watch in confusion as they stampede towards the rear exit of the museum, all seemingly racing towards the same location. One does eventually bump into you by accident, nearly knocking themselves over from the recoil of the collision.

Glancing down at the consort, you notice this one’s different. They’re not a purple chameleon like the others, they’re a grey …gecko maybe? And they’ve got a cute little backpack on. Awww. He, or possibly she, is only about half your height, so they sort of head-butt the side of your thigh when they run into you. They stumble back a moment, looking up to see what they hit.

“Hey! Watch it weirdo!” He yells as he tries to get past. Or; as she tries to get past? Hard to tell.

“Wait.” You say, grabbing hold of them by their backpack. “What’s going on here? Where’s the fire?”

“There’s a lecture going on in the garden, let goooo! You’re gonna make me late!” They shake loose from your grip, carrying on with the parade.

A lecture? From one of the Chameleon consorts? From what you’ve seen, these guys love talking over each other, and most conversations they strike up go off track nigh-instantaneously. You can’t even begin to imagine what a lecture from one of these guys might look like, no way you’re missing this shit show.

You quickly follow after the boy/girl lizard out the backdoors into a huge flower garden behind the museum. It looks like the lecture is taking place in the back area of the compound, which is separated into it’s own section from the rest of the garden by four parallel stone divider walls. There’s quite a crowd out here, even larger than the one that swarmed you for your sins against the art world. The mob has clogged up the entire area, blocking off the side entrances around the front divider wall, to the point you can’t even peer around the corners into the courtyard to see the speaker. The gender-ambiguous lizard you followed is doing an anxious little dance stepping in place, desperately looking for a way in.

For the most part, the crowd is keeping chatter to a minimum, trying to hear the soft, muffled voice of the speaker. This is nowhere near the chaotic uproar of ego-filled chatter you thought it would be. It actually looks like they’re paying attention to something other than themselves. Whoever’s speaking must be pretty big on LOCAF for these chameleon guys to be so attentive.

“I never thought about it like that…” You hear one by the divider wall muttered.

“How can one person be so knowledgeable?” Another murmurs. It’s hard to tell if the Chameleons have good hearing or if they’re simply acting as if they do to save-face with their peers, because you can only just make out that someone is talking at all. Art culture is so phony…

“Gah!” Your new Grey Lizard pal exclaims to you. “Look what you did! I can’t even hear the lecture from here!” Even though you didn’t really have anything to do with their current predicament, you still feel bad watching them try to get closer to the courtyard, only to be pushed back by the uncaring scale-hoard.

Stepping forward, you try to make a way through the crowd for you and the Gecko, but find you can’t get so much as a foot past their ranks. They’re packed even tighter than a Businesswoman’s skirt during a Tax Audit… Second verse same as the first, keep reading! You can’t keep stopping every time something suspect is said, you’re just gonna have to learn to roll with it.

Glancing about for another way inside, you notice a few chameleons sitting up on the stone wall dividing the courtyard from the rest of the garden. Getting a bird’s eye view of the lecture, huh? Not a bad idea. Tapping the little androgynous lizard on its shoulder, you point it’s attention towards the top of the wall. Their eyes light up and they start to bounce up and down on their heels, giving you a pleading look.

You lift Gretel, you’ve decided to name her Gretel by the way, up onto the ledge before climbing up yourself, taking a look into the sectioned off area. The chameleons are surrounding… another Player? It’s the Seer of Life, sat quite daintily on the edge of the fountain at the center of the courtyard. The chameleons closest to her are sat criss-cross at her feet, like school children.

The Seer spots you pretty quickly, and eyes you up for a moment, untrusting of your sudden appearance in her vicinity. You don’t blame her, you aren’t exactly the most unassuming guy around. And it’s smart to be wary of other players you’ve yet to confirm aren’t hostile. She untenses after a minute or so of suspicious ogling, and goes back to focusing on the rest of the crowd as she gives her lecture. You guess you aren’t very threatening with Gretel snuggled up in your cape the way she is.

“I know it might seem hard to balance at times,” The Seer continues on from where you came in. “but if you want to make any headway as a maturing artist, you’ll need to put effort into many different fields of expression when you’re first starting out. Every single one, if you can manage it. There’s no way of finding a talent without first trying your hand at it.”

“Hehehe.” You can hear Gretel giggle with excitement. She seems to be enjoying herself, at least. Not that the presentation is boring, but the Visual Arts never really peaked your interests all too much. There was way too many supplies to keep track of for your tastes. Pencils, paints, papers, fabrics, needles, etc. etc. etc.. How is a guy supposed to keep track of it all?! You were more of a music man when you had the time to pursue a hobby. Banjo for life. Nothing quite gets you like the Prospector esthetic, if the pickaxe wasn’t enough of a tell. Anyway, hearing people talk about artistry doesn’t seem so bad. Gretel sure likes it.

“Take on more projects, try out new styles and methods. Study different viewpoints to build your critique.” The Seer expands, looking to the different members of her audience. “Doing so will leave you with options to fallback upon in the event that you discover you aren’t skilled in your preferred field of expertise. Experience is valuable, but over-exhausting yourself with a practice that you fundamentally cannot grasp is a common roadblock many fledgling students can run into. You don’t want to put too much effort into a single line of thought or an art form you can’t master, because there’s nothing worse than finding out you’ve been investing all your energy into a dead-end. And that goes for everything in life. Get out there, experience more than just what you know. Remember…”

“The only way a plant can grow is if you water it.” The crowd says in unison. Gretel looks up to you, a bit disconcerted. You give her a shrug, and continue listening.

“That’s right.” The Seer confirms, happy with the collective response. “And if there’s no one there to water you, this means…”

“You must seek out water yourself.” They simultaneously answer once more.

“Perfect!” The Seer muses, closing her eyes and clasping her hands joyfully. “Now, on to the real meat of today’s topic. What does it mean to progress as an artist? How do you apply your efforts to your work? Now, I know this might be hard for some to comprehend, given what we just finished talking about, but do your best to follow. You see, as you continue to learn, you’ll find yourself running into these ‘dead-ends’ I’ve been mentioning all so much. A dead-end is something you can expect to come across quite frequently, where you’ve simply learned everything you’re able to comprehend in a study or practice, despite not reaching the mastery you had aspired for. It’s a sad realization, to suddenly find that everything you’ve been pouring your attention into was for naught. However, you must come to terms with this shortcoming before it can impede upon your other works. That is how you truly progress as an artist, to not let yourself be inhibited by romanticized longings to be a master of every field of art, but to seek out and find the few disciplines you excel within and place your efforts there. It’ll take a degree of discretion, determining the difference between a simple creative block and an actual dead-end, but once you do, you mustn’t hesitate to cut away the fat.”

“Oooh.” Gretel coos. She shifts around a little and retrieves a notepad from her backpack and begins taking down paragraph after paragraph with a quickness. Man, that’s really cute.

“What I mean when I say this is that if you continue to work at these dead-ends, continue to contribute effort into progressing with the practice despite diminishing results, you’ll, in essence, be dumping energy in a place that’s going nowhere, providing nourishment to an unmoving body. And eventually, a fat will form, the same way fat forms if a creature consumes more calories than it expends. And just like this creature, your progression will slow and become lethargic, your aspirations unable to do anything with the efforts you put into them. And so, instead of continuing to feed this dead-end, you must cut away the fat! Have you taken up an interest in the practice of sculpting? That’s great, but you can only go so far if you cannot handle your tools with the required dexterity of a master. You wish to perform a ballet recital that moves those who view it to tears? Wonderful, yet how can you hope to execute adequate choreography if you were born with two left feet? These are dead-ends, my dear consorts. Once you’ve identified a study as a dead-end, you’ll be wasting your time, resources and most of all your energy if you continue to pursue them.” The Seer declares. You’re not quite sure if you agree with that line of thinking. The entirety of your quest could be summed up as a significant waste of time and energy, but you got super powers at the end, so that was a pretty cool pay off.

There’s a loud scribbling sound coming from your left. You look down and see Gretel furiously taking down notes faster and faster, trying to keep up with the lecture. It looks like she’s transcribing the Seer word for word. You tap her on the shoulder.

“Take that with a grain of salt.” You whisper to her. She pauses for a moment before giving you a nod and returning to her writing.

“Once you identify a dead-end, you’ll be able to more properly reallocate your resources accordingly, lending them to more fruitful endeavors.” Fruitful-endeavors, huh? That’s rich, coming from someone stuck in the Arena, heh. “The faster you’re able to identify a dead-end, the faster you’ll be able to grow.” The Seer says, making direct eye contact with you. It catches you off guard, sending a shudder up your spine. That was certainly unsettling…

 

***

 

The Seer has been talking for a while now. You try to keep up with what she’s saying, but for the most part it goes over your head. That’s okay with you, not really looking to take up arts and crafts any time soon. The Seer has a rather nice voice too, so you don’t mind listening, even if it’s just for background noise while you think. Although, there is something strange about her voice that’s throwing you off, which is how familiar it sounds. It’s uncanny how much it feels like you’ve heard her speak before, but you can’t quite pin down why. To your knowledge, this is your first time meeting her, and she doesn't look familiar in the slightest… Needless to say, it’s been driving you crazy.

“You shouldn’t be afraid to abandon something if it’s holding you back.” The Seer goes on with her current tangent. “If it hinders your progression, then it’s excess energy-loss. Do you have an unnecessary study impeding your time? Drop it. If you aren’t learning anything, that means the well has dried up. Old brushes ruining your painting? Scrap them. Charm does not equate to quality, don’t let sentimentality restrain you. Does a certain friend bring only negativity to a conversation, and nothing constructive? Then it’s time to cut ties with them. Why should you put in all the energy if the relationship is so one sided?”

You yawn, realizing how tired you are. You weren’t able to get much sleep down in the Collective, too paranoid someone would find you defenselessly snoozing and put a sword in your back. And what little sleep you were able to get was on those tiny couches in the Archive Libraries, which were rather awkward to position yourself on. This Seer’s speech has been the first time you’ve really let your mind relax since arriving in the Arena, and after everything going on recently, it’s no surprise you’re exhausted. You feel yourself fade in and out of consciousness, and begin to rock a little, reflexively trying to keep your balance on the wall. Your focus on the Seer’s voice fluctuates, and you miss a few bits of her presentation here and there.

“Are you sleepy?” Gretel asks in a hush tone, snapping you out of your trance. You look down at her, almost forgetting that she was still wrapped up in your cape.

“I’m fine.” You assure her, unsure how long you’ve actually been drifting in and out of sleep.

“And that concludes today’s lecture. Remember, always be looking to take on something new to you, and put in a valid effort, but don’t hesitate to cut ties that are a detriment to your growth. Only through this do we find the true path to progression.” The Seer concludes at last, which is followed by a large, yet polite round-of-applause.

“Oh man, that was great!” Gretel cries with glee. “I knew this Land was full of art snobs, but I had no idea people like this lived here too. Best trip ever!” So she’s not from LOCAF. That seems about right, you don’t remember seeing all too much Consort-mingling back in your own session either.

“Alright,” You sigh, jumping down from the wall. You look back up to see Gretel up on the ledge, waiting patiently for your aid with her arms extended out. Yeah, you guess she is a little too small to be making that jump on her own. You reach up and grab hold of her. “Come on down.”

You’re about to get back to your search, fully realizing how much time you’ve wasted sitting around listening to that Seer talk. Even after all that listening, you still can’t place her voice. Guess that’s just another one of the many mysteries of Paradox Space. Now, enough lallygagging, you’ve got a mountain to explode. Before you can even begin to ponder up ways of finding your way to the Forge, a sudden flash of dread strikes you. Are the others still alive?

Without hesitation, you retrieve your Trans.-Temp. Camera from your inventory and access the photos you took before you left the Collective. Mia, Sara, and Esspin’s stone slabs continue to glow their respective Aspect’s colors, indicating that they’re still kicking, letting you take a breath of relief. The team might be separated, but at least everyone’s alive. Now you just need to find them… or the Forge. Either would be fine at this point, you are way behind schedule.

You check the Seer of Space’s slab while you have the camera out. Looks like they’re doing just fine, too. You weren’t that worried about them, seeing as they could spot an enemy coming from a mile away. Literally. Still, never hurts to check.

Just as you start to get your bearings again, you feel a slight pull to your left.

“Look!” Gretel exclaims, tugging on your cape. She’s pointing over to the Seer, who’s talking to a few chameleons still hanging around. “Can we go?” She asks you with the widest eyes you’ve ever seen on a lizard. “Can we?”

Why is she asking you? She’s a grown lizard, she can make decisions for herself. Or… is she? You’re not entirely sure how to gauge a Consort’s age properly, or gender for that matter. There is a chance she’s still a kid. Even so, all you did was help her up a ledge. You help a lizard once and they’re your responsibility all of a sudden? That’s ridiculous. It’s not like there’s a Liability law for consort guardianship or something… Oh god, is there? You just wanted to be nice, you didn’t mean to adopt her!

“Ah… sure. Let’s go see her.” You say, not quite sure if you’re being fatherly enough. Gretel doesn’t seem to notice and runs ahead to the small group by the Seer. You’d like to think Dad would be proud if he could see you now, but you’re not so sure he’d approve of you becoming a father so young.

By the time you get over to the Seer, most of the Chameleons have wandered off, satisfied with their newly found knowledge. It looks like Gretel is waiting for you before she says anything, while the Seer gives her a patient smile. She seems mellow enough, so you don’t think you’ll have to draw your pickaxe on her, thankfully. Your main focus is getting to the Seer of Space as soon as possible, but if you can pick up anyone useful along the way, that just saves you time in the endgame.

“Hi.” You say, hoping to break the ice.

“Greetings.” She says back. Ice officially broken.

“Excuse me, miss.” Gretel says, grabbing her attention. “I just wanted to say I was deeply inspired by your words. Although the arts aren’t as popular on LOHAN, I still aspire to become a scholar in the various fields, with a specific interest in painting. I had a few struggles at first, and I thought I just wasn't fit for it, but you helped me realize I was putting too much effort into mastering every aspect of art, and not enough into retaining the important parts.”

“That’s great, little one.” The Seer smiles. “If you keep moving forward and focus on what’s important, I’ve no doubt you’ll achieve your goal. Just remember not to let yourself develop prodigal habits in the pursuit of one walk of life, yes?” Gretel’s smile widens by twofold, and you can see a passion blazing in her eyes.

“Yes, of course! Thank you, miss!” Gretel praises, nodding her head up and down.

“And you are?” The Seer asks, directing her attention towards you. When she turns to face you, she lightly repositions her stance, moving so that her left foot is pointed at you and her right foot points away in a slightly wider placement. It’s subtle, but she’s preparing for a kick. The only reason you notice is because you’ve seen Mia do the exact same thing when she’s expecting someone to charge her. Seems she’s still unsure of your intentions.

“Hi, I’m Jason. It’s nice to meet you.” You say putting your hand up in a simple wave, hoping that isn’t enough to get a foot to your jaw. She’s a little too on edge for the customary Acquainting Shake, so this’ll have to do for introductions. “You’re the Seer of Life, right?”

“You’d be correct. However, I’m ashamed to admit I’m unfamiliar with someone of your Title. You are…?”

“Page of Time, at your service!” You give her a mock salute, which you immediately regret doing in front of a girl. “Ah… so, that was quite the speech. Very informative.”

“You fell asleep four times.” She says frankly. You feel yourself go stiff. Crap, she saw that?

“I told you you were sleepy.” Gretel whispers to you, nudging your leg.

“Oh, that wasn’t-, I wasn't bored or anything, just a lack of sleep and all.” You stumble out.

“You needn’t worry, I completely understand.” She says, equally frank. “Considering the circumstances, one might find it difficult to sleep soundly.” Her stance seems to relax again, seeing you aren’t looking for a fight. “Samantha Goodman. It’s a pleasure.” Now formally introduced, she lowers her hood, showing off her short and straight blond hair. It’s styled in a sort of bob-cut, and judging by the color of her roots, it’s been dyed. She also has that thing where the side of her head is shaved on her left, making it so that only one of her eyes is covered by her bangs.

“So… what are you doing on Locaf?” You ask, trying to make small talk. You hadn’t intended on talking with this girl before you left, so you didn’t bother drumming up any conversation starters. Spur of the moment socializing was never your strong suit.

“LOCAF?” Gretel looks up at you after hearing your water-cooler tier question, with a rather curiously look on her face. “We aren’t on LOCAF.” She innocently informs you. You freeze, pretending for a split second that you didn’t hear her right, before snapping your attention to her.

“We’re not on Locaf?” Shit. It looks like Mia was right about the Hope Train. So that means you’re gonna have to fulfill a time loop at some point, which is just great. Hopefully this won’t take too long. You let out a sigh. “Uhh, God Damn it.”

“Are you alright?” Samantha asks you in a unenthused tone. “You seem agitated.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good, totally fine, just… vexed, mostly.” You say, rubbing your left temple. “Gretel.” She cocks her head at you, almost looking at you completely sideways. Oh, right, you never actually told her your name for her. “You don’t know how to get to Locaf, do you? Or, more specifically, the Forge, maybe?”

“Why would you want to go to LOCAF if you’re looking for the Forge?” She laughs. “Wouldn’t the Forge be in the Land of Art Exhibits and Forge?”

“Land of… the Forge is here? Like the Forge Forge?” Gretel nods. Oh god, okay, crisis averted, no time loops you gotta worry about. Land of Forge, though… that’s definitely unexpected. Everything you learned in the LOKAT Archive stated that the Forge belongs to the Space player’s Land. Unless this is a Space player’s Land? Are there two Space Lands?

You guess it does fit what you could expect from a Space player’s planet. Star filled skies, the Consorts have a culture in a constant state of creation, large amounts of things that require some level of propagation, the physical arts. The one thing you don’t get is the lack of frogs, that’s the hallmark of a Space player’s planet. Something strange has to be up.

“What about Locaf? There’s a Forge there too, right?” You ask her. Mia mentioned that she saw a Volcano there back when you were first planning what to blow up back on LOKAT. She didn’t have any reason to lie about seeing it, and you doubt Mia’s absentminded enough to misidentify something as distinct as a fucking Volcano. Does that mean there’s more than one? Gretel opens her mouth to say something, but pauses a moment to think.

“That’s a bit of an interesting question, actually.” She says, setting down and unbuckling her backpack. Digging around inside, she retrieves a small tome from the pack. She flips through the yellowed pages, eventually stopping on one and holding it up for you to see. Displayed on the spread of the book are two different planets, both possessing the silhouettes of volcanoes sitting on the tops of them. “Usually, a Land’s Hero is the one tasked with bring the Forge along with them if one is to ever show up at all on their world. The only problem is that, for some reason, both Heroes of Space destined to arrive in the Incipisphere will be unable to bring the Forge with them. Normally this would be disastrous, and our Heroes would be left with no chance of claiming the Ultimate Reward, but a very special exception has been made in this case. These Heroes are said to be fated for something far more important than attaining their Reward and as such, remarkable arrangements were made. Because of this, the Forge was always here, just as the Frogs were always on LOCAF. As such, the two Heroes of Space are fated to work in tandem with one another in order to give birth to the Ultimate Reward and go on to fulfill their higher purpose.” You bring both of your hands up to cover the enormous smile dawning across your face.

“A Lore buff.” You whisper to yourself through prayer-perched fingers. The amount of Fatherly Pride you’re filled with is unrivaled by all paternal figures in every corner of Paradox Space. Both Gretel and Samantha are looking at you oddly. You clear the lump in your throat with a cough. “Ahem. So there isn’t a Forge on Locaf? From the depictions in this book, I would think that-…”

“Oh, no, there is. The only difference is that the Forge on LOCAF is a false replica. A dud if you will. Nothing more than a hole in the ground.” She states, skipping a few pages in her tome to a more intricate diagram of the Forge on LOCAF. It looks like she’s right, given that the tome is accurate. The Main vent only goes down to the base of the volcano, nowhere near the center of the planet.

“Really?” Samantha asks, re-entering the conversation after quietly listening for some time. “And what exactly is the purpose for such a dead-loss?”

“To my understanding, it’s meant to act as a red herring to lull the Heroes into a false sense of security. You see, even though a Forge was always going to be provided for these Heroes, that doesn’t mean they were to go untested. In the case of LOAEAF, the Forge of this Land is destined to fall victim to total tectonic destruction due to unclear circumstances. Some say it’s going to activate too soon and collapse under its own weight, while others say an external force will destroy the structure for nefarious reasons.” You begin to whistle nervously. Everyone notices. “Regardless of cause, this Land’s Consorts, being the artistically active socialites they are, would use the fragmented pieces scattered across the planet as central pieces for their art displays. The Hero prophesized to appear on the Land of Art Exhibits and Forge would be tasked with the retrieval of said pieces and reconstruction of the Forge, while their Partner’s responsibility would mainly lie in the caretaking of the Frogs. But if they took no interest in their duties and only learned the bare minimum of their role in their Land, then they would be left in a very tight position, having a fake Forge and no way to claim the Ultimate Reward. A fascinating tale, and only one of many in this Neighborhood of Celestial Odysseys, as well as one of the many reasons why I came here. I know it’s unlikely, but I’d want nothing more than to see such an event in person.” The smile on her face could melt a glacier. You didn’t think you could’ve been any prouder than you already were, but then Gretel goes and gives you a Lore overload. You shall protect her with your life.

“That’s all well and good,” You say, doing your best to break the hypnotizing trance that is her bubbly enjoyment of the lore of this Land. “but this is quite the compact trove of information you’ve got here. Where’d you find that tome of yours?”

“My home Land! The Land of Horror and Nothing.” She excitedly says, sounding way too chipper for the words that were just spoken. “You can find all kinds of Secrets there. That’s why I began venturing off-Land in the first place. This book told me all about the different planets outside my own, and they all sounded so unbelievable that I had to see them for myself! So I began my tour of the Incipisphere, jumping from Land to Land. I’ve only seen a few so far, but LOAEAF was a big stop on my trip. After learning about life here and how much appreciation of the arts all the Consorts have, there was no way I wasn’t seeing this place!”

Interesting. So this place really is a fertile Medium. Which means, if you were to wait long enough, this session’s players are bound to show up, and by proxy, a way out of here other than your ship. You suppose there’s a big enough time gap between then and now that everyone here would have killed each other off, and big enough that the other Time players wouldn’t be powerful enough to skip to them or vice versa to you. Even your own powers might come up short. Though, even if you could time jump there, a twenty four player session sounds like total chaos. The current situation is beyond chaos, but you at least have a plan to deal with it. Which, thankfully, is still on track. Bonus points, you get to fulfill an ancient prophecy along the way. One that doesn’t have you running around all of spacetime, fulfilling some pointless Time Loops… Ballin’. Maybe that’s the reason why the Hope Train brought you here and not LOCAF. Because the Forge was always here. Hey, you’re not complaining, just means your explosion will be that much more impactful by destroying the real one instead of the fake Forge you were gunning for. You’ll have to check out LOHAN at some point when you have more free time, though. No doubt there’s some tasty bits of lore there.

“Does your book have any information on the location of the Forge?” You ask. Gretel flips through the pages, eventually reaching what looks to be a road map of the streets on LOAEAC.

“Hmm. I’d say it’s only a little ways south from here.” She points out towards her right. “Just over that horizon.”

“Ha!” You exclaim with a slap of your palm. “That’s amazing, let’s get going!” You throw Gretel up on your shoulders, causing an eruption of giggling to burst from her. “Hey, Samantha, wanna come along? I don’t want to make any promises, but I’m working on a way out of this mess.”

“Mess?” She inquires, raising an eyebrow at your giddiness.

“You know, the Arena.” You explain, gesturing to your greater surroundings. “Being Doomed, having to fight and all that. If we can find someone powerful enough to replicate the Prize the last person standing gets, we’d be able to escape from this place safely. My group and I could always use some help along the way, if you’re interested.”

“Thank you, but no.” Samantha dismisses rather promptly. Your excited smile wavers at how quickly she rejected the offer.

“No? You sure?” You ask again, trying not to look overly offended by her shortness.

“Very much so. Do not misinterpret me, I do find your cause admirable, but I doubt you possess the capabilities to accomplish your task.” Oh… she certainly speaks from the heart.

“Well, I’d have to politely disagree.” You say, your smile now being forced to remain on your face. “I already have the means of escaping the Arena in my pocket. All I need left to do is find the necessary pieces to form an Undooming and use it myself. After that, it’s home free.”

“I apologize, but I wasn’t insulting your own personal abilities,” Samantha straightens up, highlighting her sincerity. “although you seem to be lacking in certain departments. Regardless, my main gripe with your task is that it will no doubtably require numerous players to work in tandem in order to achieve a common goal. This is impossible to achieve. Please don’t misunderstand, your inability to accomplish your goal says nothing of your character.”

“I… wouldn’t say it’s impossible. I know some of the others here might be difficult to handle, but when the ones I need know there’s an easier way out of this place, don’t you think they’ll-“

“None of us can work together.” She interrupts with a firm authority. “Regardless of circumstance, regardless of ability, one thing remains constant with every individual in the Arena, which is that even if our lives depended on it, we still failed. That’s why we’re here to begin with.” She mockingly mimics your earlier gesture, motioning to the greater surroundings. “Despite our destinies and the destinies of our session mates hanging in the balance, we all failed on our quests to reach the Ultimate Reward and, one way or another, we all ended up in our current situation. That’s a fundamental sign of a dysfunctional progression in all of us. We’re the failures, the ones who didn’t develop properly. You’d have better luck herding cats than getting the people here to succeed in a unified cause.” Something about what she’s saying strikes a chord in you. Dysfunctional progression? Didn’t develop properly? The hell is that supposed to mean? And what does she mean ‘you can’t work together’? You worked just fine with everyone back in your own session. You weren’t a failure, the only reason you’re here is because Mia-… damn it, stop thinking about that! It’s in the past, just forget it! “Striving for this is, simply put, a waste of time, energy and resources.”

“Oh, come on!” You frustratedly swat the air between the two of you for emphasis. “You can’t really-“ Before you can say anything else, a beam of light zaps past you, grazing past the skin of your right cheek. Too stunned by the attack to dive for cover, all you can do is direct your gaze towards the source of the laser.

Darting your attention to the roof of a nearby gazebo, no more than fifteen feet off to your ten o’clock, you spot your assailant. Standing, or more accurately, floating on top of the pavilion is a Purple Kernelsprite Guide with the most bone chilling death-glare you’ve ever seen. It looks like it was prototyped with some woman and a french maid doll. That or she was just a maid before the prototyping. There’s smoke still drifting off from her finger as she pokes out from her firing place on top of her perch.

“Keep your distance, sir.” She hisses. Where the hell did she come from? You didn’t see Samantha activate a summon pendent, so does that mean she’s been hanging around all this time? Like some kind of creepy predator, stalking its prey? Guess that’s why Samantha wasn’t too worried about some random player showing up the way you did. She’s got a fucking guard dog circling her perimeter 24/7.

“Madam Amelia, please. There’s no need for that, he means no harm.” Samantha says, holding a hand out towards the Sprite to call her off. “Apologies, Jason. Amelia has been a loyal servant to my family since she was my age, and my personal guardian since my birth. I hope you can understand why she’d be overprotective of me, especially given the current circumstances.” Seeing she’s been stood down, the Sprite descends from her hiding place, slithering over to the group to talk like she didn’t just nearly put a round in your skull.

“Pardon me, Ma’am, but I believe you’re mistaken in that assessment. There’s something about him I find detestable.” The Sprite reports, joining Samantha by her side behind her while purposefully speaking just loud enough for you to hear. There’s something odd about her, maybe she’s just got one of those faces, but it feels like you’ve seen her somewhere. “I advise you take caution around him. I believe he’s a deviant.”

“Uh, ahah. Yeah, I guess you could say I’m sort of a deviant. N-not in a bad way! Just a bit strange...” You stammer, doing your best to brush off the recent attempt on your life. She narrows her eyes at you, staring at you with an angry suspicion. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to ruffle any feathers! I-I’ll just get going.”

“No.” The Sprite declares. “I was out of line. I can see now that you don’t pose any threat.” She has her arms held behind her back like she’s standing at attention, with her chin up towards you. Who else does that? You remember someone else doing that exact same motion to you. Damn your piss poor memory!

“Well I’m not… you know what, yeah, nothing to worry about here. Totally docile.” You mumble. You know what she meant by it, but you can’t help but take exception to that ‘pose no threat’ comment. You can be threatening if you want...! “Samantha said you’re Madam Amelia, yeah?”

“When I was alive, yes. You may call me Ameliasprite. I would say it’s a pleasure, but I’ve yet to fully form an opinion of you, Mr…?” She pauses, waiting for your surname.

“Oh, it’s Greene, but Jason’s fine. Mr. Greene was my Fa-“

“Your name.” Ameliasprite suddenly interrupts, slowly beginning to float towards you. “Is Jason… Greene?" You tense up, unsure if you’ve said anything wrong. The look in her eyes is chilling, like she’s ready to rip your throat out on a whim. It’s oddly familiar. You really hate Déjà vu.

“You’re a Greene?” Samantha asks, taking a step forward as well. Her and Ameliasprite are starting to crowd you now, too close for comfort. Gretel grips you tighter as they approach, still clings tightly to your shoulders.

“Y-yeah?” You take a step back, but they both fill the gap without hesitation. Your newly found Fatherly Instincts caused you to reach back to Gretel, placing a hand on her head to assure her everything’s fine. “I’m a Greene… w-…why?” They both turn to each other with the same look of bewilderment, or maybe it’s malice? Whatever it is, it can’t be good.

“You wouldn’t be related to Jacob Greene, by any chance, would you?” Samantha asks. She’s leaned in even closer now. To say she’s penetrated your personal bubble would be an understatement.

“You know my dad?” Could they be from the same universe as you? You knew other sessions had spawned from your Earth, but the odds of one of those players ending up in an Un-Dooming event with you is astronomical. At least, you think it is. You don’t actually know the statistics, so you can’t say for certain.

“Jacob was your father?" Samantha questions with a look of disbelief, reeling back at your answer. This is starting to get weird. At least she’s out of your bubble.

“Yeah, my father… well, ecto-donor, I guess. My Guardian, if you want to get technical. Small world, huh? H-how did you know him?” You hesitantly ask, doing your best to ignore the intensity of this sudden interrogation.

“How? Your ‘father’ was my server player, that’s how. The bastard threw my bathtub through the drywall of my bedroom.” She says with a scoff. The sudden shock of her words sends a jolt up your spine. Her server player? How is that possible?

“Is he here?” You say without realizing what you’re asking.

“Here?” She cocks an eyebrow at you in a way that irks you to an unbelievable extent.

“My dad. Is he here? I-is my dad here?!” You reflexively take a step forward, trying to regain the distance she made between you. It’s a simple question, how the fuck does she not understand? Where is your Father?!

Before you can press Samantha any further, Ameliasprite juts in front of you, firmly planting a hand on your shoulder. You look up to her, expecting to see an icy glare of a guardian, but instead you’re met with a smile. Not warm or happy, but sad. A deep sad, like she’s about to burst into tears. It’s a bit unnerving considering how aggressive she just was.

“Jason.” Ameliasprite whispers, wrapping her arms around you. “It has been too long. I am glad to see you in such good health.” You feel Gretel shift around, trying to get a better view of what’s going on from her awkwardly close vantage point.

“uh… wha-“ Your mind is racing a mile a minute, and it feels like your head’s in a fog, like you’re wearing the cosmic joke goggles again. “Who…”

“Do you not recognize me, old friend?” She asks, tightening her hug.

Recognize her? Why would you-…

It clicks. It was kicking around in the back of your head trying to get your attention, but it finally clicks. Who the person embracing you is.

“Mia?” You ask more to yourself than to her. She nods, and it feels like she’s nuzzling you. This is… this is… you don’t know what this is.

 

Jason, find out what this is.

Chapter 13: > Scratch Shenanigans

Your mind is still reeling from your sudden revelation. You pull back from Ameliasprite’s tight embrace to get a better look at her. Like any Kernelsprite Guide, she has a slight glow to her, a Purple glow. Fitting.

She’s older than Mia, maybe around thirty or so, but now that you’ve noticed the resemblance, it’s hard to believe you missed it in the first place. The largest similarity is in the eyes. Her irises have turned to the same purple as the rest of her form, as opposed to Mia’s emerald green, but there’s no denying the likeness. Maybe more mature in their presentation, but her Conviction burns brightly as ever in them.

“H-… how are you… how are you here…?” You’re barely able to stammer out. Your brain is having a hard time accounting for the disparity between the girl you saw not three hours ago and the woman who stands before you now. Sure, you’re a time traveler, but you’re only used to seeing people’s ages fluctuate by months, maybe a year or two at max, not decades.

“I’m unsure of how exactly we’ve arrived at this… particular crossroads, but I do know it’s good to see you again.” She finally releases you from her hug. Based on the thumping in your chest, that embrace came with a fair bit of embarrassment for you. The only time Mia’s ever made physical contact with you before was with a fist. It goes without saying that your face is glowing red hot right now. “Please, you must tell me what happened. Every word of it!”

“Happened? W-what’d ya mean what happened?” You begin to slur as you forget the proper way to speak. You think you’re starting to overheat.

“The last I saw of you, you were defending the young Mistress’s teammates from the Derse King.” She explains while holding you by the shoulders, trying not to lose hold of you. “How did you get away?”

“…defending?” That’s a bit out of character. Usually you’re the one being defended.

“Yes. The Young Mistress and her allies were backed into quite the corner. It appears someone became quite malapert, and thought she and her friends were the top of the town, so they went to start a scrap with the local Monarch.” Ameliasprite glances over to Samantha, who seems to purposefully ignore her gaze, somewhat passive aggressively. Also, how fucking old is this version of Mia? Scrap? Malapert? What the fuck? What the hell kind of Time Shenanigans are going on here? God, your head is swimming.

“And then…?” You ask, imploring her to go on.

“Right. The fight was not going as some might have planned.” She side-eye glances back at Samantha again. “And with the Black King’s reinforcements replacing any casualties received tenfold, I began to fear the worst for the younglings. But just when it seemed the most grim, into the fray you came, like a dashing Cavalryman. Pickaxe in hand, you claimed wave after wave of Carapaces, carving a way through their forces for the others to escape through. A stunning display of valor, and an astonishing spectacle of fury I was unaware you were capable of.”

“I…” Christ. Even with all your flashy God tier powers, you still doubt you could take on the Derse army alone, especially during a direct confrontation against the King. You’re barely able to hold your own in a fight with an Acheron by yourself, what the hell is she talking about?

“It was around the time you challenged the Black King that you ordered the others to retreat, protest or not.” What? “Before we left, you’d become surrounded by the Derse forces, a thousand troops at any given side.” What?! “I doubt you planned on surviving the encounter,” Fucking What?! Ameliasprite voice had begun to tremble slightly. “but you held him off long enough for the younglings to get away. I’d say it’s a relief to see you in such good health, but I have a feeling things might not be so simple. You’re much younger than last I saw you, and your attire… You’re not the same Jason I knew, are you?” There’s a somberness to her voice, as she realizes you aren’t who she thinks you are.

“… No. I don’t believe I am.” Her expression drops for half of a moment, but she quickly regains her composure to face you.

“Nevertheless, a reunion with an old friend is nothing to sneer at.” She smiles, holding your face in both her hands. This amount of affection from Mia, even an alternate version of Mia, is really starting to short-circuit your nerves.

Your head is starting to pound. All the things Ameliasprite is saying… is just so hard to believe. You fought with valor? No way. Sure, you try to keep it clean during a Strife, but valor? You wouldn’t dream of being that charitable in describing your qualities. And apparently you ended up sacrificing yourself for the greater good? It’s a noble idea, yeah, but you don’t really think you’re capable of something like that. That’s something Rich could do, not you. You aren’t particularly brave, and that’s something you kind of need if you’re going to do something like throw yourself into a sea of enemies, knowing damn well you’re about to get your shit served to you on a particularly shiny silver platter. What the hell was that You made of?

“Is he really the one who intervened on the Battlefield?” Samantha asks, chiming back in. Ameliasprite nods, not taking her eyes off you. “Interesting. I wonder if he possesses the same Strife capabilities.” She raises her chin at you with an impressed look.

You snap out of your little existential funk of being placed in your own shadow just in time to finally realize why Samantha’s voice was so familiar. You saw her on tv all the time. Granted, she was a lot older than she is now, but she was the main person talking in a couple different ads that aired everywhere. It was back a few years before Sburb was released, she was selling… real-estate, you think? You never paid too much attention given that you couldn’t afford a house at the time. Also most of the ads she was in emphasized the structural integrity of the houses she was selling more than the houses themselves, not exactly the most eye catching of subjects for a kid. Although, building up your client’s house in your session was a cake walk, aside from that one incident early on… you kept trying to tell Mia an Ogre had messed with her foundations, but you don’t think she ever forgave you for her house collapsing. Cringe-inducing memories aside, it’s possible you retained some of the information all those commercials were administering into your young, impressionable brain. Stored in your subconscious for just the occasion of repetitive house building.

If you recall right, she had a different last name back then. You can almost hear the intro to those ads, having had them ingrained in your head coming on every other commercial break. ‘Our Clients are like our Family. Hi, I’m Mrs. Delilah, managing CEO of Del Realty’. God, this woman was in your childhood. It’s like meeting the gerber baby…

Mia had mentioned her mother was in housing advertisement once or twice, but didn’t bring it up all that much. You always got the impression she and her mom didn’t get along too well. You chalked it up to typical Guardian-Child quarrels, but maybe their relationship was a little more complex than you thought it was. From the looks of things, the roles are switched, with Mia acting as Samantha’s guardian. The only explanation you can think of is the Forever Cavern, your planet’s Scratch construct.

If a Scratch event really was initiated, that means your session must have been a failure to begin with. In which case, being in the Arena might’ve been your best option for continuing your existence. Unless Samantha’s session was your predecessors, and they’re the ones who cause the Scratch.

“Samantha, were your session mates good together?” You finally ask after a moment of sifting through your mental notes. She doesn’t seem to get what you mean, judging by her raised eyebrow. “You know, like… did you guys work well with one another? Do you think your session was gonna be successful if you were allowed to continue?”

“Hmm… I would say so, yes. No one was deviating too drastically from my perimeters, until… well, that’s not important. But yes, I can say with confidence, we would have been successful in our mission.” She states matter-of-factly. “The Genesis Frog’s tadpole period was maintaining a healthy state, ready to be deposited in the Forge when the time was right. Thanks to the efforts of an external ally of ours from Mind’s domain, the Black King’s mental health was on the decline, and would be nothing like the formidable opponent he was the first time we challenged him. And we were all rising up our echeladders quite steadily. Our odds of success were substantial.” You get the feeling that Samantha was the leader of her group.

“So you probably wouldn’t have initiated a Scratch, you don’t think?” You continue your inquiry.

“What do you mean by a… Scratch?" She asks with a slight tilt of her head.

“Wha-, you know, a Scratch.” You unhelpfully repeat, not sure any better way to describe it. “You’re Time player should’ve had something on their planet to cause it? It’s like a reset button for a session.”

“Interesting. We didn’t have a Time ‘player’.” She informs you.

“Really? And… you still thought you could create your universe?”

“Very. Why do you say? Is a Time player essential for a Session?” She asks with the most intrigue you’ve heard out of her.

“Well… kind of. I guess you technically don’t need one for breeding the Genesis Frog. It certainly hurries the process along, though. Which is… pretty important.” You explain, recalling how awful you were at helping with frog hunting. It got so bad, you had to sub out as Lexie’s assistant with breeding duties. Turns out Rich was way better with that stuff anyway, finding paradoxes and all that. It makes sense a Knight of Doom could sniff out and create anomalies with Fate. Inflicting decrees of Doom on the poor amphibians left and right, which… ended up helping Lexie a lot… Looking back on it in hindsight, it’s kind of embarrassing. You were closest with her, after all, you should’ve been the one to help her. You read in the Space Archive on LOKAT that Time players are supposed to be the de facto helpers for Frog Breeding, but in a pinch, a Knight will suffice if one isn’t available. Again, embarrassing you couldn’t step up to the plate.

“So if they aren’t strictly necessary for Frog Breeding, was there any pivotal role they played required for the success of a Session?” Samantha asks, casually trying to give you an existential crisis.

“Generally you’d need one for keeping the continuity of your timeline, since temporal flow isn’t something you’d typically want to leave to its own devices. You’d be surprised how many doomed offshoots can splinter from the Alpha Timeline because of your decisions alone. I imagine a good Time player could’ve really helped out your session’s functionality.” You say, the faintest bit of smugness lining your voice. Pride is crucial when you could be on the verge of having your entire reason for existing in the universe trivialized. Self-confidence and all that.

“Not particularly.” Well. There goes your self-confidence. Right out the window. Didn’t even open it either, just crashed right through the glass. It’ll be a long while till you get that back. “Not to knock your talents, but I personally oversaw the more impactful decisions my group made in our campaign to assure this… continuity, as you put it, maintained itself from a more pedestrian position on the timeline. Even though I didn’t have the privilege of traveling our flow of time as freely as someone like you might’ve been able to, I was more than aware that our actions could have unforeseen consequences on the overall outcome of our session. I’m of the persuasion that the best way for a group to make progress is to take actions as a whole, rather than individuals being left to run amuck. Doing so minimizes the mistakes we could make on our own, and as such minimized the ‘offshoots’ created through our actions. Decisions as a group, that seemed to do the trick.”

“…Until you wound up here?”

“That’s beside the point, Mr Greene. My reason for being here is unrelated to our Timeline’s integrity.” You wait a moment for her to give the actual reason, but she remains quiet.

“That’s nice, but it sounds like you might’ve gotten lucky. Paradox Space isn’t normally that forgiving.” You say, struggling not to sound too condescending.

“If you want to look at it that way. Personally, I understand firsthand that knowing where to place your efforts helps significantly when tackling complex tasks. Apparently Time isn’t as spastic as you might believe.” You can see why Mia didn’t get along with her mother.

“So you’re good at handling complex tasks, huh? I don’t suppose you could handle, oh I don’t know… defying the laws of Paradox Space, perhaps?” You not-so-subtly hint, circling back to your recruitment endeavors.

“As I said before, your goal is too demanding of our peers. It’s a fool’s errand, Jason.” She declines without hesitation. Can’t fault a guy for trying.

“If anyone could…” You hear Ameliasprite mutter to herself. “It’d be a fool like him.” Good to see some things never change. Despite how lovingly she said it, it appears she’s still fond of name-calling.

So it really was your session that caused the Scratch, then. That’s a pretty heavy thing to find out. You wonder what AlphaYou and the others came across that botched the whole session. Must’ve been something big if even Mia agreed to it. It amazes you just how stubborn she can be sometimes.

You were always curious what a Scratch would look like. With that stockpile of temporal energy all hoarded up at the bottom of that pit, you’d like to think it would shoot out like an erupting geyser, but chances are it’s mechanically a lot more complex than the visual equivalent of a time-explosion. You’d kicked a rock into the Forever Cavern every once in a while, and every time it spat out a bunch of eroded stone-dust, blowing directly into your face. Chances are, it’d probably be like that, but on a cosmic level. Solid one second, dust the next, only it’d be your entire existence instead of a rock.

Thinking more about it, it might’ve been cool to grow up normally back on Earth, instead of being wrapped up in the Apocalypse in the middle of puberty. You had a solid thirteen and a half years under your belt of normalcy, then things started to get weird. You doubt you’d remember anything from your current iteration of yourself if you were present for the Scratch, so maybe a normal childhood is just a pipe dream. Actually, you’d probably be erased from reality all together if you were the one to initiate it. A notion you’re not too comfortable with. It kind of terrifies you, really. To simply not be as if you never even existed in the first place. Looks like the Arena really was your best option in the end.

Although, Jess seemed pretty confident in her ability to survive in the case of a Scratch event. You remember her asking about all the technicalities of a Scratch and how exactly it worked when reseting a session. After a long afternoon trying to explain to her that a Scratch just sends the baby-asteroids to different points in timeline from where they originally landed in the first Session, and does not in fact ‘delete your entire universe’ as she believed, she gained an air of confidence.

‘I could totally survive that!’ She declared once she grasped the concept. ‘So long as there’s an actual place to come back to, then I doubt evading it would even break a sweat for me.’ What the fuck she meant by evade you still don’t know, but a Thief of Void’s powers would more than likely include quick access to the Furthest Ring at any given time, so you guess that was her plan?

If she brought the others with her, then there’s a chance everyone, even AlphaYou, is floating out in the Void somewhere, or whatever the fuck her plan would’ve taken them. Maybe you’ll bump into them if your plan gets off the ground… or gains any traction at all. Fingers crossed. You’ll have to formally apologize for being forced to murder all of them if you do. So that’ll be fun.

“You really knew my dad?” You ask Samantha, having finally gotten a grip on the situation.

“I knew your son.” She corrects you.

“Right… What was his Title?” You ask, curious what kind of person your father would have been in his youth. “I had thought he might’ve been a Blood player, since we were so close, but-“

“Breath.” She cuts you off. “He was a Breath 'player'. A Knight of Breath, to be exact. He really enjoyed letting his cape flow in the wind, if you know my meaning.”

“Not really? He was… heroic?”

“To a fault… But to answer your earlier question, no; he’s not in the Arena. He refused the offer, despite my best efforts to make him reconsider. Instead he jumped back to our Alpha Timeline to assist our relevant-selves in any way he could before… well, from what I’ve learned about those who hail from Time’s domain, you should already be more than familiar with what can happen to those who venture from the refuge of a native timeline when marked by Doom.” Her tone is… sorrowful, and unsettling. The entirety of your interaction with her, even throughout her lecture, her voice remained somewhat monotone. Now it seems like she’s struggling to keep her composure. "He could be annoying at times, self aggrandizing even, with that Hero complex of his, but... I miss the lug."

“That’s…” You take a moment to pay respects to your dearly departed Father-Son. “W-wait. I thought you didn’t have a Time player, how did he get back to your Alpha timeline?”

“You’re… father… he was a free spirit, in more ways than one. He had his ways of getting places others might struggle with finding.” Man, what an ambiguous way to word an explanation that answers nothing.

“Did he… did he at least know what he was getting himself into?” You ask, concerned that they might not’ve known about the repercussions Doomed versions of themselves faced. “Did he know the danger that came with going back?”

“You raised him well.” Ameliasprite chimes in, commending you for something you didn’t do. “Jacob was a very brave young man. Willing to make sacrifices for his friends. He knew the gamble he was making, exchanging his life to give guidance to his companions.”

“I-…” You stop trying to speak. You can’t find the words. It’s been over three years since your dad went missing on LORAH. It had happened maybe a few weeks after you entered Sburb. A Wednesday afternoon when you realized, but who knows how long he had been gone before that. There wasn’t any major event that marked his death, no final stand he took against some crazy monster, no heroic feat that cost him his life. He was simply there one second, and gone the next. You searched like a mad-man for him afterwards, scouring your Land sky, surface and catacomb, but he had simply vanished. Swallowed up by the sand.

You had wanted to travel back in time to find him, to watch over him as he left for wherever he went that day, to stop whatever forces that spirited him away without so much as a peep. Before you made the jump back, however, you checked the timeline for causal loops, asking your future selves for the exact time they went back to save him. It destroyed you to find out that none of them ever did. No matter how far into the future you asked, no versions of yourself ever went back for him. And so you never went back for him. Even with all the power to intervene right at your fingertips, you couldn’t. Causality wouldn’t let you. Marooned on the temporal flow with your worthless time powers like a lowlife, you couldn’t save the one person you truly needed to. The worst part is you… you didn’t even get to say goodbye...

When Samantha told you she knew him, had even been his client player, it felt like you finally had a way to find him after all this time. Like you had been searching in the dark for so long and finally came across the light. Only to find that you’d lost him all over again. Even if he wasn’t the man you knew, only another iteration of him from another time, you had wanted to meet him again. Wanted to… wanted to…

“Jason?” Ameliasprite calls, lightly touching your hand. “Oh my! Jason, you’re so warm!” She tells you, placing a hand on your forehead like a mother would. “You have a fever.”

“I’m sorry, I’m-I’m fine.” You tell her, still halfway in your guilty stupor. “I’m just a little tired.”

“She’s right, something’s up with you.” Samantha adds, looking you up and down. “I wasn’t planning on mentioning it, but when I first saw you, I noticed your bodily systems have all been in overdrive.”

“Overdrive?” You blankly question, unsure of their concerns.

“The systems that make up your body like the nervous system, circulatory system, endocrine, cardiovascular, skeletal, they all have active and resting states. Meant to accommodate for fluctuating levels of activity. When a person is at rest, their systems are supposed to reflect that. All of yours, however, are working in overdrive, as if attempting to accommodate for something. Like your entire body is anticipating needing to enter into an over-active state.”

“Does that mean anything?” You continue your clueless questioning, still not sure what the big deal is about your ‘systems’ or whatever.

“Hmm… usually overactivity in a bodily system means the overproduction of cells, resulting in the formation of a tumor, but you’re relatively healthy. No rampant cell growth at all.” You have a half-flash of panic at the word ‘tumor’, but it subsides with her use of ‘healthy’. “If anything, you should’ve passed out from exhaustion a while ago with that amount of superfluous energy usage. Yet your liveliness seems nominal as well, somehow. Anyway, that’s probably why your body is so warm. Like an engine overheating from excess use, making a bunch of runoff heat.”

“What could be causing this?” Ameliasprite asks, turning to her ward.

“No idea. Something like that’s completely anomalous.” She answers, folding her arms while she looks at you. “Perhaps he picked something up from one of the other players here?” Okay, with that implication, you think it’s time to leave.

“Look, I appreciate the concern and all,” You say while gently removing Ameliasprite’s hand from your forehead, bringing it down to her side while you hold it. “but I really need to get going. My friends could be anywhere in this Land and we only have so much time left before the people we need are off the board.”

“Still going ahead with that snipe hunt, then?” Samantha asks. You aren’t sure what a snipe is, but you guess she’s referring to your plan she’s so critical of.

“Sorry if that’s a little disappointing.” You bashfully chuckle at the familiar unimpressed look Samantha gives you. She was raised by Mia after all. “You might not believe there’s a chance I can get out of here, but… I’ve still gotta try! It’s been… an experience meeting you two. Hopefully we can see each other again before this all ends.” You turn to Ameliasprite directly now. “If you see yourself, please tell her to head south.” She nods without any questions.

With the clock ticking, you say your final goodbyes to the two. Ameliasprite gives you one last hug, re-illuminating your face once more. You hug her back, firmer than you mean to. It’s strange, but you’re having a hard time remembering the last time you received a hug. Shaking those sad thoughts out of your head, you’re off!

Exiting out of a rustic gate at the back of the garden, you’re spit out onto a seemingly abandoned street on the other side of the Museum compound’s walls. You start heading south, lightly jogging along between the various museum ramparts. This planet is strangely modern, with the path you’re on looks like a city sidewalk. There are even little two-lane roads and street lights, everything, making it look like a mini high-end neighborhood. You doubt that there are any actual cars that the consorts drive and the streets are purely ascetic, but you keep to the sidewalk anyway. What kind of role model would you be for Gretel if you went running in the streets without so much as a sliver of precaution for the non-existent traffic? As if someone who carelessly runs through the streets could even be considered a role model at all!

“Hey.” Gretel taps the side of your head as you trot along. “What was all that about?” You look back at her to see the most baffled geckoy face you’ve seen in your life peeking over your shoulders.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

 

***

 

“See yourself?” Samantha mutters. “What do you suppose he meant by that?”

“If I were to guess, Ma’am, I’d suppose there’s another Me running around on this planet.” Ameliasprite states. “It seems that he might be in cahoots with her as well. Aww, how sweet. It’s nice to know some things never change.”

“He’s an odd one, no? Was he always so strong headed?” Samantha quietly scoffs.

“To a fault. Hmhmhm!” Ameliasprite coos.

“I still don’t understand your affinity for him. He seems like a bit of a doofus.” Samantha says, chewing her cheek.

“He most certainly is. But love is love, young Mistress, no matter how much it vacillates.” Ameliasprite teases, moving her hands behind her back in the utmost proper of postures. “You’ll understand when you find your special someone.”

“Vacillates?” She asks, with a sort of bored disbelief.

“Oh, just something a friend would say.” Ameliasprite answers. “Now. Where too next? We shouldn’t linger much longer. Trouble is never far behind that boy.”

“Well, Mr Greene seemed rather determined to find his way to the Forge. I’m willing to bet that he’s on his way there to blow it up. Suppose that’ll be interesting to watch?” She suggests.

“Suppose it will. Shall we get going?” Ameliasprite smiles.

“Quite.”

 

***

 

“Alright, take a left up here.” Gretel instructs from behind you. She’s been using your shoulder as a stand for her little tome while clung onto your back sideways, giving you directions as you go. You can’t see it, but you’re sure it looks adorable. Like a precious grey cardigan you’ve worn like a summer-club aficionado sweaterdouche.

You hang left as you’re instructed and, clearing the wall obscuring your vision, you’re treated to one of the most gratifying sights you’ve experienced in weeks. It’s the Forge! About time... It’s still a small ways off, but you’re entering into the same valley it’s in, as the hill slowly descends into a steep incline leading down. The road you’re walking is in the same pattern as that one famous street that swerves back and forth. You know the one, it’s in San Francisco, and a bunch of people liked taking pictures on it. What was the name of that street again? Ah, who cares. It probably got obliterated by asteroids in the apocalypse anyways.

“Is it as straightforward as it looks?” You ask Gretel as the two of you reach the bottom of the swervy road. Looking forward, there’s a street that leads directly ahead to a small complex built around the bottom of the Forge.

“Yep, right down this way and we’ll be there.” She answers, pointing ahead.

Taking a look around the streets in this valley, you notice it’s pretty quiet in this part of LOAEAF, with there usually being a fair bit of chatter heard from the gatherings inside the museums. There are buildings here, but it seems like they’re empty. It’s a bit of an eerie feeling, walking through an abandoned part of the city after being somewhere so populated. Almost like you’ve stumbled into a ghost-town.

“Kind of quiet, right, Gret?” You ask in an attempt to fill the silence before you start making yourself paranoid.

“Yeah! It reminds me of home.” She happily agrees, seeming to miss your discomfort with the ominous atmosphere. It makes sense a consort from the Land of Horror and Nothing would be comfortable with silence. Nothing implies quiet, after all. “Only not as much shrieking coming down from the mountains.” And there’s the Horror. God, where the hell did this girl grow up?

Roaming the streets, you cringe every time you pass an alleyway, thinking you see a figure out of the corners of your eyes, lying in wait to jump out at you as soon as you pass. It only ever turns out to be a shadow when you look. The silence is really starting to mess with you now, putting your nerves on edge. Thankfully you’re practically at the Forge already.

Looks like you’ll be blowing it up on your own, then. Unless the others are already there, waiting for you to arrive. You can’t say you’d be surprised if that were the case, considering the shit Mia pulled back at the temple, making you fumble your way through a damn maze instead of just coming to get you. Although, you think you’d be able to hear them talking by now if they were here with how quiet it is in the valley, even if you’re still a few blocks away.

Even though you’d want everyone on your team to be present for the detonation, for redundancy’s sake, you’re not terribly torn up about destroying the Forge by yourself. It’s a shame they aren’t here, though. It could’ve been a nice bonding moment for the group, taking down a monolith all together like that. You can’t replicate that type of unity, it can only be forged from the blood, sweat and tears a group sheds as a whole. Besides it being a hell of a team-building exercise, another reason you want them here is that Mia’s probably not going to be happy about missing it. She enjoyed explosions almost as much as Rich did, so there’s a good chance you’ll get yelled at if you set it off before they get here. Either way, this thing needs blowing up, and you can’t wait any longer. You’ve got your plan. You’ve got the bombs. Time to get out of this hell hole!

As you get closer to the Forge, and it gets higher and higher in the sky by comparison, you realize it’s gonna be a bitch getting all the explosives set up by yourself. Maybe you really should wait for the others to help with this… No. Mia’s right, you haven’t been nearly as proactive as you should be. You’ll get this Christmas Tree all strung up in lights yourself, difficulty be damned!

Reaching the end of the street you were on, you find yourself before a walled-off pavilion encompassing the area around the bottom of the Forge. Gretel dismounts from your back as you arrive here, walking beside you as the two of you travel down the road that circles the complex, eventually finding an open threshold leading in. It looks as if this is some sort of tourist attraction, with a few signs and benches scattered around inside. There’s even a large set of gates that could potentially close off entrance to this complex. Maybe there’s an attendant around? You should probably warn them if you’re gonna be blowing this place up soon.

“Hello!?” You call out, causing your voice to echo. A long and silent moment passes... No answer. Seems like this place really is abandoned. You stroll up to the base of the Forge, stepping onto a large ring of grass that’s gathered at the surrounding landing of it. There sure is a lot of vegetation on this planet. The flowers, a bunch of ivy covering the buildings, this grass and a whole heap of weeds poking up through the less pristine parts of the road and sidewalk. It’s a real jungle on this Land.

Deploying your Emergency Stockpile of Explosives, you expose the Boom-Hoard to the light of day once again. You’re only supposed to use half, right? Oh well, would’ve been a hell of an explosion if you used all of it. Might have even cracked the planet open.

You get to cautiously sorting through the pile for the more stable looking explosives. You’ll need one big blasts, so you can’t have any going off beforehand. God, some of these things are so comical looking. You’ve found three bowling ball looking bombs and at least five crimson red dynamite sticks. Nevertheless, you finally make an ‘in-use’ pile you think should be big enough to get the job done and captchalogue the rest of your reserves. What you’re left with is a large assortment of individual c4 bricks, satchel-held breach charges, blasting jelly, compact AT grenades, a suspiciously large amount of briefcase bombs, and a whole lot of detonating cords and blasting caps.

Alright! Now just to get them all in position! How do you do that. The Forge is unbelievably steep, completely unclimbable without gear. Its size is rather unusual as well. The thing’s massive, almost making you wonder if you’ve got enough boom-juice to get the job done. What’s the deal with this thing anyway, the Forge in your session wasn’t this tall or steep. Must be another one of the countless nonsensical features that seem to plague the Arena’s Medium. You guess you could just equip your rocket boots and gloves and… no, wait. You probably shouldn’t put explosives near active compact jet-engines. You can’t use the gloves then, but you aren’t stable enough to only fly with just the boots… You could keep close to the Forge and keep a hand on it to stay stable? No, you probably won’t be able to secure the explosives properly then.

Damn it! There has to be an easier way to get these up ther-…oh yeah, you can fly. Like fly fly, without the use if rocket boots. Wow, how the hell’d you forget about that little ability? Maybe those cosmic joke goggles had a larger effect on your cognitive functions than you realized. That or your horrendous memory has failed you yet again. Oh well, thank you god powers!

You thrust yourself upward, arms extended out like a lame ass superhero, but you quickly land back down, your feet cushioned by the soft grass beneath them. You remain on the ground with your arms in the air like a flightless chump. Gretel tilts her head at your sudden spasm. Alright, let’s take another swing at that. Thank you god powers!

Again, nothing happens. You just hop in the air real quick and fall back down. Okay, still on the ground. One more time? Thank you god powers! Nothing. God Powers! God! Powers! Fuck! Come on! Why the hell isn’t this working?! You used to be able to fly like a champ… you know, whenever you actually remembered you could fly. What’s going on here?

You keep hopping up and down, trying to get your flight powers to activate. Gretel looks on at your floundering in a studious confusion, as if enthralled with an abstract performance. This is getting ridiculous, now. You finally give up on trying to get your bonus god tier powers to kick in after tiring yourself out hopping around like a jackass. Flight must’ve been stripped from you along with your immortality when you came to the Arena. Shame, you always had fun just floating around like you were in zero gravity when you were bored. You wonder if trolls can still fly with those wings they’ve got. They seem sturdy enough, as wings go.

You let out a frustrated huff and look back to the pile of in-use explosives with a woeful face. Maybe you’re going to have to gather the others for help after all…

“What are you doing?” Gretel asks, finally breaking the awkward silence that had filled the air between you two.

“Just trying to figure out a problem.” You sigh, looking up to the top of the Forge.

“What... kind of problem?” She sort of half glances at the pile of bombs, seeming a little uncomfortable with its presence this close to her proximity

“I need to get all these placed up and around the Forge, but it’s too steep to climb.” You explain, trying to keep it simple enough for her. “I used to be able to fly, but I’m having a hard time remembering how.”

“Ooo, I can help!” She excitedly exclaims.

“Oh, that’s nice, Gretel, but I’m not sure what you could-“

“Here, look.” She tells you as she climbs up the side of the Forge, sticking to the surfaces on all fours. Ah right, she’s a Gecko.

“Huh. I’ll be damned… Let’s get started, then!” Gretel’s face lights up at your approval and she starts scurrying around in circles on the wall like some ridiculously cute spider.

 

***

 

“Is it secure?” You ask Gretel as you hover a few feet from the Forge. You and her are just about done placing the explosives and almost to the top of the mountain. You were able to work out a system with Gretel where you only use one of your rocket gloves along with both boots and use your free digits to hand the explosives to her to affix onto the volcano’s side. You look a bit goofy being hunched over to stay stabilized in a tripod stance, but it makes hovering a lot easier.

“Yes.” Gretel confirms, making one last adjustment to the C4’s straps. “The wires are in place and the holding agent seems strong enough. Where does the next one go?”

“That was the last one, kiddo. Great job!” You tell her. “Head on to the top so I can scoop you up and I’ll fly us down.” Following your instructions, she scurries on up and you fly after her. Your landing with only one glove jet is a little sloppy, not that any of your landings could be considered clean, two gloves or not. Jetpacks and jetpack-adjacent paraphernalia have never been your strong suits.

“So we’re really going to blow up the Forge?” Gretel asks in a giddy tone.

“Yep. Pretty cool right?” You playfully ask as you summon the detonator from your inventory, checking to see if it’s able to put out a signal. You flip the primer switch and the green bulb on its side turns on, signaling it’s good to go. Nice. You only had a few receivers for this, so you had to get creative with your resource usage, connecting the few you had to different nexus-webs of detonating cords that lead to the various clusters of explosives. Ideally, they’ll all go off at the same time, given you set them up correctly. You think you did, at least in accordance with how Rich explained how to use them to you. He was pretty proficient with this kind of stuff, so you're fairly certain you've got them rigged right. You flip the detonator's primer off again. Don’t want to accidentally set this bad-boy off prematurely while you’re still standing on top of it.

“Cool? It’s fricken awesome!” Gretel answers, jumping up and down on her heels. “We’re making history! Or fulfilling a destiny! Or both!” Her first predestined realization... they grow up so fast! You wish you could still get that pumped for completing a bunch of fated nonsense. Stay Grey, Gretel-girl. Stay Grey. “Are you sure there are enough bombs to do the job?”

“I think so. I’m not sure what the power output potential of our dress-up job is exactly, buuuut…” You say looking over the edge of the cliff to see the Forge completely decorated with explosives. “I’m pretty sure this should be enough. Just one more thing.”

You access your sylladex and root around for Matrix item #15. Giant Tennis Ball. It should be in grid space 3x5, or the inverse, 5x3. Not too hard to find. Ah, here it is! You deploy the monstrosity and it falls snuggly into the Forge’s crater, completely capping off the main vent as it lodges itself at the top like a big yellow-green cork.

“What’s that for?” Gretel asks, waddling up behind you as you approach the gargantuan sports equipment.

“A message.” You tell her, equipping Bane of all Mountains to write with. With a quick scurry up, you hop aboard the fuzzy ball, a bit weary it might slip further into the Forge. It holds, however, and you start scraping your pick’s tip against the ball, carving your formal request into the fuzz. No point in getting the Seer’s attention with this whole fiasco if you can’t get a message across that you want to meet.

“Eye, vortex thingy, need 2 talk?” Gretel asks, struggling to read through your half hieroglyphic text.

“They’ll know what it means.” You assure her. It’s a pretty straightforward message, you think. Seer/Space/Need/to/Talk. If the Seer has the ability you need, then they’ll see this message when the explosion goes off. And if they see this, they won’t need a rendezvous spot, they can just track you down using their sight. Genius, you know.

“uhh…” Your consort daughter hums, dubious of your certainty in this method.

“Now!” You say, jumping off the tennis ball and landing before her. “Let’s scram before anyone starts showing up.”

“Showing up? Why would anyone show up here? The chameleons practically pretend this place doesn’t exist.” She says, looking around at the abandoned buildings below you.

“Well it’s not the chameleons I’m worried about, kiddo.” You sigh, thinking about the hundred and forty God-tiers that could be anywhere in the Arena, hiding in wait, ready to gut you at a moment’s notice. “It’s people like me that have me worried. Tall, less scales, dress kind of funny. It could be easy for them to hunt me down with us up here, messing around like sitting ducks.”

“Hunt down?“ Gretel repeats in a shaky voice. “Is someone after you?” Seeing you’ve said something that upset her, you quickly kneel down next to the girl and put a hand on her head.

“N-no…” You tell her. “At least, I don’t think anyone’s looking for me specifically, but there are a lot of dangerous people running around out there. And us messing around for this long, this high up in the air? A whole bunch of people could’ve seen us when we were hanging up the explosives. I just don’t want to be up here any longer than we have to be and have one of them accidentally spot you and me.” You smile warmly at her, which seems to put her at ease.

“A bit late for that.” A voice comes from behind you. You shoot up to face the direction it came from while stepping in front of Gretel, afraid whoever it might be will attack without warning. At the source of the voice you find another player. A Troll, specifically. Her light blue wings flexing behind her as she marches forward in her dark pink boots. She’s the Thief of Heart. Shit. “Hmm. Another Time player. How… disappointing.” She mutters to herself as she stops her approach, lingering a few feet from you. This isn’t good, this really isn’t good. From what you remember from her Compendium, it’s very possible she’ll try to steal your soul, a possession of yours you’re rather fond of.

“H-hello, th-there. Sorry, I-I-I didn’t realize a-anyone else was here.” You stumble over your worlds, attempting to make any sort of substantial connection with her before she decides to start a Strife. “I-I’m Jaso-“

“I don’t care.” She cuts you off. You feel Gretel peeking from out behind your leg to look at the Troll girl.

“Ah, okay… S-so, uh… nice night out, yeah?” You’re grasping at straws here. The Thief seems to think so too, judging by the unimpressed look she gives you as she summons an unsettlingly large hunting knife into her hands, glowing red as she brandishes it at you. God, that thing looks longer than your forearm. “Not one for stars, I-I guess. What, uh… what brings you out here?”

“You aren’t very bright, are you?” She boredly insults, tapping the absurdly long knife against her thigh in anticipation. Alright, looks like a Strife is inevitable. You take a defensive pose and ready your pickaxe. You aren’t looking forward to this.

“Get out of here.” You order, glancing back at Gretel. She looks up at you with a worried expression.

“What about you?” She urgently whispers, gripping your pant leg tightly.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” You say, patting her on the head with your free hand. “I need you to go find someone for me, though. Her name is Mia. She’ll be wearing a purple robe and wrappings around her legs, she’ll probably be scowling too. Tell her where I am and that I need her help. Okay?”

“Okay.” She nods, a tearful worry dominating her face.

“Good. Now get going.” You lightly nudge her away. Without another word, she scamper off, disappearing past the edge of the Forge. Now it’s just you and the Thief.

“Calling for backup, huh?” She mocks. “Can’t say I blame you. But you’ll have to survive until they get here for it to be worth a damn. Let’s see if you can manage that.” She lazily raises her knife from her side, pointing it your way as its pulsating glow cycles through a series of different colors.

 

Jason, get this Strife started already.

Chapter 14: > Forged from Blood

What? A Strife? No way, starting a Strife with this Troll girl should be the very last option you resort to. Combat isn’t exactly your strong suit, and with an opponent like a Thief of Heart, you doubt you could last very long.

“Well?” The Thief asks in an annoyed tone. “Are you going to keep gawking at me with that stupid looking face? Or am I going to be the one who has to throw the first punch?”

“I don’t want to fight you.” You tell her. It might be pointless, but if there’s even a slim chance you can talk her out of this fight, you’ll gladly hold out that olive branch.

“I doubt you’ll be able to call what happens next a fight.” She says with a laugh. You can’t say you'd disagree. “When you die, try not to pass on too quickly. I could use another soul like yours.”

Before you can say anything else, she charges forward in a flash, throwing slash after slash aimed all for your vitals. Well it looks like you're out of options now, and so quickly no less. On one particular slash, you feel her knife brush past your neck, nicking the skin of your throat as you're only just able to dodge out of the way from it being plunged into your voice-box. You practically fall over trying to evade her, only managing to tap her with the side of your pickaxe as a counter attack, barely phasing her advance. As she slips past your defenses, close enough to wrap your arms around her, a sudden burning tears into your right thigh as she stabs you in the leg.

“Gah!” You cry out. A slick smile forms on the Thief’s face and you hear her snicker under her breath. Too occupied with the joy she’s taking in your pain, the Thief doesn’t retreat far enough as she pulls back from the attack, staying within your reach. Annoyed from the gash she left in your leg, you swing at the opening, slamming the blunt head of your pick against the side of her temple. She’s more than phased this time.

“Ah! You little wrigglefiend!” She snarls, slashing upward at your face. Sight in your left eye instantly goes out, as her knife opens up a gash directly across your face, tearing into your left socket, up to your forehead. Oh God! It… doesn’t hurt?

You probe your injury, cautiously tapping at it with your fingers. Yeah, you’re bleeding pretty heavily and you can’t see out of that eye anymore. Other than that, it’s painless. It stung when she first cut you, but now it feels like her attack only scratched you. Come to think of it, that stab wound in your leg doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it should either.

The Thief catches you off guard while you’re still trying to figure out what the hell is going on in your body. She nicks you several more times before you’re able to get her off you. You back up to a safe distance, keeping your pickaxe up to put space between you and her. You cringe, waiting for the pain to set in, but again, all her attacks feel like a sort of relief of pressure you didn’t know was there, but no actual hurt comes from it. Holy shit, are you actually super tough or something?

Your confidence building now, realizing your opponent can only give you paper cuts, you adjust your stance, sacrificing your defensive low-to-the-ground footwork for a posture that’ll let you swing easier. The Thief cautiously watches, waiting for you to finish your adjustments. She seems to be playing defensively now. Maybe she realizes you aren’t feeling her hits? Her knife’s glow has stopped changing colors, settling on a bright red that’s encompassed the entire blade. She’s up to something, might be trying a different tactic. You charge her before she has a chance to adapt.

With a swing at her head, going for her like you’re chopping down a tree, you go wide as she ducks and jukes past you. You swing your pick back the other way and she leans back, dodging your attack again. She’s nimble, but you’re starting to get a feel for her evasion patterns. You bring your pickaxe overhead, slamming it down at her. Yet again, she’s just able to avoid being hit. Instead of her, you’ve buried the tip of your pick in the stone of the Forge. While you’re busy dislodging your weapon, you lose track of the Thief. It’s only when you hear the grunt of her lunging for an attack that you realize she’s behind you. Shit, you’re too close! She sticks you in the soft spot of your shoulder blade before you can dodge away, and sweet merciful fuck! This is the worst pain you’ve ever felt in your life.

“HaaAAHhh… w-w-w-wha-…” You sputter like a dying engine. The enormous blade shifts, threatening to pop your scapula out of place as it wriggles back and forth before being yanked out of you, leaving the inside of your back exposed to the open air. The edge of her knife drags along its incision like an inferno, cutting you further and leaving a scorching pain on your right side. It’s overwhelming, you- you can’t think straight. You’d say it’s like you’ve been shot, but you’ve been shot before, this is much worse!

The pain spreads, draping itself over your entire body now. It hurts too much, you can’t keep your pickaxe up. You let your guard drop, with Bane of All Mountains slumped down at your waist, limply held in your failing grip. The pain is still astronomical, but the faintest bit of relief washes over your right arm’s muscles as you lower Bane, taking the strain of holding your pick up off of them. You twist around to face your opponent, seeing the Thief struggling to keep herself composed, practically overcome with laughter.

“Goodness. I keep forgetting just how wimpy you humans can be.” She joyfully scorns. “Honestly, I might’ve over done it. Looks like you’re in a lot of pain right now. I mean, that’s the idea, but my god! You’re having a rough time simply standing, aren’t you?”

“W-what… the hell… d-did you do to me?” You manage to wheeze out through the agony. She pokes at the tip of her blood-covered knife with her finger, as if playfully deciding whether to toy with you or not.

“Oh, nothing really.” She says while inspecting the knife before using it to motion up and down at you. “Just a little Pain redirection.” You look down to what she’s gesturing at and see you’re all sorts of messed up. Your god tier pjs are completely torn to shreds, barely able to hold itself together by its threads, and you’re drenched in blood, with a small pool of your lifejuice slowly forming at your feet. You must have lost track of just how many slashes she managed to land.

“Pain… redirection?” You say in short breaths.

“What, can’t figure it out?” She mocks, slowly advancing on you. “It’s rather simple, really. My strife style tends to put people on guard, which can be a pain if they’re a tougher target. Not that you are, but still, a rapid series of attacks is enough to get anyone to retract into their shell, regardless of how little damage they do individually. I’ve found, however, that if you take the pain response away from them, make it so that all those little nicks and cuts aren’t felt, people tend to get sloppy. Without the constant feedback telling someone how badly they’re getting torn apart, their movements get slower, less alarmed. Their guard begins to loosen, a perfect opportunity for my knife to find its way in. Pain, after all, is just another emotion. Something that can be stolen, hoarded. Weaponized. Let all the numb lacerations do the bulk of the damage, and stockpile the pain for a staggering blow. Neat, right?” As her monologue draws to its conclusion, she’s just about at the doorstep of your personal bubble, fully informing you that you’re out of time. Shit, you can’t bring your guard back up, you can barely keep your grasp on Bane!

“w-wait…” You plead, jerking away from her. You wobble as you back up, trying to keep your balance. All those cuts she gave you caused a lot of blood loss, and you’re beginning to feel light-headed. “y-you want to get out of t-t-the Arena alive. I can h-help you escape-”

“Oh, I know you can, you pink little barkgnome. Now hold still, I’m gonna carve that soul out of you real quick. I need it for something.” The Thief says, sizing you up, deciding where to stab next. Okay, yeah, time to abscond the fuck out of here. You equip your Rocket Boots + Gloves and start to blast off. “Ah-ah-ah, not so fast.”

Before you can get more than a few feet off the ground, the Thief shoots what look to be glowing maroon wires out of the tips of her fingers, landing directly in each of your limbs with the one from her middle finger hitting you square in the Heart. You try to pull away, but they’re stuck in deep. What the hell is she doing?

You look to the Thief for any indication of what she’s got planned. She merely smirks at your cluelessness before wrapping the wires around her fist and pulling you towards her. You take back what you said before, this is the worst pain you’ve ever felt in your life. Those wires must have anchored themselves into your bones because, whenever she tugs on them, it feels like lightning tearing through your very being.

“GAAAAAHHH!” You scream in agony as the wires pull you slowly back down to the ground. The jets of your boots roar in protest as you crank the propulsion up to 11, desperately trying to break free from the Thief’s hold.

“You’re mine now, filthy human. Don’t worry, though. I’ll be sure to put your soul to good use. Better use than what you could ever do with it, anyways.” She snickers, pulling even harder on the wires and sending another stomach turning ripple of pain through your body. Your soul? Holy shit, she’s ripping out your Soul.

You look back, and as you feared, you can see your own body as your ethereal form continues to get torn from it. The horrified look on your body’s mangled face is a pretty good summation of your feelings on the current situation. You keep struggling against the Thief’s pull, but you can’t shake loose from her soul tethers. Shit shit shit! Where’s Mia when you need her? If only you had… more…time… Holy fucking shit, you forgot you have time powers.

Using what little connection you have left to your body, you instruct yourself to raise your hand and spring a snare on the Thief, trapping her in a Time Knot. Her tethers snap loose from your soul and you fall back to the ground with a heavy thud, plunging back into your body. Most of the momentum lands directly on your back, and more specifically, your tattered shoulder blade, which nearly puts you into shock. You twitch and spasm on the ground of the Forge’s rim, writhing as your stomach tries to empty itself despite not having anything solid to throw up. Why does reality have to be so cruel?

Mia might be right, you really need to use your powers more often. It’s actually pretty embarrassing how easy you could’ve avoided getting this fucked up if you just trapped her in a time knot from the beginning.

You slump yourself up and make sure your soul is completely back in your body. It looks like everything is where it’s supposed to be. All those little slashes the Thief gave you seem to have already started healing as well. The only injuries that are taking their time seaming themselves up are your eye and your back, which have you a little worried. Maybe there’s a limit to how much you can regenerate? Like if an injury is too big, it won’t heal? Whatever, those concerns are for later, right now you need to get the fuck out of here and blow this volcano, and the bitch frozen on top of it, up. You’re still a bit woozy from the amount of blood you lost, but you know what they say; You don’t need blood to flee from a fight!

Standing back up, you realize that even though your shoulder wound is still fresh, you have most of your functionality back in your right arm. You retrieve Band of all Mountains and give it a few test swings. There’s a dull soreness with your backhand, but it seems you’re back in ship-shape again. The cascade of blood pouring from your slash-opened eye has slowed to a trickle, which probably is a good sign? Still can’t see out of it though. Man, you would’ve given up your immortality as soon as you got it if it meant you got super healing instead. This shit rocks!

You look back to the Thief one last time. Her smug smile still sends a chill up your spine, even from behind that red clock-face construct that shows up whenever you use your powers. It’s weird, you’ve never really questioned the fact that the clock came with these ancient time powers. Are clock faces a universal concept or something? Does every culture have clocks, so Sburb implemented them in Time abilities? Or do you like… subconsciously create the construct as a clock-face every time you create it? And they only show up because you associate Time with clocks. Would it be a sundial if you grew up in ancient Egypt? Maybe it’s the wooziness talking, but you find it interesting how culture could have such an impact on the smallest details of power development, and how-

 

--Crack--

 

Huh?

 

--Crack-- --Crack--

 

It’s… cracking… Why? Wh-why is it cracking? The clock-face construct is cracking. Why is it doing that? It’s never done that before, why is it doing that?! You take a step back as the vectors of splintering space break further and further into the center of the clock construct.

 

--Crash--

 

The clock-face construct completely shatters and the Thief is freed.

“That’s a nasty little trick you got there, human. You almost had me.” She says while brushing the glass-like remnants of your Time Knot off her shoulders. “Too bad for you I have a few magic tricks of my own.” She flourishes her hand, summoning another maroon wire from her pursed fingers. Only one appears this time. You flinch back, anticipating it to shoot out at you again, but it slowly trails up into the sky above you. “And what’s a magician without her lovely assistant.” Her tether leads upwards, towards… another player? Hovering above the strife, armed with a sword bigger than your entire body, is the Prince of… Time. Oh shit.

 

***

 

“Do you think they’re there yet?” Esspin asks you, looking up to the Forge with a hand over her brow to block the non-existent sunlight from getting into her eyes. That or she thinks doing that lets her see farther or something.

You’ve been walking through the streets of this art gallery planet for a while now, attempting to reunite with your group after being scattered to the wind in a portal mixup. Originally, you had thought Esspin pulled a fast one on you and your human compatriots, waiting for the strongest combatant to be out of the room before enacting her nefarious abduction/probing schemes. These suspicions quickly vanished when she came trampling over a crowd of lizards, called out to you with tears in her eyes. She nearly tackled you to the ground when she finally reached you, hugging you tightly with her gangly arms, bawling about how she thought she lost her ♦moirail♦. You guess she really is just some weird alien clown chick after all.

The two of you have been wandering for four or five hours at this point, attempting to locate Sara and Jason. Honestly it’s not that bad on whatever planet this is, just so long as you stay out of those art-menageries chock full of pretentious lizards. The quiet ambiance of the street is rather calming, and the night sky reminds you of when you'd go star-gazing during the summer. But you can’t just hang around all day soaking in the atmosphere like an airhead, you’ve got shit that needs exploding. Esspin suggested performing another Hope Train ritual to find a path, only using you as the host this time, but you didn’t bother dignifying that idea with a response. You simply picked a direction and started walking, figuring you’d find your allies eventually, so long as you keep your eyes sharp. You’ve been heading north ever since.

However, instead of your Page or Sylph, you found another Forge on your search. You thought there was only ever one per session, but it seems that other planet with the fuck-ton of space stations wasn’t the only Land to be graced with a lava-spewer. If either of your missing two landed anywhere nearby, chances are they’d head towards the Prime Objective of this little mission as soon as they saw it.

You glance over at Esspin again, pondering if her looking with her naked-eye is supposed to be some kind of joke. No, she’s squinting far too seriously to be kidding. Seeing that Esspin, in all her wisdom, forgot that her rifle has a fucking scope on it, it seems you’ll have to take matters into your own hands. You step beside her and grab the gun from off her back.

“H-hey! Mia, give that back!” She protests, surprised by the sudden disarming.

“Calm it down.” You say, bringing the scope up to your eye. “You do know you can use this thing for reconnaissance, right? Not just for killing shit.” You take her silence as a no. Does she seriously just hip-fire with this behemoth of a gun?

“Well?” Esspin prompts, impatiently looking over your shoulder. Getting a closer look at it through the scope, you see a whole bunch of garbage and wires strapped up and down the Forge.

“Yeah, looks like Jason must’ve gotten there already. Strung up the explosives too.” You look to the top, but no one’s up there. At least, no one is on the side of the Forge you can see. Something’s clogging the top of it, blocking your view. Looks like a giant yellow ball. That fuck? “Not sure about Sara, though. Don’t see any sign of her yet.”

“Can I have my gun back?” She asks, inching closer to you. With a huff, you shove the rifle back into her hands. “Yay!”

“Come on. Let’s see if we can’t find the idiot. Make sure he didn’t fall into the volcano or something.” You say, setting out for your trek to Giant Bomb Mountain.

“Hey, what about Sara?” Esspin anxiously asks, following after you.

“What about her?”

“What if she’s not with Jason? I know we arrived in the same vicinity as one another, but that could’ve just been luck. What if she was stranded someplace different entirely?” The strain in her voice feels unfitting for how chipper she’s been so far. “Like Other side of the Land different.”

“Weren’t you spouting off about higher powers or something not too long ago? Have a little faith.” You wave her concerns off.

“I have plenty of faith, thank you very much!” She humphs with frump. “I simply don’t let myself be blinded by it. Come now, Mia, what if she’s fallen into trouble?” You reach the descending hill leading down into the canyon-looking chasm the Forge occupies. It’s only a couple blocks away now.

“Alright, first off, we should actually find out if she landed with Jason or not. If she isn’t with him, then we’ll work on finding her.” You assure her. “Second, Sara can fuck a bitch up if she has to. I’ve seen it first hand. She’ll be fine on her own for an hour or two.” Esspin huffs at your nonchalant attitude.

“I know it’s pointless to worry when I’ve nothing at my disposal to do anything about it,” She sighs as the two of you reach the bottom of the hill. “but I can’t shake this feeling that something terrible is about to-“

“Hey!” Someone calls, cutting off Esspin’s thought. “Heeeey!” You turn towards the yelling and see a little grey lizard scampering towards you from one of the side streets.

“Who’s that?” Esspin whispers to you. You shrug and halt your stride, waiting for the lizard to catch up.

“You’re the purple leg-wrap girl, right?” It asks as soon as it reaches you. “The one who’s always scowling?”

“What?” You ask, taken aback, feeling the faintest bit offended by the sudden blunt description.

“This is her, yes.” Esspin answers for you.

“Great!” The lizard exclaims. “I need your help.” It grabs your hand and starts tugging on you.

“Hey, hey cool your jets, ash-wednesday.” You tell it, pulling your hand free from its tiny grasp. “Just who the hell are you?”

“Oh, I’m Gretel… a-apparently. More importantly, I was told to find someone named Mia who matches your description to a tee.” The apparently She-lizard informs you. “You’re her, right?”

“I am. Who sent you?”

“Mr. Jason.” She answers. This can’t be good. “He was about to fight someone, I think. They wore red and... and had horns like her's!" The lizard adds while pointing at Esspin's head. "He didn’t seem very worried about it, but he said he would need your help.” Shit, this isn’t good. Jason not worried about a fight? The dude would pussy out of a Strife with an Imp, no way he’s brushing off an encounter with a Godtier like it’s nothing.

“Mia…” Esspin calls in a soft voice, grabbing your attention. You look to her, and she has her rifle pressed against her shoulder, actually looking through the scope this time. You follow her gaze, looking for what she's aimed at and find she's honed in on the top of the Forge. It’s hard to see, but there’s definitely something going on up there. You faintly make out three figures, all of which are dressed in varying reds. One holds a distinctly pickaxe shaped object in their hands, facing the others. Jesus, Jay, two-on-one? The hell are you doing? Abscond, you dumbass!

“We need to move.” You tell Esspin. Not giving a second beat, you sprint down the streets towards the Forge. You swear, you’re gonna wring that kid’s neck if he dies. He isn’t gonna wave freedom in front of your face and croak without another word. Jason, you son of a bitch, you better be using those god damn time powers right now!

 

***

 

God, you really wish your Time powers weren’t so useless right now. The Thief and her soulless Prince aren’t giving you an inch, and you don’t know how much longer you can keep this up.

You keep springing Time Knots on the Thief, hoping the temporal barrier might sever her connection with the Prince long enough for him to fall dead, but he smashes the snares almost as soon as she’s frozen. It’s pointless to think you can freeze her permanently, but in the brief half-second the Prince needs to break her free, you get a moment to breathe while both your opponents are preoccupied. However, summoning all these time knots is really wearing you down.

You can’t even abscond from this mess, either. Every time you get near the edge of the Forge, the Thief tries to nail you with her Soul Tethers, corralling you back into the Strife, letting you know you’re not allowed to leave. The most you can do right now is distort your own chronological perception with Time Dilation, making your reaction time sharper. Even then, the Prince is messing with the temporal presence in the immediate area, making it harder for any sort of time manipulation to take place, all while the both of them are able to move much faster than they should be able to. The most you can manage is (>2 sec. your time =1 sec. local time). All this going on, not to mention you can still only see out of one fucking eye!

The Prince lumbers towards you like a zombie, swinging his giant fucking Buster Sword at your head. You’ve spotted a few different runes lighting up on his blade near the hilt, burning a crimson red. You figure it’s a conduit of some kind, a piece of equipment he can focus his destructive temporal energies through. That’s what must be causing the disruption in the local timeflow. Although, knowing that doesn’t exactly help much. You can’t focus on either of them without the other getting an opening on you, no way you can wrestle that sword out of the Prince’s hands without the Thief getting ample time to nab your soul out from under you.

You doubt you even have a chance of wearing them down in a war-of-attrition, either. The Thief is rather conservative with her attacks, leaving most of the Strifing to her puppet, and the Prince you have absolutely no chance of wearing down at all. Dude’s a dynamo, nonstop swinging his sword like it doesn’t weigh three hundred fucking pounds. You’re not sure if it’s because he’s an undead husk or if unlimited stamina is a Prince of Time thing. Either way, he’s gonna keep swinging that thing at you without much issue.

The Prince slams his giant slab of metal down at you, aiming to bisect you from your head straight through your middle. Quickly, you raise your pickaxe, shielding above your crown as the edge of the Prince’s sword slams against it. The momentum of something so big hitting you nearly breaks your guard, but you manage to keep the attack at bay. Struggling against the weight of the sword as it presses against the top of your pick, you fight to keep it from pinning you to the ground beneath it. With all your might, you push up, raising your pickaxe in an attempt to force the sword off your guard. God, how the hell does he wield that thing? Dead or not, he should have at least a little trouble throwing that chunk of steel around!

“Surprise!” The Thief hisses as she stabs up into your left armpit, causing your grip on Bane to slip. Before the Prince can completely halve you, you shift to the side and slide his cleaver away from you, off the edge of your pick.

Jumping back before the Thief can stick you again, you send her into another Time knot. With that small moment you bought yourself, you try to tend to your wound the best you can. You can barely move your arm with the injury directly at the joint. Fuck, looks like ol’ lefty is out of commission for the time being. Good thing you’re right handed.

It looks like she hit you with another pain-redirection strike as well, seeing as you can actually feel this injury. It’s not nearly as painful as the first one she jabbed you with, which means she must not be able to get in as many slashes on you as before. Not as much pain to stockpile for her hits.

The Prince makes short work of your snare, shattering the clock-face construct and freeing the Thief, before coming at you with another overhead slash. You parry it the best you can with only one arm, diverting his chop to the right, then preemptively diving out of the way of what’s undoubtedly the Thief’s next sneak attack. From what you can gather, the Thief is only instructing the Prince, not directly controlling him. Their fighting styles don’t mesh well together, and their combo attacks are obvious at best. It’s pretty transparent that she doesn’t know how to fight with someone like him. That’s the only advantage you have in this fight. Only problem is, they’re both so powerful on their own that it doesn’t matter if they fight well together. If this Strife keeps going the way it is, they’re gonna wipe the floor with you.

The Prince keeps slamming his sword down on you, hacking at your center in an almost rhythmic pattern. He’s really trying to crush you with that thing... Every time you don’t catch an attack with your pickaxe, dodging out of the way instead, the Prince opens up a huge gash in the Forge, as the sword carves through the stone like butter. One particularly strong strike almost feels like it’s going to crack the entire mountain open.

“Hey, tell your friend to take it easy!” You shout at the Thief. “Do you know how many explosives are hooked up down there?!”

“If you want me to stop, all you have to do is give me your soul!” She laughs, taking a rapid series of slashes and jabs at you. Fucking trolls, man.

You take to catching more of the Prince’s attacks, attempting to preserve the Forge’s integrity before he caves the entire thing in on itself. The Thief must’ve noticed your concern for his destructive strikes because she’s having him aiming more for the ground than you now, taking advantage of your preoccupied focus to land in a few more slashes on your back and sides. She’s building up another pain-redirection strike, this one might have a bit of punch behind it considering how torn up you’re getting.

While you're busy fending off the Thief's bombarding assault, the Prince winds up for a huge strike on the Forge, not even trying to disguise it as an attack on you this time. You break away from your bout with the Thief and sprint over to him, catching the edge of his blade with the curve of your pickaxe before he has the chance to swing it down. He tries swinging, and you hold back his followthrough like the stopping mechanism of a catapult, straining to keep him from splitting the fucking volcano in half. Almost on cue, you’re struck with a searing pain that runs down your left leg. To no one’s surprise, the Thief has carved an enormous chunk out of your thigh just above the knees, running almost to the bone. The Prince lowers his sword, no longer needing the threat of the Forge’s collapse to bait you any longer. You stumble back, lamely hopping on your one good leg before falling over, the pain making it impossible to stay on your feet. Knowing what’ll happen if you stay down, you desperately try to scramble back upright.

You’re barely on your knees when you see the Thief approaching. Before you can bring your pick up in defense, she hits you with her Soul Tethers, anchoring them in your shoulders. Seeing you’re already defeated, she only bothers to manifest two wires from her fingertips this time. With a jerk of her wrist, she begins ripping your soul out, drowning you in waves upon waves of inconceivably intimate torment, carving into your very existence like a butcher as she sunders your essence from your body. There’s a sudden shift in the time flow of the area, as temporal reality seems to slow down for you. The Prince has dragged time to a sluggish crawl, allowing you to perceive in excruciating detail the exact moment you’re shucked like a mollusk.

You try springing another time knot on the Thief, but as you raise your hand in an attempt to evoke the snare, all that comes out is a flurry of red sparkles. It looks like your temporal reserves are completely tapped, no more time hijinks. Getting desperate now, you grab hold of the tether by hand and try to pull it out of you in any attempt to make this sensation stop. It feels like it’s slowly coming loose, but good fucking shit does it hurt! On the bright side, you’ve been experiencing some incredibly intense pains in a very short timeframe, so it’s not quite as shocking as it could’ve been, allowing you to soldier through. You rip the first tether out of your shoulder, causing your arm to spasm at the jolts of pain that come from removing it. Good, now to go for the second one.

You grab hold of the last tether and yank, barely even feeling it now with your pain receptors being all but completely overloaded at this point. It feels like it’s starting to disconnect, but before you can get it loose, an enormous weight lands on your still working side and your arm goes limp by your side. You feel your consciousness flutter, and your vision flashes with a searing white light, proving your previous statement that you were at your pain-overload point indisputably wrong.

“TchaaaAAAAAAAAHHhhhh…!” You screech at the sudden eruption of agony, shredding your throat apart until your screams wither into silent anguish as your lungs run out of air. Looking to your right, you see the Prince’s buster sword embedded into the center of your pectoral. Seems he had gotten behind you and cleaved startlingly deep into your shoulder, allowing the Thief to start removing your soul unopposed. Shit, shit shit shitshitshitshitshitshitshit!

The excruciating pain of her soul-rip starts to take effect in full force again. You struggle in vain, futilely attempting to will yourself to remain in your body, too tattered and broken to put up any sort of physical resistance. It’s no use, you can’t conjure any form of protection from the Thief’s reel and you feel yourself begin to leave your corporeal form. As you’re pulled further and further out of your body, so too are you pulled from the pain, the agitations of your torment being left in your physical existence. A bliss spreads across your mind, as you feel yourself float away. You shut your eyes in acceptance and hope the worst possible fate that could’ve befell you won’t be too terrible. In your last moments, you think of… Mia?

“Hey!” You hear from nearby. Opening your eyes, you see- Holy Shit It’s Mia! Mia! You’ve never been so happy to see her in your life! She and Esspin have finally arrived, armed and battle ready! Gretel pokes out from behind their legs, a look of terror on her face. She found them! She actually found them! Good daughter, best friend! “Just what the Fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

“M-m-m…mia…” You say in a spooky soul voice.

“I leave you alone for a minute and this is what I come back to?! Christ, Jason!” She scolds you of all people.

“M-mia… fucking… he-he-help m-m-“

“Yeah, yeah, Mia help me. As per-fucking-usual.” She says before hurling her sword-stick into a spiral like a fucking barbarian, severing the tether connected to you and embedding her weapon into the tennis ball that has been backdropping this entire strife. With the momentum of a rubber band -snapping-, you slam back into your body with excruciating force.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, becoming fully aware of your mortal injuries again, as your soul recalibrates with your body. Christ, there’s still a sword in your shoulder.

“Ess, get that dickhead off him.” Mia orders.

“Right.” Esspin nods. Taking aim at the Prince, she nails him right in his pale zombie shoulder, erupting a splash of black-blood from the bastard and causing him to recoil back. As he pulls away, the edge of his blade drags along your wound, slicing a few more inches into your chest as it’s extracted.

“Fuuuu-hu-hu-hu-hu-hu-huck…” You whimper at the sudden removal of the giant blade. Christ, you still wish the sword was in your shoulder.

“Sorry!” Esspin apologizes, running to your side to guard you.

“Make sure he doesn’t bleed out.” Mia instructs.

“Yeesh. Really took you to the circus, didn’t they.” Esspin mutters to herself as she carefully slings your still-attached arm over her shoulder, dragging you away from the fight. The pull of gravity weighs on your injured side, and your shoulder begins to slowly peel away from the rest of your body. So… feeling pretty good right about now.

“You.” Mia turns, addresses the Thief. “Just who the fuck are you?”

“Your worst fucking nightmare.” She scoffs back.

“OoOOoh, real fuckin’ scary. Does Miss Nightmare have a name?” Mia mockingly asks. “Or would you rather I just make one up for you?”

“Master will do just fine.” The Thief narrows her eyes at her newly found opponent.

“Pff. In your fuckin’ dreams.” Mia says, deflecting the intimidation attempts. The Thief’s barking up the wrong tree trying to scare her. If anything, Mia gets a kick out of being menaced at. “'Master', that's rich. No, you look more like a groveling little grub who thinks they’re tough shit. Yeah, that’s got a ring to it. How about it, Grub? You gonna tell me your name, or what?”

“Why bother with the exchange? You’ll be my servant soon anyway.” The Thief scowls. Mia’s brow furrows and she jerks her chin up at her.

“Good point, Grub.” She agrees, retrieving another spear from her strife deck. You recognize this one, she used to use it a lot before she got her current spear. The blade of this one looks like a black feather. You think it’s called The Raven? “Why bother?”

Without another beat, Mia leaps forward towards the Thief, taking a jab at her jugular. The Thief jerks her head back to avoid being pierced, but leaves her center mass propped forward. With an exposed target, Mia flicks the tip of her spear down then back up again, doing a quick check-mark motion across the Thief’s torso, actually drawing blood. That’s already more than what you were able to do.

The Prince starts lumbering towards the newly renewed Strife, his sword dragging along behind him, evoking a stream of sparks to jump from the blade as the tip scrapes against the stone ground. Before he can intercept Mia’s assault on his master, Esspin preoccupies the Prince with a barrage of cover fire from her rifle. A few of her bullet casings bounce off your head as they fall, the hot metal tapping your temple like it’s trying to get your attention. You don’t notice, however. Between the still gouged out eye and ridiculously unhealthy amount of blood loss, you can’t see, or feel, much of anything. The only thing occupying your senses is the warm blood puddle your face is lying in.

Try as she might, Grub is unable to land a strike on her new opponent. Unlike her last challenger, this one is much more tenacious. The very nature of her weapon makes Strifing with her difficult for the poor Troll girl. Her knife doesn’t have much reach, while Mia’s lengthy handle-sword seems to be designed for keeping a wide berth in fights.

Mia, on the other hand, isn’t having any trouble teaching her opponent a lesson. She’s said it before and she’ll say it again; she’s the only one who gets to kick you around. Sure, it’s an unhealthy relationship, but you feel safe in it simply due to the fact that Mia can’t let you die. You’re the only one in the Arena who has even a remote idea of how to survive the undooming without going to the trouble of killing everyone. If she wants out, she’ll have to keep you from dying. She knows it, you know she knows it, and she knows that you know that she knows it. But most importantly, you know that she knows that you knows... that she… she knows it? And that really eats her up inside, so it’s worth the effort. What exactly it is? You certainly don’t know. What you do know is that the amount of blood leaving your body is dangerously high right now and it’s hard to keep a coherent line of thought in your head. Simply put, you’re down a couple quarts, and it’s getting harder to think straight.

As you jump through mental hoops trying to figure out who knows what, and getting sidetracked all the way, you fail to take note of the unbelievably epic fight going on before your blind eye right now. While the favor of the Strife is leaning heavily in Mia’s court, Grub certainly has gotten a few good slashes in at this point.

“Ha! You call those attacks?” Mia mocks, shaking off the blue blood from her spear. “What the hell is that little butter knife made of? Foam? I’ve met bugs that have a meaner bite!” With a quick slash across the face, almost like a slap, Mia rakes her spear tip across the Thief’s cheek, evoking a torrent of blood which splatters against the tennis ball’s green fuzz. It’s obvious to anyone who sees it that this attack had a particular sting to it, but the Thief grits her teeth and focuses on the strife, trying to dodge Mia's jabs where she can. The Thief is up to something. It’s just that no one has noticed it yet. “Jason! You really let this pushover paint the floor with you? Come one!” Hearing your name called, you look up. Your sight still hasn’t recovered yet, but what little you can see is just a whole lot of blood. Grub has only landed a few hits, but they were deep. She probably has more than enough power stored up to do some serious damage with a pain-redirect.

“”M-…M-mia!” You manage to muster, getting her attention. “You… y-… you need to be careful. She… she…” You’ve lost a lot of blood.

“Oh, will you shut your trap, runt!” Mia snaps, turning completely on you now. “I am sick and god damn tired of ‘look out for this’ , ‘be careful about that’ , ‘try being an overly cautious wimp and pussy-foot around everything like me!’. Well guess what, not everyone stubbornly refuses to drum up the slightest ounce of conviction like you do, fuckhead! Some of us actually have some fucking guts! Some of us don’t need to be protected from a light breeze! Some of us aren’t Fucking Cowards!” As Mia roars at you, Grub mutters something to her knife and its blade lights up purple.

“Mia!” Esspin shouts, seeing what you were warning about. “Look out!” Mia whips around just in time to be stabbed in the center of her torso, right at the base of her ribs. She remains silent, only shuttering as her muscles tense up.

Grub pulls the knife from Mia’s stomach, causing her to fall to one knee. Before she can do any more damage to her, Esspin fires a round at the Thief’s head. The Prince blocks it, shielding the Thief with the side of his sword, but it spooks her enough to back off of Mia.

Esspin rushes over to her injured friend, but recoils back once she gets close. A dark smoke drifts off from Mia, as if she were smoldering with heat. Then, like a match hitting gasoline, a burning purple fire erupts, engulfing her body in the inferno. Left in Mia's place is the silhouette of her form, with the only distinguishing characterizing piercing through the flames being two furious pure-white eyes.

“Man, this really FUCKING stings…” Mia booms. Her voice sounds... off. Like another is speaking in sync with her. You know, like a fucking demon. She slams her spear into the ground, burying its feathery tip into the Forge and using it as a cane to get back to her feet. “Consider me impressed.”

In a split second, she’s in front of Grub, causing her to jump in surprise. Almost instinctively, the Thief lashes out, slashing at Mia’s throat with her so close. The attack falls short, however, when Mia catches Grub by the wrist, twisting it until she drops her knife. Catching it as it falls, Mia grasps the weapon by the tip of its blade. Nonchalantly, she tosses it aside before overtly balling her hand into a fist for all to see. Now unarmed, Mia begins to pummel her target. Grabbing hold of her hair to keep her in place, Mia pounds Grub’s face into a blue pulp. The Troll’s jaw jerks left and right as Mia switches between overhand and backhand, knocking the spit, blood and teeth out of her mouth. Taking the Thief by the collar, Mia slams Grub's face down into her knee, landing square against her nose, flinging her back. The Prince, finally coming to the defense of his master, slings his buster sword at Mia and she… she fucking catches it?! Like… with her bare hands!

“Holy shit…” Esspin says to herself, slowly marching backwards to you, guarding your position again.

“I’ll have to respectfully ask you to Fuck Off!" Demon Mia says, clenching her hand into a fist and breaking the sword’s blade in half with nothing but her grip.

As the steel shards of the sword fall to the ground, Mia grabs one out of the air and jams it into the Prince’s torso. You’re not sure if he can actually feel pain or not, because he doesn’t react much to the stabbing, other than being thrown back from the initial force of the hit.

Turning her attention back to the Thief, Mia throws an onslaught of jabs and crosses, landing solid hits all over the Troll’s body. She’s moving so fast the Thief only manages to react to a hit about four punches after it’s landed.

With one last heavy hit in her onslaught, Mia launches the Thief away, slamming her against the tennis ball and subsequently bouncing her to the blood covered ground. As Grub grovels on the blue stained stone floor, she glances to her left, noticing that she's landed near her knife. Seeing her weapon, the Troll makes a quick scramble for it. Mia charges, kicking her in her jaw and sending her reeling back into the tennis ball again, but not before she’s able to get ahold of her stab-stick.

“Ahh… fuck…” Grub coughs, letting her head hang. She’s taking in heavy breaths and spitting up blood.

“Still think I’m not worth the bother, Grub?” Mia marches up to the Thief, pulling her up by her throat and slamming her agains the tennis ball, pinning her to it with one hand. At least it isn’t just you who’s neck everybody is going after. “Because I’d say I’m pretty Fucking worth it!” She says, slamming her fist into the Thief’s stomach.

“Kahh!” The Thief exclaims, spitting up another mouthful of blood.

“What’s wrong?” Mia asks in a spiteful tone, tightening her grip on the Troll’s throat and raising her off her feet. “It looks like you’re having a rough time there.”

“s… so…p” The Thief chokes through the stranglehold Mia’s got on her.

“What’s that? You’ll have to speak up Grub.” Mia mockingly encourages.

“S-stop! Calling me that!” Grub cries, stabbing her knife into Mia’s forearm, trying to get her grip to break. She doesn’t so much as flinch. “I… *huff* am destined for greatness! My name is Medeas Colchi and you… *huff* will address me with respect!” There’s a long silence as Colchi’s words echo across the strife-grounds.

“Nice to meet you, Medeas.” Mia says, pulling the knife out of her arm, claiming the weapon for herself and reeling it back for a strike. “Now DIE!” As Mia follows through, Medeas places a hand over her chest, stopping her dead in her tracks in a stunned surprise.

“You… *huff* have a lot of anger.” Medeas pants, finally breaking Mia’s grip on her. “Let me have a taste.”

“Wh-…what…” Mia stutters as her flames die down. “What did you…” Just as it happened with Mia, Medeas erupts with a purple flame. And just like Mia, she looks incredibly pissed, the fury in her eyes peering through from her silhouette. This can’t be good.

The Strife, if you could even call that beating a strife, picks back up in an instant. At first you thought Mia had begun convulsing, but you realize she’s recoiling from each of Medeas’s punches. Christ, she’s even faster than Mia was, you can hardly keep track of each hit.

You slump onto your good, er-… better shoulder to see the Prince has jabbed what remains his sword into the Forge, his blade rune’s lighting up like crazy. He’s messing with Medeas’s temporal flow, which is probably what’s making her so fast.

“Mia!” Esspin shouts, running to go join the Strife before you can direct he attention to the Prince. She fires her rifle as she approaches the two, putting the gun into a fully automatic mode which it evidently can do. Funny, it looked like a bolt-action to you. Medeas whips out her Soul Tethers, using her wires as a sort of defense matrix, deflecting the bullets away.

As soon as she’s in close enough proximity, Medeas grabs hold of Esspin’s rifle with her tethers, flinging it out of her hands and leaving her defenseless. The discarded gun lands next to you, almost knocking you in the head. Or maybe it did knock you in the head and you just didn't notice. You’re too numb to tell.

Before Esspin can summon another weapon from her strife deck, Medeas shoots her wires at her, aiming to steal her soul. The most Esspin can do in defense is block with her forearm, diverting all five wires to one limb. The tethers wrap tightly around her wrist, creating a cascade of golden and dark pink sparks to come exploding for the point of contact.

“A highblood? Your anima will make a fine addition to my collection! Let’s get that soul out of you nice and quick.” Medeas says, yanking on her tethers. “In fact, I might just make you my Personal Servant. Us Trolls have to stick together, do we not? Especially with all this human SCUM running around!” Helpless to stop this, you watch as Esspin’s soul begins to peel out of her body, starting at her wrist, and pulling down all the way to her elbow. Seeing this, Esspin's face contorts with a rising anger.

“Rahh!” She exclaims, flexing her bicep and forcing her soul back into her body. The Thief looks taken aback by the sudden defiance, and is only further put off by the cracking sounds Esspin’s neck makes as she rotates her head around, working out the knots from her spine. Slowly straightening out her posture, it looks as if she’s begun to exponentially grow, settling at her actual height while looking almost a foot taller than she just was. She was already tall before, now she looks half-giant! She practically dwarfs Medeas, who, looking displeased with current developments, tries to regain control over the situation.

“Getting uppity, are we, little clown girl?” She spitefully asks, wrapping her tethers around her fist for a better grip. “You think you can resist me?! You think you can Defy?! Me?! I will Devour your SOUL!!” You can practically hear those tethers constricting around Esspin’s wrist with how hard Medeas is pulling on them, trying to pry her soul out. “SUBMIT TO ME OR ELSE!”

“As if… I’d ever serve under… blue blooded Trash like you!” Esspin rumbles, grabbing hold of the Soul Tethers with her free hand. “You’ve got another MOTHERFUCKIN’ thing coming!” Jerking on the wires herself, Esspin flings Medeas towards her, taken off-guard by the sudden overwhelming burst of strength.

“Wha-“ Medeas stumbles forward as she gets her footing. Esspin is behind her before she can fully recover and wraps her own Soul Tethers around her neck.

“WELCOME to the DARK CARNIVAL, bitch!” She roars, snapping the tethers taught, strangling Medeas. Yeah, some weird troll shit’s going on right now.

In more interesting news, it looks like the Prince has decided to stop fucking with the local chronology and gathered what remains of his sword for an attack. You should probably do something about that… Yeah, probably.

You roll over to Esspin’s rifle, letting out an agonizing ‘Fuck’ when you landed on your severed shoulder. Still not healed, you see. Damn. The hell’s taking so long?

You pull the bolt back, making sure there’s a bullet in the chamber. You don’t have much experience with firearms, but Lexie gave you the basics back when you first entered your session. There was a whole lot of debate with the others of whether or not you should carry a more potent weapon than your pickaxe, but you decided to stick with your gut and kept with your pick-affinity. The others followed you nonstop for a week when you refused to carry even a piston, took shifts and everything. Oh right, the Prince. Guess you haven’t produced enough blood to think straight, either, haha.

You fire, landing your shot just above the Prince’s knee. Sweet, you actually hit him! Your eyesight might not be able to focus, but visual impairment be damned, you nailed that bitch! Hope Gun, mother fucker! And god damn the recoil hits you right in the fucking shoulder! The pain is immeasurable!

The Prince unceremoniously falls to the ground, mid-stride, sliding face down in the pool of blood that's become of the Forge’s rim. It doesn’t look like he’s getting up any time soon. Or ever again, hopefully. His fragmented sword finally stopped glowing, and you feel a sort of pressure in the air you didn’t realize was there release. Looks like Time is straightening out, finally.

“Filthy Apostate!” Esspin screams, still strangling the ever-loving-shit out of the Medeas girl. “You are BENEATH ME!” She seems to be going a bit off the deep end, judging by the deranged look on her face. Kinda reminds you of when Mia strangles you. Speaking of Mia, she seems to be down for the count, with a decently sized puddle of blood forming around her, mixing in with the greater pool that’s forming. That’s probably bad.

“Gah! HAHGH! TAHHH!” Medeas gurgles as Esspin tightens her grip on the tethers. She’s even been lifted off her feet due to the size difference between the two. You’d think she would just stop using her Soul Tethers and they’d just disap- oh she stopped using her Soul Tethers and they disappeared. Shit, you didn’t say that out loud did you? Medeas flops to the ground, taking a gasping breath while proned like an animal before forcing herself up.

“Jason!” Esspin calls for you. Shit, you might have said that out loud. “Gun, Now!” Oh, okay, she just needs another murder utensil.

You fling the rifle at her, your throw’s a little off but she catches it by the barrel and immediately takes it into a swing, cracking Medeas in the side of the head with the butt of the gun. She takes it without a flinch, returning in kind with a right hook to Esspin’s jaw. They exchange blows, blocks and counters back and forth like this for what to you seems like a solid minute, but could in all likelihood only be a few seconds. The sound of bones cracking and wings flapping is like some demented murder symphony.

“You… Will… Serve Me!” Medeas grunts between blows. Purple and Blue blood is flying everywhere, pooling up with Mia’s own rapidly growing red blood puddle as well as the black ichor that's slowly draining out of the Prince, creating a dirty, dark purple sludge.

“Jason!” You hear from behind you. You slowly roll over to face the voice. It’s Sara and another Troll kid. “What’s going on here?!” She kneels down to look over your injuries, putting a hand over her mouth when she sees just how fucked up you are.

“Oh, hey… Sarba… where’ve you bn? Misses… mississip… miss a whole lot’.” You fumble out, finding it hard to concentrate on anything you’re saying.

“That’s your highblood friend?!” The new Troll boy asks, a strange anger in his voice for some reason.

“Yeah, that’s her and- Mia!” Sara cries, spotting the mass formally referred to as Mia as she float in the continually expanding blood pond. Hearing Sara’s voice, Esspin’s attention whips around to her. Looking back at her human friend, Esspin seems horrified that she’s here for some reason, creating a big enough opening for Medeas to gain the upper hand.

With Esspin distracted, Medeas pulls the same maneuver she did on Mia, placing a hand over her chest and siphoning her anger. The mixture of her anger with Mia's causes the fire around Medeas to become transparent, transforming into a sort of light Aura and revealing the Thief once more. Almost immediately, Esspin recoils back as her posture scrunching down again, returning her to her original height, almost like she’s folding in on herself.

Before she can realize what’s happening, Esspin is sent crashing into the ground, landing beside Mia and causing a splash in the blood pond. Medeas looms above her, the knuckles of her fist still smoking from the punch to the back of her opponent’s head, and a sinister smile plasters itself on her face.

“I am the destined Survivor of the Arena! And you will ALL Serve Me!” She booms. Esspin plants a hand on the ground, trying to push herself back up when Medeas stomps a foot down on her head, rendering her unconscious. “Or you will be dealt with accordingly.”

 

Jason, just uh… just don’t bleed out.

Chapter 15: > Ka-Fucking-Boom

Seeing that your right shoulder has been severed all the way down to the bottom of your pectoral, you can’t really promise not to bleed out, although you’re pretty sure you’ve lost more blood than is physically possible at this point. Your ichor production must be off the charts right now, which could be why your other injuries are taking so long to heal up. Actually, both Mia and Esspin have lost quite a bit of blood themselves, Medeas too. The amount of blood on top of this Forge could probably fill a couple kiddie pools. Where the hell is all this life juice coming from?

Copious amounts of Blood aside, you and your friends are still in quite the predicament. Sara and the Troll boy look on in shock as the Thief of Heart maniacally laughs, celebrating her claimed victory in Strife over both Mia and Esspin. Your team’s heavy hitters are out of commission, leaving only yourself, Sara, and also that Troll Sara brought along with her for some reason. What is he, a Seer of Heart? Great. So in short, a heavily damaged Resident Time Chump, the Team Councilor, and an Emotional Support Main. This probably isn’t going to go very well…

“Oh shit…” The Troll boy mutters to himself, looking on at the enormous pools of blood. “Sara? What do we-”

“Just make sure Jason doesn’t die.” Sara instructs, nodding over to your crumpled body. “I’ll go get the others.”

“Got it.” The Troll boy says without a fuss. Sara equips two Bladed Folding Fans from her strife deck and rushes to assist the others, naruto running with her weapons by her side. Ha, neeerd. The Troll boy kneels down to you. “Hi, you’re Jason, right?”

“Nomb, Imma J-… jaybin.” You blurt out, feeling your mind totally abandon any vocal functions you might’ve had left to the blood loss.

“That’s great buddy. I’m Amvinn, good to meet you. Sooo I’m gonna have to ask you not to bleed this muuuchhh?” He awkwardly smiles, patting you on the head gingerly. It’s pretty clear he’s unfamiliar with human anatomy, and possibly the concept of first-aid all together. Seeing that you won’t be getting any medical attention, you turn your own attention back to the Strife. With a swish of her fan, Sara pushes Medeas back a good ways on a sudden jet-stream, creating a wide berth between her and your fallen allies. She takes the initiative of attacking first, as to not lose the gap she had created.

You have to say, you never really saw Sara as the Strife Proficient type, but she holds her own rather well. Her movement is so graceful, spinning and jumping around like a ballerina, taking slash after slash at Medeas with those Fans, keeping her on the ropes. Even throwing in a few kicks when she can for good measure. Medeas seems to be getting sick of being on the defensive, and she tries challenging her lead, rushing at her in an attempt to overwhelm her balance. It doesn’t work in her favor though. Sara collapses her Folding Fans, turning them into fine pointed daggers, and stabs into the Thief, square in her shoulders. Medeas tries to push through the pain, but Sara plants her feet, slowing her charge to a standstill. Stubbornly, Medeas tries forcing past the stalemate, starting to drive Sara back inch-by-inch. Seeing she’s losing ground, Sara springs up, flipping forward over Medeas and out of her path, carving a large gash out of both shoulders as she drags her fans across her flesh from deep within their puncture wounds. Your visual tracking is getting a bit blurry so it’s hard to keep pace with the entirety of the fight, but you don’t think you’ve seen Medeas land a single hit so far.

While Sara does seem to have the favor in the Strife, you think you can chalk that up to the fact that Medeas lost track of her knife in her bout against Esspin. All she has is her fists now, and from the way she fights with them, it’s obvious she isn’t specibused with Fistkind, making it manageable for Sara to handle her. However, the Thief has Mia’s Rage. Something you’ve learned never to underestimate.

You can see the frustration building up on Medeas’s face as the Strife goes on. The Compendium for her stated that once a Thief gets their hands on another’s emotions, there’s a chance that they’d start replicating tendencies from the person they stole them from, given their powers matured a certain way. If she’s got Mia pumping through her head, there’s no doubt she’s getting more and more pissed off that she can’t hit her opponent.

“Stand… STILL!” Medeas orders, throwing punch after punch, getting noticeably faster with each jab. If it keeps up like this, Sara's gonna end up like everyone else who’s made the poor decision of facing the Thief one-on-one. If you want to take her down, you’ll have to gang up on this psycho.

“Azzeh… you, Amlimb…” You call, getting the Troll boy’s attention. “Youb… y-… y-you nehd t…t… to helgh her…” It’s official. You’ve lost any motor control of your tongue to the blood loss. Honestly it’s a wonder how you’re even alive right now, let alone still cognitive enough to strategize.

“Uh… yeah, buddy. Sure thing.” He says, awkwardly turning back to the Strife. He doesn’t understand you. Great. Just great.

“Gah!” Sara exclaims, recoiling back from one of Medeas’s attacks. You don’t think it actually landed, but Medeas is so worked up, that flame aura is actually giving off heat at this point, burning her opponent when in close proximity.

Shit, this is bad. This is significantly worse than you thought it would be, and you thought it was going to be a slaughter. Deploy out your Mini Fridge. You’re too impaired to get this Troll guy to back Sara up, and with Mia and Esspin still thoroughly KO’d, she’ll be on her own. Medeas is just going to get stronger the more pissed off she gets, so simply wearing her out is off the table. Hey, deploy your Mini Fridge. Maybe you can signal Sara to get the two and abscond before things get too out of control? No, you can barely work your way through a sentence, there’s no way you’re communicating anything coherent to her. Hey, Boss! Deploy your Mini Fridge already!

…What? Your Mini Fridge? Why would you… where’d that thought come from…? Uh, alright, you deploy your Mini Fridge. Okay, there it is, your Nuclear Energy Mini Fridge in all its Lime Green glory. You guess you should open it, maybe get a drink while you’re at it. You can never be too hydrated. Unless you’re drowning, then that would probably be too much hydration. If someone drank too much water on land and ended up dying of water poisoning, did they technically drown? Is drowning just death by water, or is drowning death by the complete encapsulation in water? Or any liquid, you guess. Does that mean drowning is just the restriction of oxygen by any liquid or- Boss!

Oh right, getting a drink… Uh, how about a cola? You haven’t had anything sweet in a while, and you think something nice would be uplifting in these trying times. No. …No? You heard me. No. Then what? Just water? No, not water. Come on get your head in the game. If you hadn’t noticed, your head’s a little banged up at the moment. It’s gonna be a bit difficult to get it in ‘the game’ at this current junction, and you’re pretty sure you’re hearing voices right now. Fuck’s sake, Boss, just pick up the black pond scum already.The Lagoon Water? Yes!

You decide to listen to the strange voice in your head and grab the Universe-Lagoon Water. You aren’t too psyched about drinking this again, considering you’re pretty sure it’s actually radioactive. If nothing else, it’s just unpleasant to consume. Quit being a baby and drink it already. Alright fine! You take a small sip, shuttering as it makes its way down your throat. Get another swig down. What? No way, it’s hard enough to drink this stuff when you’re stranded in a desert, which you currently are not. How much blood have you lost already, Boss? Because I’m pretty sure that’s way more than five liters on the ground there. You need to replace those liquids. …Fair point. You take another sip, and your mouth goes a little numb. What now? …Hello?… Guess you really were hearing voices. You must’ve been dehydrated. Probably for the best you got some liquids in your system anyhow.

You turn your attention back to the fight and Sara is looking way more banged up than last you saw her. Medeas throws a punch, pushing past the Fan she had up as a defense and landing square on the side of her face. Sara pulls her forearm up as replacement guards for the next two strikes before falling back. Medeas has gone full blown Frothing-Psycho Mode now, she’s too much for Sara to handle alone.

“Ambl- Amvel-… Am-Amvinn.” You’re able to say properly, finally finding your mouth. “You need to get in there and help her.”

“What about yo-“ He says, stopping short after looking down at you. “Oh.”

“What?” You ask, curious what’s got him so surprised.

“You’re, uh, certainly looking better.” He tells you.

You look yourself over to see what he’s talking about. Just like before, it seems most of your injuries have healed. All those countless gashes have closed up, and your sight seems to have finally come back in your left eye now. Even the gaping shoulder-severing the Prince gave you has stitched itself up quite nicely. You roll your joints around, checking just how well you’ve recovered. A little stiff, but you’re feeling pretty good. Great, even! You sit yourself up, but Amvinn stops you as you try to stand.

“Hey, you sure you’re ready for that?” He asks, looking you over.

“Doesn’t matter.” You say, looking back over to the Strife. “She needs our help.” You grab your pickaxe and get to your feet, much to Amvinn’s dismay. “Back me up, okay?”

“Uh… s-sure.” He agrees, retrieving a Giant Key-looking-Sword from his Strife Deck. Fully recovered, the two of you charge into the fray.

Sara does her best to redirect Medeas’s punches, but with each parry she loses more and more of her balance. She tries using her jab technique to buy herself some space, but it seems Medeas has taken to powering through the stabbings to continue her assault. Eventually, she catches Sara off guard with a left hook, sending her spiraling to the ground. Medeas marches up to her, grabbing one of Mia’s discarded spears on her way, and is towering over Sara before she can get back on her feet.

“Now Die like the Human Wriggler you are!” She orders, pulling back for a full swing.

As she follows through, Amvinn jumps in front of her, catching the blade in the groove of his key and diverting it to the ground. While she’s preoccupied with him, you swoop in and pull Sara away from them, more or less dragging her through the enormous puddles of blood by her nape.

“Jason? You’re not… opened up.” She notes as you finally come to a stop.

“Yeah, I know, isn’t the healing thing cool?” You say, helping her up. “Anyway, thought you could use a hand.” You look back to see Amvinn more or less handling the monster that Medeas has morphed into with ease, even while she's using one of Mia's spears. It seems he’s experienced with keeping raging creatures at bay, judging by how his fighting-style seems to account for everything the Thief has to offer. Always minding his distance from his opponent, pulling back when they go on the offensive, far enough to safely dodge their attacks, but close enough that his opponent doesn't over-correct their hits and aim where he’s going to be. He also has a meticulous manner of offense, only striking when his opponent has no chance of grabbing hold of his weaponry, targeting either their rear flanks and legs, or countering just after the Thief’s followed through with a swing. It’s actually quite a spectacle, seeing him run circles around her, always managing to skillfully stay just out of reach. It appears Medeas has forgotten all about you, too fixated on chasing the Seer to give a damn about you regrouping. “You good?”

“A little roughed up, but nothing I can’t handle.” Sara assures you, getting up and slicking the excess blood from her outfit. “Thanks for getting me a moment to collect myself. Now! Let’s get back in there."

Amvinn seems to have gone on the defensive, seeing as Medeas can crank out the hits one after another without so much as a breath in between. In a particularly close-quarters weapon clash, Medeas makes a grab for the Troll boy, nabbing him by his collar and jerking him forward into a headbutt. Before her forehead can connect with the bridge of his nose, he cranes his head back as far as he can while grappled by her, and Medeas' headbutt falls short, only tapping Amvinn on the collarbone with her cranium. Thinking on her feet, Medeas quick-releases Amvinn’s shirt before he can regain his footing, dropping him to the ground, flat on his ass. She spins her spear, changing grips so the blade faces down, and arcs back to plunge the tip directly into Amvinn’s stomach. You reach them before she has the chance, however, slamming into her and shoulder-checking Medeas away from the Troll boy.

“You!” She exclaims, catching her balance a few feet away. “You… you…” In the split second it takes for her to registers that you've rejoined the Strife, it seems as if all the anger has vanished from her face. Even her aura begins to dissipate, and she… huh. It’s hard to see through all the blood smeared on her face, but it kind of looks like she’s blushing. Joining you by your left flank, Sara backs you up with your confrontation of the Thief. Amvinn follows suit, quickly rising from the ground to guard your right. The blush disappears from the Medeas’ face and her expression deeply sours . “Fu…*huff* *huff* RAAAAAHHH!” The flames around her erupt once more and she whips her spear around, setting her sights on Amvinn.

She charges him, barreling straight past you for her main target. Amvinn manages to dodge out of the way of the initial attack and you catch her spear’s blade with your pickaxe as she raises it for a slash. Seeing you’ve contested her swing, she brings the bottom of the spear forward and up, spinning it all the way around to smash its end against the top of your head. With you dazed from the hearty thumping, she goes in for another attack on Amvinn. Sara’s kind enough to pick up the slack this time, jumping in front of Amvinn and whisking him out of the Thief's range, landing a solid cut on the back of Medeas’s hand as she swoops by.

There’s another fiery flair-up from Medeas’s aura, and she shifts her focus to Sara, slashing up and down, pushing her back. Amvinn scurries in and flanks her, driving the butt of his key into the side of her ribs. Unfortunately, the hit does little more than annoy the Troll and she continues on with her lances at Sara. You rush in for the assist, slamming the blunt top of your pickup up into the underside of her jaw. Her eyes shift to you with a furious look, chin still resting on the head of your pickaxe. However, once she sees it’s you, the ferocious expression you’re met with softens suddenly and her eyelashes flutter while rapidly blinking at you, completely ignoring the fact that you just attacked her.

Before she can take her eyes off you, Amvinn, having seen how your attack gave her pause, mimics it and slams the hilt of his key into her face, sending her stumbling back a few paces. She grabs the side of her cheek in pain as she straightens up, not so quietly cursing under her breath. Her attention zeroes in back on you two with the Devil in her eye, but the intensity of her gaze lightens and her aura fades an octave. Her eyes dart from you three combatants to the downed Prince of Time, then back to you lot again, going from person to person and assessing her options on what to do next. She must realize she’s being overwhelmed.

With a banshee-like howl, she whips her Soul Tethers from her finger tips. You ready your defenses and prepare for the attack, but she hesitates, almost like she’s using the threat of the wires to buy herself time to think. What the hell is she- Shit! You weren’t paying attention to your positioning on the Forge, she’s placed herself in the middle of your group, with Mia and Esspin separated from the rest of you. Medeas motions backwards as her fingers curl, instructing her tethers to seek out their new targets as they snake towards the two. Without thinking, you charge, attempting to stop her from claiming your downed members as her own.

Surprisingly, Medeas is caught off guard by your unexpected boldness. A sudden look of fear, or perhaps that is nervousness, breaks through her harsh demeanor. Her tethers retract back and she grips her spear with both hands, only reacting to your attack with a last minute defensive block, using the shaft of her stolen-arms. You hurl your pick from side to side, doing your best to divert her away from Mia and Esspin as you push her further and further around the Forge. Throughout your assault, Medeas never counterattacks or tries to go on the offensive. She only dodges and blocks your attacks as she yields to being pushed back by you. There's a look of uncertainty on her face, as if she isn't sure what to do despite being more than capable of handling a duel with you.

“Sara! Get to them!” You shout back, confident you’ve brought Medeas to a safe distance from your two downed allies. Sara’s over them in an instant, propelled forward on a gust of wind. She seems to have had the same realization as you, shocked that you all let the Thief get as close to them as she did. Amvinn slowly follows after, stepping before them all with his Key held out in a waited defensive guard.

Looking past you when you called to them, Medeas watches as your Strife Mates surround your wounded, ensuring she can’t steal any more zombie-servants to her side. You can hear her grinding her fangs in frustration. Capitalizing on her preoccupying anger, you backhand the side of your pickaxe across her face, slapping her into a 180° spin and down to one knee. She lingers there, wiping the blood your hit evoked away from her mouth. She stares at the blue ichor as it rolls off the knuckle of her thumb, before tightening her hand into a fist.

“Would you jusT FUCK OFF!” Medeas shouts as she looks back at you, her bloodied blush returning as her wings fluttering like a hummingbird’s. Whipping around faster than you can react, she's slammed her fist directly into the center of your face, sending you flying back, tumbling and spinning through the air before hard-landing on the stone floor of the Forge. Even after you land, the momentum of the hit keeps you going, dragging you through the blood pond until you slow to a stop. Your legs, which had kicked up after being taken off them so violently, fall back down with a -plop-, making a small splash in the blood.

The ground beneath your head has given way from under you, and your crown dangles in a void while unsupported. You look back and see that Medeas has punched you all the way to the edge of the Forge, and your head peeks past the brink, letting you see the ground far below. Something strange you notice while looking down is that the Forge has massive vectors of blood streaming down as it spills over from the top, partially painting the structure a dark reddish brown. What the hell is happening? There’s no way only six people could produce that much blood. Are you seeing things again?

You sit back up, dazed beyond belief, feeling like a Semi-truck just rammed into your mouth. It takes a minute for your vision to focus back in again, and when you do, you see Mia and Esspin are already unguarded once more. Amvinn is in a similar situation as you, having been thrown to the other side of the Forge, with Sara being tossed in-between you and him. You spot Gretel over by Amvinn, attempting the best she can with how small she is to help him back to his feet. Holy shit, you forgot your daughter was still in the middle of all this. How the hell could you lose track of her in this shit-show?!

While you kick yourself for your negligent parenting, Medeas makes another attempt to claim the incapacitated duo, shooting her Soul Tethers at their prone forms. The Maroon wires almost reach the helpless defeated, but are blown away when a sudden wind knocks them off course. Recovering the quickest, Sara had shot over to the scene before the wires could embed themselves in the two and batted them away with a gust created from a swing of her Fans.

Still chopping at the bit to steal the two souls, the five tethers separate from their cluster formation, attempting to divert past Sara’s air-defenses to get at their targets. Realizing she won’t be able to shield against them all in time, Sara aims a fan out in a riposte, running vertical to the ground, and Spins a complete 360° in a split second, backhandedly creating a torrent of wind strong enough to carry Mia and Esspin over to Amvinn, and away from the wires. The Troll boy lurches down, catching the two girls before their limp forms can go blowing off the cliff, gabbing each by an arm as their legs dangle over the edge of the Forge’s rim. Gretel, helping where she can, reaches the entire upper half of her little gecko body over the edge to grab Esspin by her pant leg, before heaving with all her might to pull the limb back onto the Forge, securing the Troll's center of gravity back on solid ground. With the free hand Gretel’s help allowed, Amvinn fishes Mia back from the brink as well, making sure both girls won’t go slipping off.

As you watch your team work in tandem, you’re washed over by a sickening wave of life-juice. Ah god, some of it got in your mouth! Along with relocating your allies, the gale from Sara’s Spin also kicked up all the blood that’d gathered in the area, stirring it into a tidal wave that blew in every direction out from her. You’re covered in the stuff now... Infuriated that she’s lost her targets once again, as well as being covered in a swill of blood, Medeas roars a ferocious roar and lunges towards Sara, looking to get her hands on her for a proper throttling.

“Get them out of here!” Sara calls back to Amvinn in the split second she has before Medeas reaches her. In an instant, the Thief has her by the hair, ready to tear into her.

“Shit, Sara!” Amvinn calls, ready to rush to her aid. Before he can, Sara collapses her fan and jams it into Medeas’s wrist, twists it enough to break her grip and free herself.

“TaaaAAH!” Medeas bellows, jerking away to tend to her wound. Clutching her cuff in pain, the Thief attempts to taper the blood flow as an ocean pours from her vein.

“GO! NOW!” Sara orders, completely turning to face Amvinn as she points him away. The Seer hesitates for a moment longer, but eventually heeds her directions, grabbing hold of the two downed girls, one over his shoulder and one under his arm. For such a small guy, he certainly is strong.

“Mr Jason?!” Gretel shouts to you, looking for guidance on what to do. Too exhausted to call back, you wave her off, telling her to go with the Troll boy. She scardly nods before quickly scurrying onto Amvinn’s back, ready to get off this Volcano shaped Hell-Gondola.

Absconding from the Strife, Amvinn turns to the Forge’s edge, and without a second of hesitation, jumps, disappearing from view with your defeated teammates. Gretel watches you with worry-filled eyes as she falls beyond the brink, out of sight. With those four gone, you turn your attention back to the fight. Medeas, now having quelled her bleeding, has ripped the Fans from Sara’s grasp and has her in a grapple once more, this time seizing her by the throat, digging her claws into her neck to keep her still.

“Fucking humans.” Medeas scoffs, raising one of Sara’s own Fans up to plunge into her. “You never know when you’re outclassed.”

You try to stand back up, but that Punch still has you reeling and you promptly fall back down, splashing back into the blood. Fuck, you can’t get to her in time. In time. In… time… Fuck, Time! Your powers! The Prince’s Husk is collapsed, Medeas can’t mess with the local chronology anymore. You raise a hand and try to summon a Time Knot, but nothing happens, your temporal reserves are still exhausted. You look around for something, anything, that will stop the Thief. You see nothing but the sea of blood at your feet. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck! What do you do? What do you do?! Boss, I think it’s time to Clock in some Overtime. What? Clock in… Clocking in Overtime? Your training pickaxe? The pickaxe… that you used to practice using temporal snares with!

Practically tearing your strife deck open, you summon the pickaxe Clocking in Overtime to your grasp. Appearing in your hands is a ticking tool of Ultimate Pausing Potential. The shaft of the pick is a coal black, and is adorned by the face of a clock at the top of its head. Two large clock-hands protrude from the face, forming the T shape synonymous with the mighty Pickaxe. The 2xprongs twitch at the ticking the pick emits, signaling that the device is teeming with temporal energy ripe for the using. You only have one shot, better make it count.

You stand back up, doing your best to keep your balance with your dazed dizziness, and raise your pick above your head with both hands. Exhaling a calming breath, you fling it as hard as you can. Clocking in Overtime tears through the air, finding its mark and burying itself into the back of Medeas’s shoulder, summoning a red clock construct to form over her form. Perfect Shot! The Time Knot activates just in the nick of time, freezing Medeas mid-strike, with Sara’s fan sitting a frightening two inches from the side of her head. Thank god for training wheels…

Alright, it’s official, this shit has dragged on long enough. You go into your sylladex and search for the solution to this problem. Item Catalog #16, Section 8x2, Mid-Left Maze section. The Explosive Detonator. About damn time.

“Sara!” You call to her as she breaks out of Medeas’s grip. “Get on top of the tennis ball! We’re getting out of here!” You wave the detonator around, indicating your plan. You see a half moment of hesitation cross her, but she nabs her Fans back from Medeas and rushes to the giant yellow mound, scurrying aboard. She looks down at you once on top.

Your balance has recovered enough to the point that you don’t outright fall over when you run, and with this new found power, you start booking it over to your Sylph friend. As you approach the tennis ball, your toe stubs into something on the ground and you almost trip. Glancing down, you find you've run into Esspin’s rifle. You guess she didn’t get the chance to captchalogue it before going down. You should probably pick this up for her. Mia didn’t gather her gear either, you’ll have to get that for her as well. Damn it, why can’t these ladies keep track of their dangerous weaponry themselves? You aren’t here to squire their weapons for them like some sort of… page boy… hm…

“What are you doing?” Sara yells, snapping you out of whatever the hell realization that just was. “Get over here!”

“I can’t leave Mia’s spears! She’d kill me if she knew I let them get blown up!” You yell back, running up to the one Mia sunk into the ground. You grip the staff and give it a good heave, but it’s in there deep, not so much as a budge from the blade as you pull. Damn it, Mia, learn to take it down a notch every once in a while! Fuck!

Getting a better grip on the thing, you adjust your stance, angling yourself with the direction of the staff. One more time, you give it your best King Arthur pull and…! Come on, you mother fucker! Budge, damn it!

All at once, the sword-stick's feather blade breaks free and you stumble backwards, splashing into the blood puddle as you fall. Good God, it’s still warm.

“Jason! That clock thing is speeding back up!” Sara screams, pointing over to Medeas. Lifting yourself out of the blood lake, you see that the hands on the clock construct encompassing her are ticking at an increasingly faster rate, indicating that the Time Knot is reaching its end. You also spot Mia’s other spear directly at her feet. God. Damnit.

You take off towards her without a second thought. You have ten, maybe twelve seconds left of Pause, tops. And if Medeas getting a hold of Mia’s Convictions made her mimic her anger for not being able to hit an elusive target, she sure as shit inherited her hatred for being frozen in time snares as well. Mia would clock you in the mouth any time you trapped her in a Time Knot, so there’s no telling what sort of unbridled fury is brewing behind that clock construct.

As you approach the frozen Thief, you nearly fall, slipping on the blood trying to slow down, riding on the balls of your heels for a few inches. You snatch the spear up, doing your best to shift everything to one arm while you grab hold of Clocking in Overtime’s handle. No point in leaving this behind.

With a quick yank, you dig the pickaxe out of her shoulder and get Youth Jaunting to the tennis ball. It’s a little awkward, however, as running with all these weapons is more than a bit cumbersome. Mia’s two polearms, Esspin’s rifle, your two picks, and the detonator. You look ridiculous, bear hugging everything to keep hold of it all. You’re about halfway there when you lose your footing and trip, dropping everything.

“Shit shit shit shit.” You mutter to yourself as you drop to your knees, scrambling to pick everything back up. You struggle to get a grip on the weapons again, finding them particularly hard to grasp all at once now that they’ve been re-submerged with a hearty layer of blood. Christ this stuff is slicker than oil!

“What are you doing?” Sara calls out to you. “Just captchalogue it!” … You really hate yourself sometimes.

You do what you probably should have done to begin with and captchalogue the pile of… Elongated Death Utensils? Okay, Fetch Modus, if that’s what you want to call it. As long as it fit in one card, it’s fine by you. Catalog Number #120.

You pick the detonator back up off the ground, shake off the blood and get back into your stride towards the tennis ball. However, your blood runs cold as you hear the distinct sound of an egg-timer going off behind you, followed by a very audible shattering sound. Fuck. The Time Knot is up, and the Thief is free.

“You… FILTH!” You hear her snarl before you’re struck with an enormous force dead center on your spine. In an instance, the tennis ball whips towards you at mach speeds. It crashes into you and you can both feel and hear at least five ribs break.

“guh…” You weakly whimper, stunned by the impact.

It takes you a moment to realize that you were the one catapulted towards the tennis ball, and not vice versa. It seems Medeas charged you, and the collision sent you flying. There had to be a forty foot gap still between you and the tennis ball and she made you cover that distance in a quarter of a second. Shaking off the hit the best you can, you weakly try to climb aboard the giant sphere, but you feel an overwhelming power slam against your back, pinning you to the yellow fuzz.

“Ha!” Medeas exclaims from behind.

“gah!” You cough, spitting up a fair amount of blood.

“Your entire race… is a pestilence. You aren’t even worthy of servitude.” Medeas whispers in your ear. You try to look at her, but she grips the back of your head and smashes your face into the surprisingly hard wall of whatever the hell tennis balls are made out of. She pulls your head back, and smashes it into the ball again. And again. And again. “I will rip your screaming soul out of your meager, Frail body.” And again. “I will make you beg to serve me!” And again. “I…” And again. “WILL…” And again. “BREAK!” And again. “YOU!” And-

“Jason!” Sara screams from atop the ball, kicking up an enormous gust of wind with a slash from one of her Fans to knock the Thief off-balance. In the same motion, she tosses you her other Fan, which you somehow reflexively catch. The burst of wind doesn’t do much to hurt the Thief, but it saves your head and face from another slam against the tennis ball, which is a nice reprieve. And look at that, now you have a weapon! Things are looking up for ol’… Jason? Yes, your name is Jason… right? Yes… You might have a minor… major concussion.

Turning her attention to Sara, Medeas cracks her across the face with her Soul Tethers, not even attempting to steal her soul with them, just using the ability as a whip to strike out at her from a distance, knocking her away. In that half moment she’s distracted, you swing around, attempting to stab Sara’s Fan into Medeas’s side. Your endeavor is almost entirely in vain, as she catches your attack and breaks your wrist like a twig. Well, it was a nice thought while it lasted. You’re still able to hold on to the Fan, though. So you’re still armed! Gotta appreciate the little victories, they make the big ones that much sweeter. She plants her grip firmly on your throat with a wild look in her eyes.

“You arrogant knucklefiend! You absolute swill-blooded oaf! Dumb wriggle paste spitting, no good fin licking-… GAH!” Medeas roars, flustered at her inability to describe just how much you’ve pissed her off, as her alien insults fall short of conveying how much she hates you. “To think you could compete with me? That you could defeat ME? You’re adorable-…” She goes wide-eyed, like she’s let something important slip. “I-I-It’s ador-, I-I, You… I’m not… Y-you don’t…” She’s doing that blushing thing again while she stammers, only this time most of the blood has chipped off her face, making it pretty apparent that she is, in fact, blushing.

Maybe it’s just your concussion, or maybe the Prince is fucking with local chronology again, but it feels like everything is slowing down, like the world is in slow motion now. The beating of your heart drops and a chill runs down your probably broken spine. There’s a sort of serenity in this calm pause in the Strife. You take a moment to study Medeas’s face, given how close she is to your own. For a different species, Trolls don’t look all too different from Humans. The only big difference you can see is the grey skin and yellow eyes. A lot of anger going on inside those eyes right now. Speaking of which, you notice her pupils are slightly pursed in their center, forming two D’s in each eye that press together, creating a sort of almost-Heart shape. She certainly has a sharp pair of teeth, as well and… why is she getting closer? A lot closer. What is sh-

A pressure pushes against your lips, and your dulled eyes widen as you realize that she’s kissing you. Like, really kissing you. Passionately swapping spit in quite literally the least expected moments you’d ever expect someone to kiss you in. Uh… she’s still going at it, keeping her lips locked with yours. Alright. Alright…. Alright. Still going. Aaaaaaand… she finally pulls away, leaving you in stunned befuddlement at the abrupt and abnormal display of affection. She’s looking at you with some unholy marriage of disgust and a search for approval. Okay, maybe it’s time to get this over with. You jam Sara’s Fan into the tennis ball, firmly anchoring it the best you can with a broken wrist.

“Sara... hold on!” You announce to your ally, not daring to take your eyes off the Thief. With a quick flip of the detonator’s primer, you press the big red button at the top of the device with your thumb, triggering detonation.

At first, all you hear is a low boom as the Forge rumbles. The sound of explosives going off gets closer and closer and the entire volcano begins to quake at the rising eruption. Fucking-… You didn’t wire it right, it was supposed to go off all at once, not as a Cascade. Medeas looks over to the edge to see what’s happening. Realizing what you did, her attention darts back at you with a look of fury. You feel her grip tighten on your throat as she reels back for an assuredly devastating strike, but the ground gives way with an intense blast of awesome power before she can, breaking her grip as you’re all sent flying upwards.

You can’t quite make out what’s going on, partly due to the blurry vision from the head trauma and partly due to the ungodly spinning the tennis ball was sent into by the blast, but at some point Medeas got flung off, with Sara taking her place grabbing onto you. She’s trying to tell you something but you’re fading out fast, struggling to stay conscious..

“w-wha…” You say, trying to pull yourself out of the ether. Seeing that you’re fainting, Sara lightly slaps your face to focus your attention.

“Ja-…Jas-… Hey, Jason!” She screams, finally pulling you out of your stupor. You strain to focus on her face, trying to make out the world beyond your blurry vision. She has a bloodied claw-like scratch on the cheek, the same side Medeas slapped her with the tethers on.

“What, what’s going o- O-Oh Shit!” You exclaim, realizing just how high up you actually are when you look around, seeing the curvature of the Land and all the museums scattered about below. Before you realize what being this high up means, the tennis ball reaches the zenith of its arc and begins to hurdle back down. The inertia hits you hard, nearly knocking you out again.

“Jason! We can’t be on this when it lands!” Sara shouts in your ear. You can barely make out what she’s saying with the wind whipping past. “We have to jump!”

“Sara… I on’t think I… cam may…” You stumble through your words, unable to focus on what you’re saying. Your head slumps over as you drift off into the throes of unconsciousness once more. As you dip a foot back into the ether, your grip on Sara’s Fan slips and you’re officially free falling.

“Jason? Jason!” Sara yells, snatching the back of your collar to keep you from falling away from her. Your legs dangle away from the tennis ball freely, flopping around like noodles in the wind. “Hold on!” Suddenly, you’re jerked forward and an enormous gust of wind spins you around, shaking you back awake. Watching the tennis ball fall away from you, you realize Sara’s thrown you off. Half panicked, you scramble, looking for some sort of lifeline. A convenient parachute, maybe, falling at the exact same time and place as you. “Quit fidgeting.” You hear from behind.

You look back to find that Sara still has you by the nape of your hood. She’s got you!… She’s got you… Taking a breath, confident that your friend has things handled, you watch your giant tennis ball continue to plummet towards the ground as the two of you lightly float away. You guess Sara can still sorta fly? Although this isn’t really flying, more like falling with grace. Kind of calming, actually. So calming you’re passing out again.

Looks like you’re actually going out for good this time. Your eyelids flutter, and you finally let yourself fall into the void, content that there isn’t a direct threat putting a knife to your throat at the current moment. The last thing you see as Sara slowly floats you away is your giant tennis ball bouncing off the side of what’s left of the Forge in a manner that feels eerily familiar. Almost like you’ve seen it once or twice before. Huh, wonder what that’s about…

 

Jason, Nap time.

 

 

 

End of Act 1

 

Chapter 16: > Polite Awakenings

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

unabridgedLexicon [UL] opened memo on board JASON WATCH.

deadendDefinitive [DD] responded to memo.
DD: hey what’s up
DD: jason watch, huh?
UL: We’ll get into it in a minute.
malleableBrooding [MF] responded to memo.
MB: So this is what you wanted to speak about.
UL: Yes, Renee. Thank you for coming!
MB: My pleasure. I take it today’s discussion is on Jason?
UL: Yes, it is.
MB: And I take it this board isn’t listed for him?
UL: uh… yes, it isn’t.
twostepsSideways [TS] responded to memo.
TS: Hey guys!!
MB: Hello Milo.
TS: Hi Ren!!
MB: Shall we get on with today’s topic?
UL: Not yet, we still have to wait for Lucas and Jess.
illuminatingUnkindled [IU] responded to memo.
IU: YEAH WHAT/
UL: Woah, Luke you alright?
IU: CAPS LOCK BROKEN< WHAT DO YOU NEED/
MB: We’re discussing Jason.
IU: AGAIN/
MB: We’re waiting on Jess.
deceptiveInception [DI] responded to memo.
DI: !’ve been here a wh!le.
IU: STOP THAT>
DI: Stop what? ! don’t have the sl!ghtest !dea what you’re talk!ng about, Lucas
IU: THAT THING WITH THE 1>
DI: One? ! have no !dea what you mean. ! don’t th!nk !’ve ever been !nvolved w!th a “One” to the po!nt of hav!ng a “th!ng” w!th sa!d Number !n quest!on.
IU: I MEANT THE EXCLAMATION POINT< YOU NIT>
DI: My typ!ng qu!rk !s none of your bus!ness, s!r.
IU: THE HELL IS A TYPING QUIRK/
DI: Someth!ng trolls do.
IU: TROLLS/
DI: Don’t worry about !t, you’ll know soon enough. Bes!des, you already have a typ!ng qu!rk yourself.
IU: IT”S NOT A QUIRK< MY CAPS LOCK GOT BENT IN> READ THE PREVIOUS POSTS1
IU: SHIT< I MEAN !
DI: Yeah, that sounds about r!ght for a d!rty mudblood >:P
IU: WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST CALL ME/
DD: hey! jess decided to stop creepily lurking for once, can we start now or what?
DI: N!ce to see you too, R!ch
DD: get bent.
DI: What about M!a, are we not wa!t!ng for her?
UL: I tried getting her to join but she didn’t really want to talk right now.
MB: Is anything wrong?
UL: I don’t know. She seems a bit moody lately, but she won’t spill.
DD: she’s been a bit chilly with me lately as well.
TS: She probably just wants to be alone right now.. I’ll talk to her later..
UL: Thanks Milo.
UL: But on to the main topic. Jason. He’s been acting unusual lately too.
DD: you think dying had something to do with it?
UL: I… I don’t think so? I’m pretty sure I revived him correctly, he should be fine.
UL: Although, I guess he did spend a lot of time on Derse’s Moon afterwards…
DI: The Vo!d can ser!ously fuck w!th you, Lex. H!s f!rst t!me there m!ght’ve been a b!t… shock!ng for h!m. Or maybe he just wanted to spend a l!ttle more t!me chatt!ng with the horrorterrors. They are good company, after all.
IU: CHRIST>
DD: so he ran into something in the void that fucked with him and that’s why he’s avoiding us?
DI: No. ! mean, dy!ng m!ght have knocked a screw loose, but that’s not why he’s ghost!ng everyone.
IU: WHY THE HELL”D YOU BRING IT UP THEN/
DI: Because our team’s mental health !s my top pr!or!ty.
MB: …
MB: Are you mocking me?
DI: What would g!ve you that !dea, Ms Sylph of M!nd?
MB: Do you even know what that title means?
DI: Do you?
UL: Hey, quit being so gruff you two! We’re talking about Jason right now.
UL: Jess, you know why he’s been acting so unusually?
DI: Look, all of you can calm down. He’s just deal!ng with some t!me shenan!gans and sh!t w!th h!s quest.
UL: What?!
DI: Yeah, he’s been explor!ng some more of the ru!ns on h!s planet.
MB: We had agreed to accompany him whenever he was to go out into his world. Why would he go back on his word like that?
DI: Jesus, guys. You aren’t h!s parents, g!ve h!m some breath!ng room.
DI: Dude m!ght be a total w!mp, but he can take care of h!mself well enough. He !sn’t as helpless as he was back when we f!rst entered.
DI: Let h!m do h!s own th!ng for once.
IU: AS MUCH AS I”D HATE TO SAY IT< I HAVE TO AGREE WITH JESS>
DI: Thank you, Lucas. ! know how much !t k!lls you to adm!t !’m r!ght. :P
IU: HIM AND I HAVE BEEN TALKING A BIT LATELY> HE SEEMS TO BE EXCELLING AT TOMB RAIDING< AND HE”S AN EXCEPTIONAL LORE INTERPRETER>
IU: WE”VE ACTUALLY BEEN PARTAKING IN A BIWEEKLY SCRIPTURE DISCUSSION< COMPARING OUT PLANETS MYTHOS AND SEEING IF ANY OF THE FACTS LINE UP WITH THE SESSION OVERALL>
IU: HE”S MORE WELL SPOKEN IN THE STUDY THAN I FIRST THOUGHT>
UL: You knew Jason was going out on his own?
IU: YES>
UL: For how long?
IU: AROUND A MONTH< MABYE TWO>
UL: Lucas!
IU: IT”S DOING HIM GOOD< IS IT NOT/
UL: I wouldn’t know! I haven’t seen him in days!
DI: He’s probably just tend!ng to h!s t!gers
DD: jason has tigers?
DI: Yeah, he’s got t!gers.
TS: Oh!! I want to meet them!!
TS: I love cats!!
MB: Tigers and cats aren’t the same thing.
TS: Feline’s a feline, my dear Renny!!
UL: Whatever it is he’s doing, he shouldn’t be exploring on his own.
UL: Anything could be running around out there!
IU: HONESTLY< HE SEEMS TO BE PROGRESSING A LOT FASTER INDEPENDENTLY THAN HE EVER DID CHAPERONED> I SAY WE LET HIM BE>
UL: We weren’t chaperoning him!
IU: LEXIE< THE NAME OF THE BOARD IS JASON WATCH> WHAT EXACTLY IS ONE SUPPOSED TO INFER FROM THAT/
DI: Look, Lex, !f you’re so concerned about Jay, just talk to h!m. Face to face !sn’t the only way to get ahold of the guy.
DI: Here, !’ll add h!m !n.
UL: No, wait!
senileMinor [SM] responded to memo.
SM: Hey, new board? Neat
DD: hey jay.
SM: Sup Rich!
SM: Hey everybody. Guess I’m late to the party?
SM: Jason Watch?
DI: You wanted to talk, Lex. Soooo, talki
SM: What are we talking about?
UL: Jason…
UL: Is it true you’ve been going out on your own?
SM: uh…
SM: Yes?
UL: Well
UL: Why didn’t you tell anyone?
SM: I told Lucas
SM: Hey Lucas, we still on for tomorrow?
IU: SURE THING>
UL: Did you tell Lucas not to tell anybody?
SM: No? Why would I?
UL: Well he didn’t seem to think it was important to mention. Why is that?
SM: …
SM: Because it isn’t?
UL: Not important? Jason, I haven’t heard from you in nearly two weeks!
UL: What if you were dead?
SM: You didn’t think to just ask around?
UL: That’s not the issue! Where have you been?
SM: Alright, I’m sorry I didn’t “check in”, I’ve just been a little busy lately
SM: If this is all you needed, then sure, I’ll try and say hi every now and then. But these tombs can get so entrancing at times
UL: Are you there right now?!
SM: …
SM: Perhaps.
UL: Perhaps? Are you?
UL: You are, aren’t you.
UL: Which one? I’m coming to find you.
SM: That really isn’t necessary
DD: yeah, lexie, I think you’re blowing it a little outta proportion.
UL: Out of proportion? Did you forget about what happened?
UL: Jason, we nearly lost you.
UL: We did lose you! I lost you! You were dead, Jason. Actually dead.
UL: How do you think that felt for me? Finding you face down in the sand, caked in your own blood?
UL: I’m not going to lose you like that again.
SM: You won’t
UL: How do you know? What if someone gets the jump on you, or leads you into an ambush, or just overpowers you?
SM: Lexie, I know you’re worried, but you’ll just have to trust me when I say that it won’t happen again
UL: Why? Because you’re a godtier?
SM: Yes because I’m-
SM: What?
SM: How do you know that I’m a godtier?
UL: Ah-
UL: W-well, it… it’s just… J-Jess said-
DI: Lex. Don’t.
SM: Jess… didn’t tell you I was god tier.
SM: I did. No, wait, not me… a future version of myself did by accident.
SM: But that hasn’t happened yet, so how-
UL: L-look that’s not what’s important. You need to be more carful.
SM: I’m carful! I’m incredibly carful!
SM: Look, Lexie, I don’t have problems fighting anymore.
UL: *sigh*
UL: I know…
SM: You do?
SM: Then why are you still so up in arms?
UL: I know you don’t have problems fighting. Not like you used to.
SM: Yeah, so I think it’s fair to say that I don’t need to be babysat anymore
UL: I hadn’t realized you had progressed so far, so fast.
UL: How vicious you’d get in a strife.
SM: Uh… thank you?
UL: I didn’t know how easy it is for you to kill something.
UL: To kill someone.
UL: How fast you could move.
UL: How quickly I’d lose track of you…
SM: …lexie?
UL: …
SM: W-wait. This isn’t right.
SM: What’s happening? S-something is… off.
SM: What the hell is going on, you guys?
SM: Would somebody say something?!
DD: I didn’t know you could break so much.
SM: What?
SM: I broke something?
SM: Rich, what’s broken? What did I break?
TS: I couldn’t believe you harbored such venom.
SM: Venom? Come on, Milo, it’s me! Jason! I barely have an ounce of anger in me.
MB: How was your mind so palatable for hate?
SM: Renee…?
IU: I had no idea you could be so blind.
SM: What…?
SM: Wait, Lucas, what happened to your broken caps lock?
SM: You guys, please, just tell me what’s going on!
SM: What is all this? Why does this feel so…
SM: Wrong?!
SM: Why does… why does my head hurt so much?
SM: Why does… why… why can’t I remember?
SM: I can’t remember. I-it’s gone! I-I-I can’t remember! Why is it gone?!
SM: God, my head! It’s burning! Why can’t I remember?! God, why is it Gone?! Why is it GONE?!
DI: Jason. !t’s t!me to wake up.
SM: Jess, please, what’s going on?
SM: I can’t…
SM: I can’t think straight!
SM: Gah! It’s not there anymore, i-i-it’s like my mind’s on FIRE!
DI: You’re just gonna have to remember on your own, Jason.
SM: Remember what? What is happening?
SM: What did I do? What did I break?
SM: Why is it Gone?!
DI: Try not to get yourself k!lled, Jason.
DI: And say h! to M!a for me.

DI closed memo.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

You take a sharp breath in, and instantly regret it.

Your eyes are still closed when you come to consciousness, and you cough out the waking breath you had sucked in. It feels like an enormous weight is covering your entire body, a dulling soreness encompassing every inch of you. What the hell happened? Did you get hit by a freight train or something?

Slowly, you crack your eyelids open and feel a moment of panic, realizing that you’re unfamiliar with your surroundings. It’s dark where you are, and the floor is rocky and jagged. A cave? You can hear that it’s raining outside, as the pitter patter of falling drops fill the quiet chamber with their echoes. Getting a grip on your environment, your body registers that you’re laying on your back. There’s some sort of squishy pod beneath your head, acting as a pillow.

You try to sit up, but an enormous pressure pounds on your head like the worst migraine you’ve ever had and you fall back down, plopping back on the weird slim-pillow-pod. Fuck… What the hell is going on? The last thing you remember is floating through the air, drifting away from... something… after… shit, your head’s still too fuzzy. And that dream just now, what was that about? The memory of it is fading fast, but you were talking to Lexie, right? Probably why you feel so shitty right now.

“d o n t f u c k i t u p j a s o n” You hear whispered in your ear.

“W-what?” You stutter. The closeness of the voice freaks you out enough to get you sitting up, much to the dismay of your entire midsection.

“Hey.” You hear from your other side. Your heart skips a beat when you realize someone is in the cave with you. Slowly, you peer over to the source of the voice. It’s that Troll boy, Anvil or something. He’s sitting on a rock a few feet away from you, leaned up against the cave wall. “You’re finally awake.”

“Yeah…” You mutter, letting yourself relax a bit. You prop yourself up, tucking the pillow-pod against the base of your spine for back support as you lean against the wall yourself. As you try and stretch out, you’re hit with another migraine. You grip the bridge of your nose, trying to ease the throbbing pain of it. Come on, try to focus, troll kid’s saying something to you. How do you know this guy again? Isn’t he Sara’s friend?

“You were having a bad dream.” He tells you, popping something into his mouth and slowly starting to chew on it, like a cow mulling over its cud.

“I know.” You grumble as you continue rubbing your face.

“You were giving off a whole lot of trepidation. Kinda thought you were dying. Lot of people give off trepidation when they die.” He says through his chews. Wow, he’s pretty nonchalant about the possibility of you biting it. A look of realization flashes across his face and he quickly swallows whatever he’s eating. “Uh, sorry. I-I don’t mean to be rude.”

“Right…” You nod, a little put off by his odd mannerisms. Must be a Troll thing. “Hey, where are we, by the way?” He turns to the side, towards the entrance of the cave, almost like he’s looking for something.

“The Land of Plains and Whispers. Real pleasant place, nice and quiet.” He sighs, smiling to himself. “Sara said it was for the best not to stay on Lo-aeaf after everything happened the way it did. She thought the explosion could’ve attracted more attention from other Titled.”

“E-… Explosion?” You ask, a little in the dark about the subject. You do remember something about an explosion happening at some point in time, but it’s like static in your head. Everything’s just sort of buzzing around in there, a few flashes here and there, but it’s all a jumbled mess.

“You feeling okay, man?” Amvinn asks, peering at you with a raised eyebrow.

“I… I’m not sure.” You say to him, genuinely unsure with what’s going on with yourself. “What happened?”

“Well, I’m still pretty new to what’s going on, but from what I gather, the mission was an overwhelming success. The mission being to throw a giant play-sphere up in the air, right? Other than that, I’d say we collectively got the flavorbits knocked out of our toothfolds.” He eloquently phrases in his alien lingo.

“Wh-what?” You’ll need to work on your Troll slang.

“We lost the battle, but won the war.” He clarifies. You huff, still unclear on what happened.

“Where… where’s Sara?” You ask, hoping to find someone you can actually understand.

“Huh? Oh, she’s outside.” He says, nodding behind him towards the cave’s entrance. You push yourself up, doing your best not to strain your right side too much. For some reason, it feels a lot worse than anywhere else, which is saying something considering it feels like you got run over by a truck. Once you’re on your feet, you start limping your way over to the entrance, keeping a hand on the wall to keep your balance.

“s h e i s n o t w e l l s h e n e e d s y o u r h e l p” Something whispers again.

“You say something?” You ask, turning back to Amvinn. He looks up at you with a confused expression.

“Nothing.” He tells you. You shake it off and continue your way out.

Getting outside, you take a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air compared to the dank atmosphere in the cave. It’s a little easier to breathe with the coolness in the air as well, filling your lungs with a refreshing briskness. The sky is greyed over and, like you heard in the cave, it’s raining out. Nothing heavy, more like a drizzle, but it’s consistent. You’re in the middle of a forest, real tall trees with a canopy wide enough to catch a decent amount of rain.

“Jason.” You hear from your right. You turn and see Esspin sitting just by the cave entrance. “It’s good to see you up and about, my friend. I knew you would recover soon enough.”

“Hey, Ess.” You greet the troll girl, getting a flash of her meltdown back on the Forge. Her teeth as sharp as razors and eyes as red as blood, standing tall like a giant. “You’re looking… calm.”

“Calm? O-oh, right, yes. I can imagine my… loss of composure might have seemed a tad unusual, given how I try to present myself. Please, there’s no need to worry over that. I must admit, I have a temper, but it’s a rare occasion I allow myself to act in accordance to the contemptible behavior synonymous with my particular blood caste. I don’t enjoy being… like that.”

“Don’t sweat it.” You tell her. “If anything, flipping your lid like that helped us out of that jam.”

“No, truly, Jason. I don’t wish for you or Sara or-or any of you to get the impression that I conduct myself like that on a usual basis.” She continues to explain herself to you, clearly stressed out over her little freak-out. “It’s unbecoming of the person I strive to be, an-and something I’ve worked very hard to distance myself from, so please, don’t think worse of me for losing myself in the moment.”

“Esspin, it’s fine. Really.” You assure her. “If you say you’re good, you’re good. I trust you. We all have our angry moments, right?”

“You can relate?” She asks, evoking a strange feeling in your chest. Why does that question make you feel so… sad?

“Uh, y-yeah, yeah I can… I, u-uh what’s, ah, what’s going on? Here?” You say, clumsily stumbling away from the topic. Esspin pauses, looking at you suspiciously. Seems she knows something is up with you.

“That Cobalt really did a number on you, didn’t she.” She says, letting her head rest on the stone wall behind her. “Guess she did a number on all of us, really. All except the little guy in there.” She looks back towards the cave’s entrance. “I don’t believe he has so much as a scratch on him. Although, you wouldn’t be able to tell with how grumpy of a demeanor he puts on.” You’re grateful she doesn’t press you on the subject of your momentary emotional distress. She’s cool like that, you think.

“I remember her. The Thief, right?” You ask her. She nods with a sort of glee, like she’s being reminded of a good memory. “And she ambushed me at the… Forge. I was trying to get someone’s attention… who, though.” You ask yourself as you continue pondering on the gaps in your memory. Still deep in thought, Sara seemingly comes out of nowhere, slapping you on the back.

“Jason! You’re awake!” She laughs, coming around to face you with a goofy smile on her face. “Mr Mission-Impossible himself returns to the land of the living!”

“Don’t hold your breath, I’m feeling a little faint. Might need to go lay back down again.” You joke.

“Jest all you wish, my friend, but our dear Sara here was all sorts of worked up worrying over your condition. Like a lovely little nurse, she was.” Esspin whispers to you, thumbing towards Sara. There’s an uncomfortable heat on the side of your face as she breaths on you.

“Well of course I was worried! He was in a coma!” Sara explains, flustered by the accusations of caring too much. “It’s just… when I first tried healing you and you didn’t wake up, I wasn’t too worried. That fight took a lot out of you, and that regeneration thing you did, there’s no telling how much of a toll that took on your body. It makes sense you’d need a little sleep, but after that first day… and the second and the third, a-a-and my healing sessions weren’t working. We… We kind of thought you were on your way out…” Oh okay, so everyone thought you were gonna die. That’s cool.

“I didn’t!” Strike that, not everyone. “I told you he’d wake eventually.” Esspin says, lightly taking Sara’s hands in her own, holding them to calm her. “So you needn’t worry any longer now that he’s well again, yes?” Sara looks up at the Troll girl, smiling at her comforting words with a bit of blush coloring her face. You awkwardly watch them stare at each other for half a beat when a through crosses your mind.

“Wait… how long was I out?” You ask, interrupting the strangely intimate moment between the two of them.

“About a human month.” Esspin answers, a bit too calmly.

“A month?!” You choke in disbelief.

“No, not a month.” Sara assures you, acknowledging how absurd that would be. “Ess, human months are just as long as troll months.”

“Aah.” Esspin nods, stroking her chin in a thoughtful manner.

“You were only under for about four days, Jason.” Sara corrects.

“Five.” Esspin tacks on. “Today’s almost over, so… five days, actually. Just… felt that was important to note.”

“Oh, well if it was only five days…” You sarcastically mutter to yourself.

“The important thing is you’re awake now.” Sara says with an earnest look. “You really had us worried, staying down for so long.”

“Nevertheless, you’re looking in good form for someone who had half their cranium caved in only a short while ago.” Esspin says with an impressed laugh.

“I… what?” You’re still too out of it for this shit.

“You got pretty banged up, Jason.” Sara clarifies, resting a stable hand on your shoulder. “We think that the blue blood cracked your skull in a couple places. We didn’t have any way to check, but the way it moved… i-it was clear it was broken into at least in a few pieces. We bound your head the best we could and all the parts sort of… glued itself back together, and stopped moving around so much, which was a relief.”

“You have quite the remarkable ability to put yourself back together, my friend.” Esspin compliments. “With the injuries you earned, it’s a feat in-and-of-itself that you walked away at all!”

“I-I guess…?” You say, not really sure if you should feel accomplished that your superhealing superhealed you. What’s the big deal, everyone got regeneration, right? It was exchanged for your immortality when you entered the Arena. At least, you think that’s the case. You remember someone telling you that, right? Or… no, yeah, someone definitely told you that, you’re pretty sure. God, your migraine is coming back.

“It was kind of impressive, how you just put yourself back together during the Strife on the Forge.” Sara agrees.

“Certainly. Granted you didn’t come out spotless.” Esspin notes, leaning in to get a closer look at your face. “Although, that scar does look quite dashing, I must say.”

“Scar?” You almost laugh asking, looking back and forth between the two of them to see if they’re messing with you. Neither of them blink. “…Oh fuck, I have a scar?!”

“It’s a cool scar.” Sara tries to console you, poorly hiding the cringe in her voice. “It’s sort of handsome in a… rugged kind of way?”

“Well show me, does anyone have a mirror?” You ask, feeling the panic set in as you worry how mangled your face got in a fight you can barely remember.

“Why would we have a mirror?” Sara asks herself, off-put by your apparently weird request.

“Uuh… Ah, here.” You say, going into your inventory. Catalog #116, Section 4x29. Finding the item in the bottom-right of the Maze, you summon your Phone. The simple telephonic device appears in your hand and you open up the camera app, flipping it to face you.

“Hey, look at that. You've a Maze Fetch Modus, just like me.” Esspin notes as she brings up her own Sylladex, showing off the Labyrinth-like retrieval type she uses.

“Oh god…” You mutter to yourself as the app focuses. In the camera view you find a / mark across your left eye, starting an inch and a half deep on your forehead, carving down to the center of your cheek. Holy fuck…

“Hey, common, don’t let that get you down. Sure, we got banged up, but we got away, didn’t we?” Sara says in a meager attempt to try and lift your spirits. “And now that you’re awake, the mission can get back on track! The team’s back together again!”

“Yeah!” Esspin exclaims, lazily raising her fists up by her elbow for mellow emphasis.

“Uh, yeah… mission.” You say, trying to recall something about this ‘mission’ everyone is talking about. “What, ahh… what were we doing again? Something with the Forge?”

“s h e s o n h e r w a y k e e p y o u r e a r t o t h e g r o u n d” You’re doing your best to ignore whatever the hell these whispers are, but damn if it isn’t creeping you the fuck out.

“Oh, that part’s done.” Sara explains. “After getting your head slammed against that tennis ball a few times, you finally blew up the Forge, sending your message out into the world, but you passed out during the escape. That sort of just left me and Amvinn calling the shots with everyone else unconscious. I wasn’t too sure what the next step of the plan was, but I knew we had to get off Loaeaf. So me and him dragged you, Esspin and… Mia… through the nearest portal. We made sure to link arms while going through, which I think kept us together this time.”

“Mia… W-where is Mia?” You ask looking around for her. For whatever reason, the idea of seeing Mia again horrifies you. Not that it didn’t before, but something feels off about the idea of actually talking to her now. You think you might have done something to piss her off… Again.

“Oh, Mia? She… uh… she’s…” Sara mumbles as she tries to explain.

“What? What happened?!” You frantically ask as a flash of memories coming flooding back of her fighting on the Forge. “She started a strife with the Thief. I-is she alright?! She didn’t… oh fuck…”

“She’s fine!” Sara informs you, holding her hands out to physically calm you down before your imagination can go wild. “She’s just…”

“She’s a tad worse for wear at the moment. But she seems on the mend.” Esspin says, picking up where Sara falls off.

“Mend?” You inquire.

“She’s… well…” Esspin mutters, unsure of how to put it. “I’d imagine you’ll have to see it to believe it.”

“Okay… where is she?” The two of them look at each other again. You really wish they wouldn’t do that, it stresses you the fuck out.

“Here, I’ll show you.” Sara says, walking away from the cave. “Ess, can you stick around here?”

“Don’t want me a part of your coterie, dear?” Esspin pouts, leaning against the large boulder that the cave burrows into.

“We’re on a buddy system right now, Esspin.” Sara explains. “So we don’t get caught alone. Just stick with Amvinn for now, we’ll only be a few minutes.”

“But… isn’t Mia on her own at the moment?” Esspin inquires, confused by the reasoning.

“She’s not alone.” Sara says as she continues walking further into the forest. “She’s with George Clooney.”

“Aah, right.” Esspin nods, having been satisfied with the clarification.

“George Clooney?” You ask yourself as you follow after Sara, wondering just how much you’ve missed since you’ve been out.

You hurry to catch up with your Sylph friend, trotting along through the forest after her. Joining by her side, the two of you march together in a strange silence. It feels like something’s worrying her. You glance at her, which she seems to notice from the side of her eye.

“How’s your head feeling?” She asks once she notices the awkward lack of words.

“Little hazy, but it’s getting better.” You tell her. “Thank you… by the way. For everything. Saving me, getting us off-planet. You did great taking charge while I was out.”

“It was nothing.” She bashfully waves you off. “All common sense stuff, I didn’t even have to make any real decisions. Just make sure we treaded water.”

“Still, I’m glad to know I’ve got someone reliable to take care of things if I can’t.” You reaffirm your gratitudes. She lightly smiles to herself seeing your appreciation. “… Hey, is it just me or does Esspin seem sorta fond of you?”

“Hmm. I’ve… taken note of her more… affectionate nature, I guess.” She admits with a blush. “It was hard to tell at first, since it was only me hanging out with her for the first day and a half before Mia woke up. But seeing how she interacts with others… I mean, she’s kind with everyone, but there is a sort of… particularity with how she treats me.”

“Trolls have a very particular way of expressing themselves, it seems.” You theorize.

“And how.” Sara emphatically agrees.

“So only you hung around with her? What about the Troll boy?” You ask, somewhat surprised. Heart players are supposed to be social butterflies, aren’t they? “I would’ve figured he’d have flocked to her, her being the only other troll around.”

“Hooooh no.” Sara exaggeratedly disagrees. “Harmony isn't exactly in the troll vernacular, Jason. Well... unless it's emphasizing the Harm part. Troll-world is way more cut throat than Earth. Children running society, à la lord of the flies, government enforced classism, consistent and startlingly high rates of murder that’s socially acceptable so long as it’s inflicted on a lower member of the blood caste. Real wicked sorts of stuff.”

“Oh… sounds intense. Are they like… on different ends of their social spectrum, then?” You ask. It might complicate things if trolls are prone to interspecies conflict. You might need to keep the Troll presence on the team to a minimum if they won’t be able to get along. You’re not about to go herding cats to keep this operation on track.

“Not exactly opposite, but there’s a pretty big divide.” She explains, seemingly a wealth of knowledge on the topic all of a sudden. “Amvinn’s an Olive blood, which is like the lowest rank of Mid-blood on the hemospectrum. Esspin, on the other hand, is an Orchid blood, which is the highest color you can get without being born in the ocean. By the way, did you know Trolls can be aquatic? So cool!”

“You know, I had a hunch.” You say, recalling the troll girl in Gold with the fin ears.

“They’re like elves!” She laughs.

“Elves?” You inquire, a little lost on the comparison.

“You know, cause there’s so many different types.” She elaborates for you. “High elves, dark elves, sea elves, wood elves. So many types, just like trolls.”

“Ah…” You nod, grasping the idea. “But elves don’t exist, though.”

“I guess.” She shrugs. “But anyway, yeah, things have seemed tense with them. I don’t think Esspin’s really noticed, but Amvinn doesn’t seem to want anything to do with her.” It’s nice having a bit of gossip to fill you in on all the juicy drama you’ve missed happening with your group. You’ve felt so out of the loop ever since you woke up.

“So are they not allowed to interact with one another or something?”

“I don’t think so. Esspin seems to be open to the idea of friendship, regardless of blood color, but Amvinn has some hangups with the idea of even being cordial with her. He didn’t like highbloods to begin with, but it’s almost like there’s a gripe he has with Esspin specifically that’s put a wall between them.” Sara says, explaining the rub.

“Any ideas why?” You glance back to the direction of the cave, realizing you can no longer see it with the dense forest blocking your view.

“Not a clue.” She sighs, clearly troubled about the natural flow with the group’s interpersonal relationships. “Taking a guess, maybe he got freaked out when he saw her going bananas on the Forge? Other than that, it’s just weird troll stuff to me.”

“I feel like there’s going to be a lot of that in the future.” You tell her. “The weird troll stuff, not Esspin raging out. She seemed very apologetic about that, actually.”

“The winds of fate are changing, Jason.” She so eloquently informs you. “There’s going to be a lot of weird stuff in our future.”

As the two of you proceed through the forest, the rain lightens from a drizzle to an almost mist, and eventually peters out entirely once you finally reach the edge of the woodlands. Exiting the treeline, you arrive at the precipice of a vast grass clearing. The storm clouds seem to congregate solely above the trees of the forests on this Land, leaving the vibrant blue skies above the fields filled with nothing but white puffy cotton candy clouds. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear you were back on Earth, the view feels so familiar.

Looking out into the field, you see her sitting there. Mia, with her legs crossed, talking with two little consorts in the middle of the grassy plain. She’s… dressed in all white for some reason. You take a step into the clearing, out from the shade of the trees and the sudden light is almost too bright for you to handle. You need a second for your eyes to adjust from the dark of the forest.

Mia’s backside is towards you, but the Grey Gecko Consort sitting with her perks up when it sees you step out into the field. You know them, right? Yeah, that’s… that’s Gretel, your daughter.

…Wait, when the hell did you get a daughter?!

Seeing you, Gretel leaps up from the wide triangle they formed with their talk circle and scampers over to you, galloping on all four to reach you faster. Without stopping, she leaps into the air, lunging into a hug as she wraps her arms around your neck.

“Mr. Jason!” She cries. “You’re awake! I’m so glad you’re okay! I found your purple Mia friend. I did good, right?” Hearing your name called, Mia sits up straight and looks over her shoulder to see you. Your eyes meet and at first, you almost don’t recognize her. There’s something off about her stare… There’s this emotionless, almost shark-like quality to it. Like she isn’t quite looking at you, more like through you. This isn’t gonna to go well.

Slowly, she gets up and turns to face you, standing completely still as she wait for you to approach her. Getting a better look at it, her outfit appears to be the normal Maid god tiers she got during ascension, except all white and missing the Rage Symbol on her chest.

“You did incredible.” You tell Gretel once you’re able to pry your eyes off Mia. “You really saved my hide back there, kiddo. Thank you.” She smiles and hugs you even tighter. You hold your daughter in your arms, still perplexed how it is you came to be her father in the first place. You didn’t… consort with a Consort did you?

While you’re being semi-strangled by the little lizard girl, you can’t help but let your attention drift back to Mia. Her expression hasn’t changed, remaining completely void of emotion as her stare remains fixated on you. Regardless of her strange behavior, actually seeing Mia seems to have shaken a few memories loose in your brain. You get a few flashes of how the Forge mission went down. You getting your soul ripped out, Mia saving you, Mia screaming at you and calling you a coward. She was really pissed off back there, but now, she just seems… blank.

You finally get the courage to walk up to her, mainly because Gretel is draped around your neck, and you’re at least somewhat confident Mia won’t hit you while you’re holding a child. You approach, making sure to be just out of arm’s reach, on the off chance that she’s still furious with you, child-holding or not.

“…” She remains quiet, just looking at you with her vacant gaze. Gretel quickly looks back and forth between the two of you from on your back, eager to see who speaks first.

“Ah.. mhh.” You clear your throat. “H-hey, Mia. Go-good to see you’re… alive. I-I-I like the white. It looks good on yo-“ Without warning, she quickly takes a step towards you, clearing the gap you left between you and her.

“Mh!” She softly grunts as she lurches forward. Okay, looks like she’s still pissed with you.

You tense up, ready for the beating, and do your best to avoid the initial tackle. It’s too late, however. She’s already too close to dodge away from. Her arms wrap tightly around you and… nothing else happens. No tackle, no suplex, no spine-breaker. Just a hug. The tender contact is giving you Ameliasprite flashbacks. You didn’t think Mia could be so… warm.

“W-wha…” You mutter to yourself.

“You jerk. I was so worried.” She tells you in a level, almost monotone voice. You pull back a little to look at her and see her smile is almost as warm as her hug. It sends chills down your spine, as her emotionless expression is hitting you right in the uncanny valley for some reason. She quickly pulls you back into the embrace. “I’m so happy you’re awake now.” Happy? That you’re in good health? Mia?

Maybe you’re still unconscious, and this is just another bad dream. You twist your head around the best you can with Mia’s firm embrace pinning you still, looking towards Sara for confirmation that what’s happening is, in fact, happening. She just shrugs and shakes her head, just as put off as you.

Gretel joins in on the hug and wraps her arms around both of your necks the best she can reach while being softly squished in the embosoment. The purple chameleon consort still sitting in the grass rolls his eyes at the group hug, looking on in a disapproving manner. You can’t blame him. This would probably seem kind of sappy if you didn’t know how morbidly disturbing the concept of Mia hugging you is.

“Mia…” You say, breaking the cuddle-silence. “Are you feeling alright?” She finally lets you loose and looks at you with her head tilted to the side. There’s a sort of quizzical air to her still blank expression.

“I’m great.” She assures you. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that… the last time we talked, and pretty much every interaction we’ve ever had together, you seemed kind of pissed with me.” You inform her, not sure how to ask if she still wants to rip your head off. “You said some… pretty intense stuff.”

“Oh… yeah.” She mumbles, an embarrassed blush appearing on her face. “I… I’m not sure what was going on with me. I think I was just a little crabby.” Crabby? “But I’m fine now, I promise.”

“Ahhh… kay?” You say, slowly nodding to the insanity transpiring before you. This has to be a bit, right? She’s about to chokeslam you any second now… Right?

“I just feel so bad that I yelled at you like that.” She says, almost poutingly. “I was out of line, and I was just being mean for no reason. I’m really sorry…” She looks down, her gaze resting on your chest. There’s a sort of freaked-out stress behind her demeanor, like she’s a lost puppy expecting to get shouted at. God, is she about to cry?

“I-it’s fine, really. You don’t have to feel bad about it.” You assure her, resting a hand on her shoulder. She seems to perk up at the kind gesture, and she gives you a smile.

“Alright, if you say so Jason.” She giggles. A shiver goes up your spine when you notice that despite her joyful tone, her eyes are still empty.

“Well, uh… I like your new outfit. T-the white looks nice.” You say, trying not to choke on this whole situation.

“New? Oh. No, this is the same outfit. Strange, right?” She lightly taps you on your shoulder. You don’t so much as move an inch. Normally, even if she was playing around, any tap from Mia would shove you back a step. What the hell is up? “When that nice troll boy was carrying me away from the Forge, I remember seeing the purple disappearing from my god tiers, like it was draining right out of my sleeves! Scary, right?” This is just bizarre, she’s too nice and mild to even be recognizable as Mia. She kind of reminds you of how she used to be, before she entered Sburb. So quiet and looking for approval. Afraid to make even a peep out of line. What the hell happened while you were out? Even that fire in her eyes you’ve come to know as familiar is gone. Extinguished by… oh my fucking god. That Thief! The one that appeared during the Forge Mission! She stole her Rage! Completely stripped her of it! She turned her into… whatever this is!

“Hey, I-… I’ll be right back.” You tell her. She quietly nods as you hand off Gretel to her and hurry back over to Sara.

“Do you see what I mean?” Sara ask as you walk up.

“What the fuck?” You whisper to her. “Has she been acting like this since the Forge?” Sara huffs at the question.

“Yeah, ever since she woke up. Esspin thinks it’s only a matter of time before she snaps out of it, but… I’m not so sure.”

“It was that troll girl. Medeas.” You snarl at the name, remembering the savage beating she gave you. And also… wait, didn’t she kiss you?

“You think so?” Sara asks, unsure having not seen the Thief steal away her aura.

“I know so… fuck.” You cuss to yourself. “Did you see where she went?”

“Who? The Cobalt? Yeah, flying right off that tennis ball about a mile up in the air.” Sara scoffs. “Why? You want to go after her?”

“The only reason Mia’s acting so… not herself… is because that troll took her anger.” You explain. “That aura she stole, that’s what did it.”

“You getting your memories back?” She asks in a concerned tone.

“Not everything, but it’s coming to me. Slowly, though, but it’s something.” You tell her, trying to put her worries at ease. ”But that aura, it was her rage, all the negative emotions that make Mia Mia.”

“You think you could get her to give it back?” She asks, looking back to Mia.

“Are you kidding me? No way she’d ever part with a power like that.” You sigh, recalling how strong-headed the Compendiums made the Thieves out to be. “Besides, even if that Thief was willing to give her anger back, I’m not entirely sure if she could.”

“What do you mean?”

“By now, she’s probably had time to simmer down.” You explain. “All of those negative feelings she took have probably dissipated by now.”

 

***

 

In a sudden slip of the narrative, you accidentally become Medeas Colchi for a brief moment, most likely to emphasize the irony of what Jason just said.

You pace around the room of the pirate ship you’ve taken refuge in. It’s been nearly five days since the incident and you can’t get it off your mind. You’ve tried picking up Strifes with some of the chumps you’ve run into, you’ve tried tinkering with your souls, you’ve even tried following certain… fantasies, embarrassing as it is to say, trying to find some sort of resolution on the subject, but nothing is working! There’s still somehow things to say on the matter, and it's pissing you off!

“Gah! Come on, Medeas, snap out of it!” You exclaim, pounding yourself on the sides of your head. “You just kissed him to… to… to catch him off guard! And gain the advantage! Yeah! There’s no way I’d ever have black feelings for someone as pathetic and weak as him. Someone like him probably couldn’t satisfy o-o-or even reciprocate my feelings for him. N-not that I have any feelings for him, I-I don’t have feelings for him, so it doesn’t even matter if he hates me or not! I don’t even care if he hates me, I-I mean I practically dismantled the pink tree-gnome, so there’s no way he doesn’t hate me after what happened, so it’s whatever. E-… even if he did hate me, I would never, even in a million sweeps, consider a quadrant of any kind with a human. I-… … … GAHHHH! Fuck! I hate him! I hate him! I! Hate! ♠Him♠!”

Yeah, it’s about time you be the pink tree-gnome again. Probably gonna be a little while before Medeas gets a grip.

 

***

 

“Yep. Those negative feelings she has are probably long gone by now.” You say with a huff. Sara seems equally discouraged, anxiously gnawing on her lip.

“It’s concerning, yes. Very concerning, but we can’t start feeling down now.” She says, taking a heavy breath in and straightening out. “I’ve seen what happens when you let events like this creep into everyone’s focus. We can’t let that happen… if it does, we run the risk of the team falling apart because of it.” You notice as she talks that her focus shifts away from you, as if she’s speaking only to herself, listing off reminding affirmations. “Right now, we need unity. Right now, we need to focus on the task at hand.” Unity… for some reason, you feel like that’s a strange thing for her to say. A headache is starting to cloud your mind again thinking about it. “As much as I hate to say it, getting out of here alive takes president over Mia’s… predicament. If she’s still acting this way after that, well… we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

“Right-right, the escape mission.” You mutter, nodding along with what she’s saying, no matter how odd it is for her to say it. “We were getting someone’s attention… who was that exactly?”

“I don’t know, it’s been a while since we last went over the plan. You don’t remember?” She asks with a worried look.

“I’m… getting there.” You sigh, cringing at the dull soreness still lingering at the front of your head. “I just need a little-”

“Hey.” Mia calls, cutting your thought short. She’s walking up to the two of you with Gretel and that little chameleon guy. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Oh… uh…we were… were…” Sara fumbles, blushing profusely as she clammers for an excuse. She isn’t very good at hiding things, you’ve come to find.

“We… were…” You say taking Mia’s attention off her. “Just talking about how much we enjoy being your friend, Mia.”

“Aww.” She quietly muses. There’s a moment of pause before slowly, a smile begins to stretch across her face, extending farther than it naturally would. She struggles with it, unsure if she’s properly expressing herself. God, this is throwing you off.

“Hey, Mia?” You say while waving in front of her face, grabbing her attention away from her awkward smiling.

“Present.” She turns to you.

“You wouldn’t happen to know who we’re looking for, would you?” You ask. “The person who’s attention we were trying to get by blowing up the Forge?”

“Who? Oh, guess that troll knocked a little more out of you than we thought.” She forcefully laughs, ruffling up your hair a bit. Needless to say, you repress the action immediately, knowing the event will undoubtedly cause immeasurable mental scarring that will take years of therapy to unravel. “You said we were looking for the Seer of Space. You thought she could help us find people for the escape plan with their sight.”

“Seer of… Lex? L-Lexie’s here?” You ask, your headache flaring up with an intensity.

“Who’s Lexie?” Sara asks, looking between you and Mia.

“I-… I… I’ll be right back.” Mia announces, swiftly walking away from the two of you. You turn around just in time to see her retreating towards the direction the cave’s in, her white god tier making it look like a phantom disappearing into the forest.

“…Who’s Lexie?” Sara re-asks with more concern this time.

“Lexie is-… was… one of our session mates. She was a Seer of Space.” You explain, working through the fog in your head. “I just… I forgot… for a second. She isn’t the Seer of Space we’re looking for.” You clench your fist as you recall your heartache. There’s a reason you’re in the Arena, remember?

“Is she…?” Sara paces off.

“Yeah…" You answer, getting what she’s hinting at. "She’s gone.”

“I-… it could be her. Your friend we’re looking for. Greg… Greg would always talk about keeping our sessions’s timeline from splitting too much. He said every decision we made had the potential of causing another timeline to be created.” Not entirely accurate, but she seems to get the gist. “That’s how time stuff works, right? If your session had more than one timeline, one of the Lexies from them could’ve ended up in the Arena like we did.”

“It doesn’t matter.” You tell her, trying to put a cap on the subject. “The plan doesn’t change if it’s her or not. We just need someone with sight omnifold. Doesn’t matter who…”

“What if… Jason, what if whoever it is we’re waiting for doesn’t respond?” Sara asks, sparking a deep dread to ignite in your chest.

“They will.” You say without a second thought. “They just… they will. Let’s leave it at that for now. Okay…?” You close your eyes, reminiscent of your time asleep as you feel the pressure of the conscious world beginning to really weigh on you.

“Look, I know. Alright? I know.” She says in the most serious tone she has. “I know how I sound. I hate getting caught up in overthinking things, and I don’t mean to fan the stress of things, but this is getting serious.“ You pause for a moment. Something about what she just said resonates with you for some reason. Sara didn’t seem like the nervous type to you. Breath Players shouldn’t be the nervous types.

“Have you always been this tense?” You earnestly ask her, still deep in thought.

“Oh, ha ha.” She shakes her head, thinking you’re mocking her.

“No, I-I’m serious. Have stressful situations always made you so troubled?” Breath players are supposed to be easygoing. That was a common trait the Compendiums said they’d have. Unless they’re inverted, the way Destroyer classes tend to.

“I try not to let them.” She says with a sad, almost guilty anxiousness. “It’s not exactly fun being Ms Uptight-Worry-Wort all the time, but… I guess I can’t help it. When things get tough, it’s almost like second nature for me to worry my head off. Annoying, right?” Her shoulders slump, clearly upset with her tendencies.

“Not at all. Stress is a survival trait. Just means you’re still surviving.” You reassure her. “But there’s definitely something unusual about it weighing on you so much.” The words ‘dysfunctional progression’ lingers in the recesses of your mind. Someone mentioned that phrase to you, didn’t they? About all the Godtiers? For some reason, Mia’s mother comes to mind. She sold houses, right? Such a weird thing to remember all of a sudden.

A long silence passes as you contemplate the mess of mental tangents floating around your head, trying to make sense of it all. It’s frustrating, not being able to do something as simple as thinking straight at your own leisure, but it seems the longer you think, the more your mind seems to reorganize itself. Like figuring out where all the files go when the cabinet tips over. The purple Chameleon that’s been standing around gives Gretel a questioning look, clearly unsure why the current conversation has suddenly paused. She just shrugs in return.

“We should talk about what happens if the Seer of Space doesn’t want to help us, Jason.” Sara tells you in that stern Motherly Sylph way. “I might not get fate like you or Greg do, but some things have to happen, right? That the long and short of it? But what if… this isn’t supposed to happen.” She gestures back to the forest. To the team. “What if we aren’t supposed to find this Seer?”

“This isn’t supposed to happen.” You inform her. “What we’re doing is… it’s unprecedented, it’s not supposed to happen. Doomed players aren’t supposed to be able to beat the game, but… we can. I know we can. That Seer will show up, I can feel it. Fated or not… I’m getting us out of here.” There’s another long pause, as Sara seems to refuse to say anything else until you take her concerns seriously. With a sigh, you strike the conversation back up. “If they don’t… If they don’t show up, then we’ll just have to go on without their help.”

“Can we? If it comes to that.” She asks, uncertain if she wants the answer. Which is good, because you don’t have one.

“… let's get back to the cave, we shouldn’t be out in the open like this.” You tell her instead. She wait a moment, looking at you as she decides if she should press further. Eventually she folds, turning to look down at the consort by her side.

“Come on, George.” Sara says to the chameleon, taking him by the hand and leading him to the forest. You scoop Gretel up in your arms once more and follow after them.

 

Jason, Get back to the Forest Cave.

Notes:

Happy Father's Day to all those Pipefan and Fedorafreak Dads out there, mentoring Human, Troll and Consort children alike.

Chapter 17: > Guard Posts and Frog Ghosts

It’s been around six hours since you woke up from your mini-coma, and you’ve been getting all kinds of antsy ever since. As much as you’d like to deny it, there’s a pretty big chance the Seer of Space is gonna be a no-show. In fact, you’ve all but given up on waiting for them. The only reason you haven’t told the others is because you haven’t thought of a way to break it to them without completely destroying the group’s morale. When you had first explained the plan, you made it fundamentally clear that this whole operation’s chances of success rested solely on someone like the Seer of Space guiding your way to other players, so the fact that you’ll be proceeding without them might come as a bit of a shock. Or it might telegraph to them that your horribly half-baked plan is beginning to come apart by the quickly sewn seams of its clown pants.

The fact that there hasn’t been any sign from the Seer during the four days you’ve been out is enough to call the wait off in and of itself, but even with that withstanding, there was always going to be a chance that you'd get left high and dry, being ignored by them. You’ve looked at your Trans.-Temp. Camera just about every ten minutes for the past hour checking to see if the Seer’s stone slab in the Collective is still glowing. Sure enough they’re still kicking, but that doesn’t mean another player didn't come along and nab their soul like Medeas tried to do to you. Or that they haven’t already joined some other group in the Arena, or just aren’t interested in risking their neck giving you a chance. Whatever it is, they aren’t here, and you’re practically having a melt down waiting for them.

You anxiously munch on the block of calories your Emergency Ration supply has the audacity to call a meal, washing down the stale dough with a can of Cobra Cola, a brand of soda you alchemised using a bit of venom from the consorts on Rich’s planet. It’s not your favorite, and it has a sort of spicy tang to it, but it’s the last brand you’ve got left in the Mini Fridge and water makes the ration crackers expand in your mouth.

It hadn’t dawned on you how hungry you were until Esspin asked for her rifle back, and you spotted your rations while rooting through your inventory. Apparently, Sara was too hesitant to feed you anything while you were unconscious, afraid you’d choke if she tried forcing something down your throat. Which… yeah, that probably wouldn’t have ended well if she did.

Finishing your bar, you crumple the wrapping and tuck it in your pocket. Sure you could just toss the wrapper on the ground, since you doubt there are any littering laws on LOPAW, but if nothing else, it can’t hurt to avoid racking up bad karma dropping trash wherever you go. So you’ll hold onto it for now, until you find a proper receptacle.

Now that you’re done with your meal, a static silence overcomes the area, with nothing but the sound of rain accompanying the grotto. You’re alone, at the moment. In the hour after you had woken up, everyone seemed to drop off and retire for the night, or day, technically, since there isn’t a night cycle on this planet. Mia was the first to break off for the cave. You thought she was still upset with you for bringing up Lexie earlier, but Esspin informed you that she’s been getting to bed earlier than everyone else recently, something she’s not exactly known for. You weren’t even sure she was capable of sleep. She never woke up on Derse, and you’ve never even seen her take so much as a nap in the nearly four years you were playing Sburb together. You never thought you’d say it, but you, Jason Greene, are genuinely worried about Mia Kruger.

The most concerning thing about Mia’s actions were when you finally caught up with her after she stormed off, she acted like everything was fine. As if she didn’t run off into the local forestry like the protagonist of a cheesy teen sitcom. Ever since, she’s been pretty quiet. Not in a sort of cold pissed off way she’s been known to do every now and then, or even in a profound upset way you thought she would be in. She’s just been normal not-saying-anything-quiet. You think you saw her try to join in on a conversation once or twice, but she backed off when she couldn’t get a word in.

You huff, more than frustrated with your current situation, and stretch out on the tree stump you’re sat on. Right now you’re cooped up outside of the cave, huddled up at the base of one of the thicker tree tops in the area, keeping out of the drizzle. You managed to start a small fire to keep warm while you’re watching the perimeter. Considering you’ve been sleeping for the past 112 hours, it naturally fell to you to take the first guard shift. You’re not sure when you’re supposed to switch out, if that’s even the system you’re working off of at all. In fact, you aren’t even sure if the others were taking guard shifts to begin with, you might just be waiting outside the cave for no reason, like an asshole.

Since you don’t have all that much to do right now, you’ve taken to thumbing through some of the entries in the Compendium Series again, reading from your Digital Scribe Archive. Retracing your steps through the Collective might not be the most productive use of time, but it’s not like you’ve got anything better to do. Also it’s possible Medeas knocked a few factoids out of your head back at the Forge. Can’t hurt to make sure you’re brushed up on your potential opponents.

You had hoped going through the Compendium of the Maid of Rage a few times could pose some sort of solution to Mia’s anger problem, but you haven’t found anything all that useful. Just that these Maids have a propensity for high-octane levels of anger and have a natural talent for frustrating the fuck out of people for no other reason than it being funny. All shit you already knew… A bit frustrated, you moved on to going through your entire group’s profiles. Overall, you’ve got a pretty solid team going. Sara, doubling as the healer and guidance counselor, two tanks er-, one pseudo-tank, Esspin, and whatever Mia is right now. Then you have yourself as temporal support and last but most importantly, your guide, Amvinn.

You’ve been throwing around a few ideas on how the plan’s gonna change without aid from the Seer of Space, most of which revolve around Amvinn. You’re not entirely sure how his powers developed, but he’s a Seer. He’s bound to have some sort of sight multifold. He had mentioned something about you giving off trepidation when you first woke up. If Sight-Empathi is the only way his vision has developed, you still might be up a creek. Being able to monitor someone’s emotional output might be good for one-on-one conversational situations, or maybe even conflict negotiations, but functionally unfit for locating specific individuals.

If you’re lucky, the soul facet of his Heart could factor in differently, and hopefully more usefully, into his sight. A Soul Soothsayer could prove useful, turning every Consort soul in the Arena into a potential spy for your group. It might take longer than the direct method a Seer of Space’s powers offers, but you’re willing to bet you could piece together player locations based on soul intel with enough time.

“t h e  f i r e  h a s  g o n e  o u t  r e k i n d l e  i t” Something whispers. You look up and yep, the fire’s been extinguished. God damn it.

Since you’ve been hanging around outside, the whispers have been getting louder, more present in your awareness. You think it has something to do with the rain on this planet. Both giver of information and extinguisher of your fucking campfire. You gather some branches big enough to create a sort of tent for the fire pit and gather a shit ton of kindling, grumbling all the way. It sucked enough having to get a fire going in the rain, now you have to make one in wet ash. Fuck me!

 

***

 

After what seems like forever, you finally manage to get the fire going again. It’s small enough not to burn up its tent while still giving off a fair amount of warmth. Unfortunately, your god tier pjs got soaked in the process. Normally your god tiers dry pretty quickly, but the rain isn’t giving them much chance for their magic to kick in. If you’re going to stay outside like this, you should probably switch into something else in the meantime. Time to bust out your Closet for another set of digs. Catalog #10, Section 5x2 Bottom Left Corner.

The wardrobe deploys, partially sinking into the soft forest floor under the weight of the fine mahogany wood. Popping the doors open, you get searching through the cloth archive for something good to wear in the rain. You’ve got your Classic Tee Shirt & Pants, Dapper Jack’s Evening Wear, CoolGuy’s Scale-Leather Jacket, The Excavator’s Bathrobe. Oh, hey, your All Terrain Poncho, keeps you cool in the Desert, keeps you warm in the Rain. Perfect! You swap into your old clothes and equip the poncho. Nice and warm! Seeing as you don’t need to hang up your god tiers to dry, you just captchalogue them along with your Closet.

While you’re squaring away your artifacts, you notice that Frog in your inventory again. Quite the enigma, the little guy is. You figure some form of shenaniganery is responsible for him ending up in your possession, because you can’t for the life of you recall ever capturing him. And that’s not just the head-trauma rearing its head again, pun sort of intended. You remember not remembering captchaloguing this guy back in the deserts of LOKAT. You fish its captchalogue card out from your Sylladex to get a closer look at it. Yep, it’s a frog. Out of curiosity, you flip to the back to check what its code is. f4311142. Huh. How… impartially benign. It’s an alchemy code, so it doesn’t have much meaning beyond a bunch of numbers and letters to any non-computing entities, which... you are. Guess if you ever want to make a frog, now you can.

Regardless of where this amphibian came from, he’s probably getting pretty cramped in this tiny card he’s been stowed away in. Deciding to let him out, you deploy the frog to one of the toppled logs in the area, watching him hop around as he explores his new environment. Something about him is a bit peculiar. You feel like you’ve seen this frog before, yet you can’t recall where. Maybe it was when you first captured him, whenever that might have been?

Well, even if his origin remains a mystery, the little guy can’t exactly go hopping around without a name, can he? It’s a bit cheesy, given the name of your daughter, but you think Hansel would be a fitting name for the boy.

“Yeah… how about it, Hansel?” You say to the frog, rhetorically asking for approval of his newly given name as you reach out to pet him. Before you can touch the smooth skin of his head, a sudden --Zap-- shocks you as a tiny bolt of red static springs from your fingertip, the way it does when you touch an old tv screen. “Ah!” You quietly exclaim as you bring your index finger to your mouth to suck on, soothing the miniature burn with your saliva. What the hell was- …Oh.

Slumped on the log, with a small trail of smoke drifting off from his tiny forehead, lies Hansel. He’s… he’s dead. Killed by the static shock that discharged when you tried to connect with him. Your hand drops back down to your side and you slump against the tree behind the stump you’re on, wordlessly gawking at the poor guy. You’re… sad. Really sad. You had Hansel for less than a minute, but it’s like you just lost a longtime pet. Guess you were really looking forward to fostering another cold-blood member in your slowly growing family. Or maybe you were…… whoa.

Out of nowhere, your entire body is racked with a painful sorrow, like your heart is shattering into a million tiny pieces beholding your dead little friend. Your chest tightens as you suddenly find it difficult to draw in breath, and your hands won’t stop trembling. You think… you think you’re having a panic attack. Where is all this coming from? Sure he was a cute frog, but- Wait, what the hell? What’s that feeling on your cheek? Is that… are those tears? No way, that’s gotta be rain! But… you didn’t feel any drops hit your face. What the hell, when did you start crying? And why are you crying so damn hard?

Jason, you’re clearly overwhelmed by emotions and unfit to be yourself right now. Let’s try being someone else for a little while and see if you can compose yourself in the meantime, alright buddy?

 

***

 

While Jason is busy bawling his eyes out, you’re sent to the character select screen.

What’s this? All of your other characters are unavailable at the current moment. Looks like they’re too busy sleeping right now for you to be them.

In more interesting, non-sleeping character news, three more character slots have opened up to your disposal… or not? It appears that those three are locked as well. Why the hell is everything so one-track around here?!

What’s that? You don’t see your brand new locked-out characters? You didn’t even get the character select screen to begin with? That’s probably because the medium you’re receiving this story through is unfit for the current gag, if you could even call this a gag. It’s more like a meta reference to a bit done by a much more talented storyteller; the illustrious Waste of Space, the Orange Desert Wanderer, the Huss who shall not be named, other bullshit make-believe titles.

But you know what? Fuck it. This is the Waste of Time’s story, fuck all that other shit. Who even needs complex and stunning visual mediums when you have the power of Plain Black Text and occasional Colored Texts?! We’ve done just fine up to this point, why muck it up now? If it’s not causing irreparable damage or grievous bodily harm, don’t fix it! …Look, you’ll just have to bear with me on this, there are three more important characters in proximity to the main Narrative as well as, but not limited to, its pre-existing characters, its plot line and all relevant foreshadow devices. As such, they’re being added to the roster. The Potentially-Being-That-Person Roster, not the Roster as previously mentioned by Finlus the Blood Bard in an earlier chapter. All characters are on the Roster, regardless of plot relevance, due to them being members of the Un-dooming Ritual.

Just picture three shadowy figures with question marks on their chest. Like this; 

 

[?] [?] [?]

 

…hmm. Those just look like boxes… How about I just describe them to you.

One has a tube-sock hood running all the way down to the ground, resting on the floor behind them. Looks like some sort of Heir is on the horizon. The middle one’s hood appears very pointy and elf-like in its presentation. Perhaps another Page has entered the fray? Or maybe some weirdo who has an atrocious sense of fashion? Maybe both? Not all Elves are Pages, but all Pages do have the wardrobe of an Elf, with those pantsless God Tier Uniforms of theirs. Although, Jason doesn’t wear the Elf-ensemble anymore, seeing as he’s far too cool for it now. At least, he likes to think he’s too cool for it. Some, if not all, would beg to differ. And lastly, the final mystery person appears to be in a slim dress with shorter sleeves and a bulbous hood. A little vague looking. Maybe a Maid? Or another Sylph? Only time can tell, really. Time, and more reading.

Oh, look! One of your characters woke up, unlocking him from the imaginary character select screen that you can’t see. How about you be him and we forget this interaction ever happened? Sounds good.

 

***

 

You’re woken up by a glaring blue light peering into the cave, flashing you directly in your fricken' eyes. Gah! What’s going on out there?

You prop yourself up off the rocky floor and take note of the others in the cave. Everyone else seems to be still soundly asleep, indicating that you’re the only one who can see the light shining into the cave right now. Sara and George are curled up together on her weird humany looking loungeplank, and that Mia human has taken to acting as the Grey consorts nighthost for Jason, who’s been sitting out in the rain for the past several hours like a weirdo. She brought her own loungestructure to sleep upon as well, some sort of enormous pile of fuzz, most likely sewn from one of her planet’s woodland custodians. Seeing the white fur of the furniture, it... it makes you miss your Lusus…

Speaking of which, that damn Highblood seems to have had the common sense to bring her recuperacoon to the Arena with her. You, however, did not share in her wriggler-level logic, and left your own recuperacoon, as well as all your sopor-based items, back in your session, leaving you to sleep on the cave floor during slumber-hours. It’s not all that bad, though. The nightmares synonymous with your species’ sleep cycles seemed to have died down a while ago, allowing you to sleep un-sedated by sopor products in relative peace. On top of terrorless sleep, Trolls of your specific caste are born with a genetic inclination to find comfort in harsher environments, as well. Meaning the conditions you find out in the wilderness are like luxury accommodations. All-in-all, cave floor’s not so bad for snoozin’ on.

“What’s wrong?” You hear from your left. It’s the Red One who always hangs around Sara, Gracks or something. He’s sat on the floor with his back against the base of Sara’s Human ‘Couch’. Strange, he doesn’t usually talk to you all that much.

“Something’s outside.” You whisper to him, not trying to wake the others. “There’s a whole emotional strobe-mob going on out there.”

“Outside? Are we being attacked? I-Is it another group of players?” He asks, standing up from his slump.

“Unless we’re under siege by the Universe’s Saddest Warriors, I doubt it.” You assure Gracks. “It’s big, though. Like a tidal wave of raw emotion…” Quietly, you get up from the cave floor, careful not to wake anyone as you stumble towards the entrance, still groggy from sleep.

“Where are you going?” Gracks asks.

“I’m going to check this out.” You tell him. “Whatever this is, it’s getting in the way of my sleep. You stay here and keep doing… ghosts things.”

Heeding your advice, the Ghost continues to do ghost things, which in this case is sitting back down by the Couch and staring at the wall. Such majestic creatures, those phantoms.

Turning back to the problem at hand, you continue your approach to the mouth of the cave. Getting closer, you hear a soft crying coming from off in the forest. Not like the whispers you’ve been hearing here, or at least not like any you’ve heard so far. This sounds like an actual person. What’s there to even get sad about at this hour?

Peaking around the corner you see Jason, quietly sobbing to himself. He’s wearing some ridiculous looking outfit, with some large orange tarp draped over him. Possibly some sort of ritual Human Weeping Rags, if you had to guess. You consider letting sleeping barkfiends lie and just going back into the cave, but there’s no way you’re getting back to sleep with this chump blubbering the way he is, lighting up the area like a woeful nightlight.

“Hey.” You call out to him. You seem to catch him off guard, because as soon as you say anything, he nearly jumps out of his pink skin. What the hell is the point of him ‘standing guard’ out in the rain if he’s off in his own little world like that? “…Are you alright?”

“Uh, y-yeah, Amvinn. Totally, w-why wouldn’t I be?” He stutters as he wipes the tears from his eye, trying to hide his emotions from an empath. This is gonna be a whole thing, isn’t it?

“Oh, ya’know, it’s just that you’re crying is all. Figured that meant you were in emotional distress, but guess not.” You say, taking a seat on the log across from him.

“W-what? I’m not crying! What would…” He pauses as if he’s about to start crying again. “what would give you that idea?” You’ve only just sat down and you’re already fatigued with this conversation.

“…I’m not sure how Humans handle their emotions, but all that sorrow you’re radiating right now is kinda making it hard for me to sleep.” You break it down for him. “So spill it. I wanna pound this feels-session out while I can still get some rest, okay?”

“It’s nothing.” He says, trying to dismiss you. Odd, he seems genuine about it being ‘nothing’, and yet he’s still pumping out sadness like there’s no tomorrow.

“I’m sorry to say, but that’s human-bull shit.” You declare, dryly. “You’re gonna be hard pressed lying to me when your soul is staring me in the face.” You say, squinting as his sad-lights fluctuate like crazy.

“… I really don’t know.” He finally cracks. During this presumably substantial confession to having emotions, you notice Jason glancing over to a fallen tree. There’s a dead croakfiend placed on top of it. “I… I-I killed a Frog. Accidentally. And, um… And I- I just… broke down.” Another tear strolls down his cheek and he turns to the side to wipe it away. Jeez, he’s a lot more sensitive than you first thought.

“Psst.” You hear someone call. You look over and see Haugrr, peeking out from behind a tree. He motions for you to come over to him, but you nod him away. “Hey!” He whispers. “Let’s talk.”

“Just get over here, he can’t see you.” You whisper through your fangs. He pauses a moment before trotting over to you, his honey-colored wings flopping up and down like a jackass.

“What was that?” Jason asks, thinking you were talking to him. As he looks back, you notice he’s fully composed now, completely recovered from the emotional bombshell a dead croakfiend apparently poses to the human race.

“Huh? U-uh, nothing, must’ve been those whispers er somethin’. So what was it that’s bugging you? You lost your frog or…?” You ask, redirecting him away from his question. As expected, you get another flash of sadness directly in the eyes. Guess not completely recovered.

“Forget it. It was nothing, really.” He dismisses again, still trying to avoid the question.

“Hey, Amvinn!” Haugrr says, walking up, continuing to pester you. “I’ve been getting around the neighboring forests, fucking crazy out here. There’s all these ritual grounds and ceremonial citadels, Insane!” You flash your fangs at him in a silent growl, hoping he might get the message to pipe down for the moment. You’re in a counseling session right now, for god’s sake.

Turning back to your subject, you find that Jason’s eyeing you up suspiciously. He glances where you were looking, and unsurprisingly, sees nothing. He’s not a Heart player like you and you’re pretty sure Human’s don’t have any sort of inherent necrovoyance in their species, so Haugrr’s phantom is undetectable to him. On the topic of Heart players, though, here’s hoping none of them are nearby. If they are, it’s gonna be hard laying low with this mook broadcasting your location with his soul-stirrings the way he is. If there’s anyone on this planet who can sense emotions like you can, your position is blown.

“… hey… look, uh just… try and cheer up about your frog or whatever.” You poorly advise him. “I’m probably not the only one on Lopaw picking up on your sadness. Who knows who’s gonna pop up if they catch your trail.”

“Y-yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Thanks…” He says, looking down at his feet. He takes a deep breath in and, almost on cue, his sadness drops down to a normal level, making the area tolerable for sleeping again. With your mission complete, you’re about get up and head back to the cave when you notice Jason’s emotional state shift again, changing shades of sadness. From a sorrow to more like… melancholy? Shit, did you just hurt his feelings? Damn, Humans are a lot more sensitive than you initially thought.

“H-hey, I didn’t mean to-, that-that was kinda mean… Sorry. I’m not- I mean it’s not like I…... sorry.” You say, stumbling over your apology. He continues to look at you oddly, more out of confusion than suspicion. Just like the old days, right Amvinn? Struggling to present yourself to another living creature without putting your foot into your protein fold. You had thought those days were long past, but apparently your introduction to Humanity has re-spark your awkward social tendencies. Or maybe it’s the fact that you cut yourself off from all social ties so you wouldn’t have to constantly be tripping over your inability to relate to others and never developed any actual social skills to begin with, rather you just tell yourself that you had and that you simply needed to isolate yourself from everyone to center yourself through Meditation, creating the false sense of security that you’ve matured properly while hiding away in the crypts of your Land only for your delusion to be shattered by a simple interactions with another species… Or something like that, who knows?

“Hey, jackass.” Haugrr calls, snapping in your ear a few times. “He’s looking right at you, snap out of it.” You look up and see Jason still giving you that confused look he’s so adept at. Oh god, how long were you spaced out for?

“…It’s fine.” He finally says, realizing you’re paying attention again. His melancholy seems to have died down now, so there’s that. Maybe you’re not so bad at this counseling thing after all. “Really, I’m not even sure why I got so worked up about it. It was just a frog I had in my inventory. I-I don’t even really remember finding him.”

“Interesting.” You say, placing your finger tips together in the most thoughtful of poses. You don’t want to brag, but emotional instability just so happens to your specialty. “So a bond must have formed between you and this frog in the time you interacted with it, however short it might have been. Actually, it can be rather fascinating how quickly an emotional connection can spark up in a stressful environment, even with wild fauna. High pressure situations are almost like fast-acting cement. Once you latch onto something, the bond is damn near unbreakable. Could be why you’re so… rustled? How long did your exposure to this frog last, exactly?”

“Only like… twenty seconds, dude.” He says, trampling all over your train of thought.

“Hmm.” You grunt, thinking of a way to salvage the conversation without looking like a complete dolt on the subject of emotional connections. This is your specialty, damnit! “Well, it’s either that or you’ve repressed something of great significant trauma… a-and the frog embodies your emotional link to whatever it was you repressed.”

“…” Jason wordlessly stares at you, obviously skeptical of what you’re saying. Yeah that was a bit of a stretch, even for you.

“You know, like… it symbolized something to your subconscious.” You continue defending your half thought out explanation. “We’re waiting for a Space player, right? Frogs are a Space thing. I’m just spitballing, but maybe you might’ve seen your frog as a physical representation of them, and watching it die emphasized your fear that they won’t show up in the first place, leaving your plans dead in the water, so to say.” He perks up at that last part and you’re practically smacked across the face with the amount of dread he erupts with.

“Wh- I’m not afraid they won’t-… w-why would you-“ You raise an eyebrow and he seems to understand he’s not getting anything past you. “How’d you know?” He asks. You raise your eyebrow even further, straining the muscles of your face to express just how unimpressed you are. “…shit. Was it really that obvious?”

“The others don’t seem to notice your doubts. Sara believes pretty much anything you tell her, or just doesn’t have the resolve to question it. Esspin thinks we’re fulfilling some kind of prophesied destiny, and Mia… she’s sort of… hollow. Like she’s just not producing all too much of any emotions, least of all skepticism. She kinda freaks me out, I’m not gonna lie. Anyway, I don’t think she has the mental strength to doubt your plan… What is the plan, anyway?”

“The plan? Well, you’ll have to forgive the simplicity since I don’t have all the details ironed out, but the main idea is to get a bunch of people onto my ship and escape into the Furthest Ring.” He answers, clearly uneasy about talking on the subject. He’s able to remain composed, but he’s giving off a lot of nervousness right now.

“What’s in the Furthest Ring?”

“Not much of anything, really. Except for a shit ton of Horrorterrors. That’s not the end destination, though. If we know how to move around in the void, we can pretty much go anywhere we want in reality. Any planet, any universe, even… even any Sburb Session, if we can find them…” He pauses on that last point, thinking deeply about the idea.

“So you know how to move around in the void, then?” You ask, breaking the silence. More and more, Jason’s nervousness ramps up at your questions. He really must have none of this figured out. That or he’s just being cautious around you. Which would be fair.

“No… not exactly.” He hesitantly admits. “But there’s more than enough people in the Arena who could act as our Navigator out there. All we need to do is find them.”

“Hey,” Haugrr says hovering around you, getting your attention. “Ask him about the Doomed thing.”

“What?” You whisper to him, trying not to seem weird to Jason.

“We’d still be Doomed even if we left for the Furthest Ring, numb-nubs. Ask him about it.” He clarifies.

“Uh, w-wouldn’t we still be doomed even if we left the Arena?” You ask, parroting Haugrr’s question. Strangely enough, Jason seems to lighten up at the inquiry, gaining an air of confidence.

“That’s why we’re going to Un-doom ourselves before we leave.” Jason says in an excited tone. You lightly scratch your head, unsure what he means. “When I first arrived here, I met someone who told me the Arena is meant to kill off excess doomed players, and that everyone of us has brought something within us that will un-doom the final survivor, but that’s the thing! Collectively, we’re powerful enough to circumvent all that ‘there can be only one’ horseshit and do the un-dooming ourselves. We just need to find the right players to do it for us.”

“We need everyone’s powers to un-doom ourselves?” You aren’t exactly sure how Doom even works, so wrapping your thinkpan around how to undo it is posing a bit of difficulty for you.

“No, of course not.” He says, almost laughing at the idea. “In fact, we really only need one player for that. What’s keeping us grounded right now is the fact that we’re going to be flying across all of paradoxical spacetime. Ship upkeep alone will require a team of individuals with intricate engineering experience and knowhow. We won’t need everyone in the Arena, but we’ll definitely need more than a few specific people with us if the Ship is gonna fly for more than a few days.”

“Ah, right. About the ship… where is it?” You feel like a stickler squeezing this many questions out of the human, but more than one person should really know the finer details of the plan if it’s gonna work, you think. Contingencies and Redundancies are pivotal for operational executions. What if Jason were to die without warning? Who’d lead the mission then? Probably you, because you’d get the plan from his ghost, but that’s not important right now.

“One sec.” He says, diving into his inventory and muttering something about numbers to himself. As he does, Haugrr comes around behind you and lays his elbow on your shoulder, using you like a leaning rest while he gawks at Jason. You can’t feel him, by the way. While the deceased can still interact with the material world as if it were physically tangible to them, they produce no sensory information with the entities they come in contact with. Haugrr just leans on you because he knows it annoys you, sensation or not.

“Humans are so weird.” Haugrr whispers to you, for no reason whatsoever. Jason can’t hear him anyway. Why the hell does he have to get so intimate with your hearducts? Everyone in this place is weird.

“Right here.” Jason says proudly, holding some tiny little trinket up for you to see. You look at it closely and yep, that’s definitely a ship. Kinda looks like an Imperial Star-Cruiser, like the one’s they use in the Royal Fleet back on Alternia. Glancing back at him, Jason’s smile seems to fade when he sees you’re not as excited about his artifact as he is. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s kinda small.” You say, trying not to sound insulting.

“I bet it’s not the only thing of his that’s small.” Haugrr snickers to himself. “Hey, Amvinn, up top.” He holds a hand up to you. “Hey, Amvinn… Amvinn… Amvinn, up top man. Come on man, high five. Be a bro, man. It’s bro time. High-five. Do you not get it? I was talking about his bone bulge, dude. High-five. Come on dude. High five.” Why are you the only normal troll in this load gaper of an incipisphere? Not only would it look weird to the human if you high fived him since all he'd see if you swatting at the open air, but Haugrr also seems to have forgotten that he’s fucking intangible.

“Nothing to worry about there, that’s probably the easiest of our problems to solve.” Jason assures you. “I’d say there’s five or six Space players out there that could enlarge this for us, no sweat.”

“Your plan seems to revolve pretty heavily around the other Titled helping us.” You tell him. “Are you sure you can get that many people on board with this program?”

“I’ve been thinking about that for a little while now, actually. I was looking over some of the profiles of everyone in the Arena, looking for someone who could help with recruitment. My top candidate right now is the Heir of Mind. If they’ve matured into their Title properly, they should be able to get just about anyone to help without much fuss. They’d probably even make them think it was their idea to begin with. If we can convince them to help, everyone else we need should be a cake-walk.” He certainly seems confident about this idea. You don’t know him well enough to doubt his tenacity, but something tells you he might be a tad on the overconfident side.

“Alright, then. I guess that’s good enough for now.” You declare, slapping your polejoints and standing back up, relatively satisfied that you leveled out this chump’s emotional turmoil.

“Yeah, well… don’t speak too soon.” Jason sighs, looking woefully at his toy ship. God damnit, there’s more. “This whole plan is hanging on by a thread right now. If that Seer doesn’t show up, I’m not sure we can salvage it.” Yeesh, that’s a whole lot of despair he’s giving off right now. You pause for a moment, actually thinking about what he’s saying.

“They will.” You confidently tell him. Jason looks up at you suddenly with a searching look.

“Pff!” Haugrr laughs “Come on man, don’t give him false hope like that.”

“They’ll show up.” You repeat. “Trust me.” You honestly have no idea if the Seer’s coming, but if you know anything about emotional intrigue, it’s that if someone is willing to explode a mountain just to garner your attention, chances are you’ll take an interest in what they have to say to you.

“Trust you?” Jason sort of sneers, like he’s physically repelled by the idea. Okay, dick, be that way. You can crank-up the smug factor too. You tuck your chin down and give your most shit-eating grin you can muster.

“Yes. Trust me. Unlike you Pages, everything becomes obvious once a Seer gets their sight, so we tend to know what we're dong most of the time.” You say with the faintest bit of pride soaked into your voice. One has to take pride in themselves every now and then, it’s only normal. Especially when you’re trying to drive home a point that someone’s being a bulgetopper. “If this Seer of yours even has a drop of logic floating around their thinkpan, they’ll show up. It’s their best bet at survival, same as all of us.”

“Right.” He nods, not at all phased by your smugness. Guess he’s used to it or something.

“…Welp!” You say stretching out and getting up, turning back to the cave. “I’m gonna try to get a little sleep. You keep doing whatever it is you’re doing out here.”

“Hey, about that Seer’s sight thing… can I ask you something?” God. Damnit. You sit back down.

“I don’t know, can you?“ You mockingly ask, grumpy you're still being talked at instead of getting some shuteye. While wandering around like a bored wiggler, Haugrr glances back at you from over his shoulder, looking very unimpressed with what you just said. Fair enough, grammatical stickling is a tad on the juvenile side. Maybe now’s not the time for sarcasm, considering you just got this guy’s human emotions to settle down. “… uh, y-yeah, anything.”

“I know your sight gives an observable presence to emotions, but is there anything else to it?” He’s glowing with a fierce tantalization as he speaks, making direct eye contact with you the entire time. The intimate intensity makes you wildly uncomfortable.

“Anything else?” You questioningly mimic him, trying to ignore the passionate stare.

“You can see souls, right?” He more or less declares. Your eyes dart over to Haugrr to gauge his reaction. He sees you’re looking for some sort of direction and he sorta just shrugs. Whole lotta help he is.

“Uhhhh…” You mumble. “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps? Wh- Can you?”

“I-I-… I don’t know?” You say, fidgeting with your hand, trying to avoid eye contact. Alright, Jason might not be the most astute of individuals, but you’re pretty sure he can put two-and-two together here. Damn it, you were trying to keep your soul-spotting on the down low.

“Real smooth, hat-rack.” Haugrr mocks. “You lookin’ to actually keep a secret, or are you just trying to play coy?”

“Amvinn, are you alright?” Jason asks in earnest. You sigh, knowing full well you’re caught with your prong pinchers in the sweet disk jar.

“Wait, hat-rack doesn’t work anymore, does it? Cause you lost your horns!” Haugrr snickers, remaining to be the most useless member in your corner. Second only to the Red one. “Damn! You’ll have to give me time to think of another nickname. I guess nubs will have to do for now, but I want something more unique, ya know? Any ideas, Nubs?”

“…Yeah, I can see souls.” You finally admit.

“Didn’t you saw those bad boys off?” Haugrr continues to pester, floating circles around you. “What was it again? They were getting in the way of your meditation? What, were the radio signals they picked up interrupting your enlightenment or something? God, you’re a weirdo.”

“Fascinating.” Jason mutters to himself, trying to sound smarter than he actually is. “Then you must get visions of the Furthest Ring then. Or is it more like a constant awareness of the souls out in the void? No, wait, that seems more like Mage territory-”

“The Furthest Ring? What are you talking about? I can’t see out there.” You tell him, a bit lost in the conversation.

“You know what I think?” Haugrr asks. He’s pacing around now, trying to look thoughtful. “I think the reason you sawed them off is because all your Consorts started to wear replicas of them. And you got annoyed by the attention.” You’re all but blocking him out now, ignoring the nuisancechatter he’s spewing.

“Well… if you can’t see the Furthest Ring, how do you know you can see souls then?” Jason inquires. “Unless, do you really not know if you can, or…?” He trails off, waiting for you to answer.

“I know I can see souls because there are souls all around the Arena.” You explain. Jason sits up straight at your comment, giving you his entire attention while he waits for you to go on. “Y-yeah, I’ve been seeing them every now and then, walking around all aimlessly, not really knowing what to do now that they’re dead.”

“And these are player souls?” He prods further.

“Yeah. It’s kinda weird, I’ve only ever seen dead consort and a few of those chess guys before this. Seeing actual trolls walking around all dead like that with their blanked-out eyes… it’s creepy sometimes. Horrifying, if you really think about it, but I try not to.”

“Amvinn, a player’s soul is supposed to reside in the Furthest Ring when they die.” He informs you, still trying to sound smart. ‘Reside’ Who even uses that word anymore? “Floating in the void, occasionally passing through a Horrorterror’s glub bubble given they’re blessed or lucky enough. They shouldn’t be here, in the Arena”

“I don’t know what to tell you, human. I see dead people.” That sick reference to ‘In Which The Film Begins With A Highblooded Psychologist Who Is Confronted By A Former Patient; Ending With The Psychologist Being Shot By Said Former Patient; (And The Twist Is That He’s Been Dead Since This Incident); The Psychologist Later Meets A Young Rust Blood Who’s Necrovoyance Had Recently Developed And Takes Pity On Him; Mentoring Over Him, Eventually Resulting In The Reveal Of The Previously Aforementioned Twist; One Major Character’s Demise Presented On Screen; Gratuitous Violence Against A Highblood; Thirteen Minor Characters Are Presented As Deceased On Screen; One Major Character Holds Plot-Critical Secret; 8-35 Lines That Could Be Construed As Pretentious’ was so well timed and appropriate to the situation at hand that it jumped you up another God-tier Rung. Hot Dang, who knew a classic Trollian cinematic piece could grant you such power! You’ve finally reached the illustrious title of Jeepers Peepers; Return of the Ancient.

“But that would mean… something’s keeping them here.” Jason mutters to himself. “The Arena is a Medium, the souls should’ve just floated out into the void. What’s stopping them?”

“Quite the ponderer, this one.” Haugrr jokes, wrapping behind Jason and placing his prongs on either of his shoulders, like he’s massaging him. “All that though swishing around in his pan like a whirlpool.” His eyes narrow as he appears fixated, staring at the back of Jason’s head. The hell is he doing?

“Could it be the Arena…? No, that can’t be, how would it…” Jason continues to mumble under his breath, unbothered by Haugrr’s phantom touch.

“I wonder… is the water warm?” As he speaks, Haugrr pulls on those stupid fingerless gloves he’s got, tightening his wear on them. With a lurching grab, he shoves his entire prong into the back of Jason’s Nugbone. Almost directly on contact, Jason stiffens up and a sickly green energy erupts from the entry point.

“Tahh!” Jason exclaims, heavily exhaling as the breath evacuates his body.

“Whoa! Hahaha!” Haugrr laughs as he struggles to keep his hand implanted in Jason’s skull. “Hey, Doctor! We’ve got a pulse over here!”

“What the hell are you doing?!” You frantically ask, storming up to the two.

“Amvinn, you seeing this?” He says with a chuckle. “I think… I think I can go further.”

“Cut that out, jackass!” You order him.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Rolling his eyes at you, Haugrr follows your command and snaps his grubby pinchers back, out from the human’s head. He wags his hand back and forth for a moment, like he’s trying to shake something off of his fingers. You look back to Jason and see he’s completely stupefied by whatever the hell Haugrr just did to him.

“Hey. Jason.” You snap a few times in his face, trying to focus his attention. “Are you okay?”

“W-what?” He stammers, coming to from his daze. “What happened?”

“You… zoned out just now.” You lie to the best of your ability.

“I did? Huh… sorry. Guess my mind’s still a little fuzzy from the Forge fight.” Jason says, rubbing the back of his head. “A-anyway, about before. What’s up? Why were you being so cagy about your dead sight?”

“I… was… asked not to say anything about it.” You tell him, not quite sure if you should be trying to salvage your secret or not. It’s probably for the best that you keep your leader informed about everyone on his team.

Wait, is Jason the leader? He hasn’t outright claimed the position, and no one has addressed him as such. If he isn’t leading this operation, then who is? Does this group not have a leader? It’s kind of hard to believe that you haven’t thought about this up until now, but holy shit this group might not have a leader.

“Asked to? By who?” He continues to grill you. These humans, you swear! Always so curious about everything.

“The Red One, Galick or whoever. He hangs around Sara all the time.” You admit. “I think he was her moirail back when he was alive? He claims it’s because he doesn’t want to bring her down with his restless spirit hanging around, but I think it’s just because he doesn’t want her knowing he’s creeping on her all the time.”

“Red one?”

“Yeah, he wears red and I don’t really care to remember his name. He’s a Time player. Said he was a Magi, I think.” You recall about the Ghost.

“You mean Greg?”

“Yeah, that was it! Greg!” You exclaim, snapping your pinchers in excitement.

“You call me?” Greg (that’s his name) asks, poking his head out from the cave.

“No, it’s nothing!” You call back, forgetting how weird that might look to Jason. You turn back and try to pick the conversation back up without making a big deal about you talking to empty space. “But yeah, he doesn’t want Sara to get weirded out that he’s staying close to her, so do you mind not blabbing about this?”

“Sure.” He agrees without hesitation. “I’ve already got one secret about Greg to keep, so what’s one more.” Curious wording. You wonder what the other secret he mentioned is. “Are there any other ghosts traveling with our group, then?” Your eyes dart over to Haugrr on instinct and he’s giving you the ‘No Go’ hand swingy sign, his gold wings flapping a mile a minute.

“…Nope.” You declare, trying to not be as transparent as you think you are.

“Amvinn…?” Jason says in a stern, Guardian-esk tone, causing you to flashback to one of Stagdad’s numerous lectures on playing nice with the neighbors. “Do you have something you want to tell me?”

“Uhhhhhh…?” You stall, looking to Haugrr for what to do. Again he shrugs, further cementing his usefulness to you. Why the hell does he want to keep himself a secret anyway? “… Well-“ Before you can say anything more, a sudden *thud* come directly from your left, and both you and Jason’s attention dart to it and away from the topic at hand.

Sitting in between the two of you is a fist sized rock with something tied around it. You and Jason exchange the same look of concern, and after a moment of pause, he bends down to pick it up. While he’s busy unwrapping it, you look to Haugrr once more for any guidance he might offer, and again he proves himself a vast wealth of leadership with a definitive and precise shrug. Why do you even bother with him anymore?

“What the…” Jason mutters as he reads the note attached to the rock.

“What is it?” You ask, trying to get a glance at the slip of paper. He holds it out for you to read. The beginning of it has that little time symbol Jason and Grorschach wear followed by some text;

[Meet at the neare2t f0re2t cave 20uth 0f your p02ition. C0me al0ne, 0r I bail. I’ll kn0w if y0u d0n’t.]

“Holy shit.” Jason says with a stunned look, gazing out to the forest in the direction where the rock came from.

“Huh, they’ve got a quirk.” You say, noting the writer’s use of 2 and 0. “Looks like your Seer is a troll. Your other Seer, that is. Although the... statement is true regardless.”

“I-i-it’s a meet-up request…” Jason pauses, looking the paper over again, making sure he’s reading it right. As if he can’t believe it’s even real at all. “They finally reached out!” He says as a twinkle shines in his eyes, right before he blinds you with his overly luminescent human-joy. The overwhelming amount of raw emotion flashes you directly in your colordecoders, most likely doing irreparable damage to your optic organs. You’re overwhelmed in this moment of one-sided humanic camaraderie.

“Happy for you, buddy” You say, squinting with a hand up as you shield your eyes from the unsightly pink creature. “Told you, it was only a matter of time. Seers are smart like that.”

“Ah- da, fu- s-shit.” Jason stammers, looking from side to side for some unseen-whatever. “I gotta go make preparations.” He finally declares before running off to the cave.

“So much for keeping guard.” You mutter to yourself, somewhat pissed that you’re likely not going to be getting any sleep in the foreseeable future. You sit back down, taking Jason’s role as guardsman as you watch him disappear into the darkness of the cave. At least it’s stopped raining. You didn’t realize until now, but it’s really quiet without the constant pitter-patter. Guess the storm moved on, or however this Land’s meteorology works. You rest your head on the tree behind you and let out a soft huff. “Fucking Humans, man.”

“Yep.” Haugrr agrees, floating around your tree. “They’re a weird bunch. Hey! Did you know they all have red blood? All of ‘em. Such an enigma, that species.”

“Neat.” You ignore him, not really interested in entertaining his piddling attention span.

“t h e  f i r e  h a s  g o n e  o u t  r e k i n d l e  i t” Haugrr whispers to you right in your hearducts, his weird ghosty breath misting your ear. You shoot up from your seat, glaring daggers at him.

“The hell, dude?” You snap.

“What?” He nonchalantly asks, looking down at you as he floats like he’s lying on his back.

“What do you mean ‘What?’ Don’t go whispering shit in my ear, you cretin.” You order, wiping the breath residue off your noise catcher.

“I didn’t whisper anything to you. Fuck you talkin’ about?” He lies, continuing to mess with you.

“Yeah, whatever.” You say, deciding to drop it. No point in getting upset at ghost hijinks, especially from a honey blood like him. You look down at the fire to see it’s still roaring under the foliage roof that stands above it. “What are you even talking about, Haugrr?! The fire’s fine.”

“Keep talking to ghosts, crazy.” He mocks, not bothering to look down at you this time. He still knows all your buttons. Fucker.

 

Amvinn, keep talking to Ghosts like a Crazy Person.

Chapter 18: > Cult of the Deer God

It appears that Amvinn is too busy talking with ghosts to bother hosting the narrative at this current junction. Quite unfortunate, since ghosts do, in fact, make the best company, but there are far more pressing plot-relevant events taking place at the moment to bother with phantoms. We have to keep this story moving somehow, or else Jason and friends are never getting out of this place. Speaking of which, it just so happens that you’re about to be Jason, as he and Amvinn are still the only conscious characters in this group. So while Amvinn is busy talking to ghosts in the past, you’ll be busy being Jason in the future! Exactly one minute in the future, while you make all your preparations.

You weren’t sure what to do at first. You rushed into the cave about to wake everyone, but listening to your better judgment, you stopped yourself before you could. They’ve all been so high-strung these past few days while you were busy getting your coma on, barely even getting a wink themselves. It doesn’t feel right taking away their only chance at a solid amount of sleep for who knows how long.

Instead of waking them all, you’ve elected to leave a note for them in your stead. Using the other side of the paper the Seer sent you, you scribble in ‘Gone to get Seer. Don’t tell Mia, she’ll worry.’ and… huh. Who do you leave this for? You would give it to Sara, but her and Mia are pretty tight. There’s a good chance she would crack if pressured. But leaving it for Esspin would be kind of weird. You don’t really know her too well, certainly not enough to leave notes for her in the middle of the night, especially seeing as you’d have to reach into that pod thing she’s in to leave it for her. You aren’t sure of the trollien social protocol surrounding pods, but you’re at least somewhat sure entering one is an invasion of privacy on some level, and would probably come off as creepy if you did so. You can’t leave it for Gretel or that other consort for obvious reasons. Oh, wait, you’ll just leave it with Amvinn!

You poke your head out of the cave to ask him to hang on to the note for you and see… 

“Look! I don’t care what you say about it! I don’t appreciate you practically sucking on my noisefolds like that! You don’t see me going around, sticking my flavormuscle into your ghostly orifices, please keep yours out of mine. …Oh, will you stop bringing those up! They were too big and clunky and made door frames impossible to travel through, they didn’t even fit in my ditch-hive! It was only logical to do away with them, that’s all it was… They were a nuisance to keep around and I got rid of them of my own volition!”

Okay he’s screaming at the sky. Now might not be the best time to ask for a favor. Fuck it, you’ll just leave it for Esspin. Creepy or not.

You slink back into the cave and sort of poke your head into the slime filled sleeping bag she’s in. You’ll try to make it quick, no need to be loitering in a potentially intimate personal space. You cautiously tie the note around the end of one of Esspin’s huge horns, careful not to wake her. With her temper, you can only imagine how grouchy she might be if you were to wake her in the middle of a REM cycle, if Trolls even have those.

Extracting out of the goo-sack, you notice your upper torso got a light sliming while you were inside. The substance is weirdly warm, like a viscous blanket that soothes wherever it touches. Its odor is a little intoxicating… almost like you could… fall…… No! Can’t go slipping off into sleep now! You’ve got a Fate-Date with a certain Seer waiting for you! You wipe the slime off your shirt and sleeves and get on to the next preparation. Weapons!

You’re venturing into unknown territory, meeting this Seer. For all you know you could be walking directly into a trap. It’s probably for the best that you keep Bane of All Mountains at the ready at all times, but you don’t want to scare the Seer off if it’s just an introduction. You’ll keep your pickaxe slung over your back, then. As a sort of non-threatening assertion that you’re not playing games. Although, just one pick isn’t going to be enough to fend off a potential player-stacked strife. Maybe you should leave a Checkpoint in your team’s cave, just in case?

Checkpointing is a pretty cool power one of your future selves taught you about that you never really get to use all too often. It works like anchoring yourself to a specific point in your chronology with a metaphysical tether. Activating the checkpoint strums that tether like the string of an instrument, causing a recoil and rushing you back to the anchored point, sending you barreling back into the time and location you set the Checkpoint in, sort of like teleporting… but with Time. The maneuver places you back into your earlier self’s perspective, as to not cause any splintering events with future/past self shenanigans. Quick, clean, no doomed timelines, no dead Jasons. A pretty handy tool if you think about it. It’s a little limited in it’s use, however, since you can only have two or three at a time, and they tend to expire after a few hours if you don’t focus on them, but they do make for one hell of a trap door exit on short notice.

Placing your palms together, you evoke forth a torrent of temporal energy, summoning a large Gear Construct before you with a key-slot in the center of it. You reach forward with your right hand and place your fingers up to your palm into the slot, turning it as if you were locking a door. As you retract your digits, a crimson red tether appears from the slot, slithering a length of itself out from the gear. You grab the thread and reach around, attaching it to your nape. As it takes hold and vanishes along with the gear construct, the Checkpoint is set. Nice! Thank god a future self taught you this ritual, you would’ve never figured out how to do this otherwise.

With the note for Esspin, your pickaxe, and the Checkpoint all set up, you think it’s just about time to get going. You make your way out of the cave, stopping at its entrance to get a lay of the land one last time before going off. It stopped raining. That’s weird, usually a Land’s weather is static, but that’s the last thing on your mind right now. Amvinn is arguing with a ghost still, it seems. That reminds you…

“…Greg. You in here?” You whisper into the cave towards Sara, where you assume the dead Mage’d be. “Hey man, look if anything goes wrong while I’m gone, have Amvinn message me and I’ll hurry back.” You pause for a moment, waiting in a vain half-expectation for some sort of indication that you’ve been heard, but the only thing filling the silence is Amvinn’s yelling in the distance. “Y-… yeah… okay, bye.”

Feeling a bit awkward at talking to thin air, you step out of the cave and inform Amvinn that you’re leaving, not that he seemed to notice. That’s fine, Esspin should have things covered in your absence.

Reaching the edge of the forest, you’re greeted by a sun-filled field brimming with optimism. Such a nice Land. After taking in the scenery, you retrieve your Hand-Held Supercomputer to get your bearings. Catalog #57 Bottom Left corner of section 19x3. Deploying into your hands is an absolute brick of a phone. While it may sound impressive, this slab of processing power hasn’t always been the most useful of items. Surprisingly enough there aren’t many uses for a mobile supercomputer that you can think of, but it’s coming in handy now with its neat little compass app. It looks like south is directly ahead from where you’re currently facing.

On a related note, it appears someone tried pestering you a few minutes ago. You navigate to your Pesterchum app and open the message, but much to your unimpressed remembrance, all you see is a bunch of ones and zeroes. Oh yeah, the supercomputer isn’t text-chat friendly and automatically translates any messages you receive into binary, including the chumhandle of whoever sent it to you. Like you said, not the most useful item. You’re pretty sure this thing is supposed to be hooked up to a display monitor of some sort to use properly since the phone’s user interface is incredibly clunky, relying of a scroll-wheel on the side of the device to navigate its small screen. Oh well, you’ll get to that message later, you have much more important fish to fry.

You take your first step out into the field. You haven’t been ambushed yet, or shot at, or impaled. You think if there was going to be a trap, it would be farther ahead than this, but you can never be too cautious. Jason, travers these fields of light already.

 

***

 

It’s been maybe a three hour’s walk between your hide-out and the Seer’s meet-up location, and any energy you might’ve saved up sleeping for as long as you did seems to have evaporated marching through all this tall grass. You’ve fallen maybe five times, tripping on the knotted up blades, and you swear that this stuff keeps trying to wrap around your legs. Not that it matters anymore, seeing as you’re already at your destination, with the nearest forest only a small ways away now. The plains are flat enough that you’ve been able to see the woods for a while now, but now that you’re through the thick of it, you’re finally- Fuck!

In an instance, your view of the forest is replaced with a face full of grass, as you trip and fall for the sixth time today. Great way to top off the journey, really sums up the experience in the Arena as a whole. Alright, get up and brush yourself off, no need to… whatthehell? You’re stuck. You push up harder, but something’s anchored to your neck. What is this?

You look yourself over and find a few particularly large blades of grass have wrapped themselves over your nape, hitching you to the ground. Reaching up to free yourself from the bindings, you find that your right hand has also been restrained by a series of grass blades wrapped around your wrist. Struggle as you may, these things only seem to tighten against your resistance. You’re starting to freak out right now.

Alright, calm down. You just got tangled up, and for some weird reason the grass here is acting like a finger trap, keeping you stuck for only as long as you struggle. Just hold still and they’ll loosen… is something crawling on you? Good fucking shit, it’s alive! The fucking grass is alive and it’s coiling around you!

In about the worst move you could ever make, you start floundering around like a spaz, only constricting the existing grass-bonds even more so than they already were. At this point, it’s almost impossible to move, and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe, with several large blades having worked their way around your torso. A shiver runs up your spine as the grass works its way across your body, slithering around you like a snake.

You choke as the blades around your throat tighten, causing your eyes to water, furthering your panic as your vision blurs through the tears. This isn’t good, pretty soon you’ll be completely overwhelmed. You have to calm down and use what little mobility you have left wisely. Wait, you’ve still got Bane of All Mountains strapped around your back. Thank god, you’re saved!

Using your least restricted hand to reach up for it, you grasp at the pickaxe but… it… just… won’t… REACH! Come on, if you could just force your arm up a few more inches… Dammit! You can’t budge it. You’re gonna end up popping your shoulder out of place doing that.

Without warning, a small gust of wind brushes against you, like something just ran past. With it, you hear a soft voice travel on the breeze “Still haven’t calmed your shit, huh, pinky?” In that instance, the grass wrapped around your wrist snaps and your hand is freed. Without hesitating, you grab hold of your pick. Funneling a fuck ton of temporal energy into your weapon, the exhaust vents on the sides of the pickaxe open, glowing red-hot with a burning heat. With every ounce of Mangrit you can muster, you slam Bane’s spike into the soil of the grassland.

On impact, the entire reservoir of energies housed within Bane of All Mountains is channeled into the ground, exploding the surrounding area with a thunderous -boom-. The grass entrapping you, and a fair bit of the earth beneath you, is eviscerated, leaving you in a sizable ditch in the ground. Bane whirls as it gradually goes back into a dormant state, and the exhaust vents slowly close back up. You scramble to your feet and look for whoever it was that cut your bindings, but no one is around.

“Hello?” You call out, not really expecting anyone to answer. Before anything else can happen, the large amount of dirt you kicked up into the air during your your slamsplosion comes falling back down onto you. “Gah! Fucking…!” You get ahold of your breathing and finally realize how exposed that attack of yours made you. Not wanting to be in this god forsaken field any longer, you crawl out of the ditch and full out sprint towards the forest's edge, making sure to take higher strides this time.

You don’t stop running until you realize you’re halfway to the center of the forest. Stopping to lean on a tree, you finally let yourself breathe. This is the right place, right? It fucking better be with the shit you just went through.

“s h e s  n e a r  j u s t  a  l i t t l e  f u r t h e r” The ominous whispers… whisper. Looks like that’s a constant all around the Land. Makes sense for the Land of Plains and Whispers. Hopefully the man-eating-grass is only regional to this particular spot on the planet.

Up ahead, you spot a rock-mass with the mouth of a cave carved into it, similar in appearance to your own hide out. This must be it. You slowly approach the entrance, still overly cautious of the hypothetical ambush waiting for you. The coast looks relatively clear, and there’s nowhere else to go but in. So… this is it. Fuck, you are nervous.

As you stand at the stone threshold, something Sara said to you crosses your mind. That there’s a possibility Lexie could have entered the Arena from a splintered timeline separate from your own. You won’t lie, even the thought of seeing her again is more than enough to get your heart thumping into your throat. Before you can get too excited, you remember the note the Seer sent you. Amvinn said it had a troll quirk, whatever that means. Remembering this, the thumping in your chest slowly peters out and you get your head back into the game. There’s still a chance whoever it is you’re meeting here might not be completely on board with your plan, it’s your responsibility to convince them otherwise. Can’t be thinking about all that personal shit right now.

“Hello...?” You call seemingly to no one again as you enter the cave. God, it’s dark in here, you can barely see an inch in front of your face. “I-I got your note. I came alone, too. Like you asked.” There isn’t any answer. What’s the deal, did you get ditched or something? “H-hello? Shit… This is the randevu place, right?” Waiting for longer than you probably should, it dawns on you that you’ve been duped, walking out here to the middle of nowhere. You’re calling it here, time to head back.

Turning around to exit the cave, you sigh in defeat. However, before you can fully turn back to the exit, Bane of All Mountains is ripped from the sling on your back, replaced by the cold touch of metal pressed against the back of your head. You’re no expert, but you’re pretty sure that’s the barrel of a gun. Well… fuck.

 

***

 

Hey, would you look at that! A random Character-Change encounter, and just when things were getting interesting, too. How unfortunate. I’m sure we’ll get back to it soon enough. How about we see who you became in the meantime.

Coming into conciseness, you’re sightglobes slowly open, and you feel well rested and ready to take on the world! There’s a muffled shouting coming from outside the cave that catches your attention. Sounds pretty intense, too. Wiping the sopor from your face, you pop your head out of your recuperacoon looking to see what all the rumpus is about. Your two human friends, Mia and Sara, with their respected consort companions on their laps, seem to be fast asleep still, unabated by all of this noise. Amvinn, on the other hand, is nowhere to be found. It must be him outside, but who’s he hollering at? Jason, mayhaps? You should probably get out there in case they need an auspistice to ashen out this heated parlay. You’ve already filled one quadrant with a human, but two? How progressive.

Walking out of the cave determined to explore another intimate relationship involving a human, you find that there doesn’t appear to be any such human to form any such relationship with. In fact, there doesn’t appear to be any ashen quadrant relationships plump for the agglutinating out here at all. The only scene happening out here is that Amvinn guy howling all by his lonesome, Jason nowhere in sight. The Oliveblood is turned partially to the side from where you stand, so he hasn’t seemed to notice your presence yet.

“Well at least I’m still alive! Yeah, yeah I brought it there! See this!” He shouts before quite angrily puffing his chest inward and outward several times. “It’s called breathing, something privileged for only the living! You’ve probably forgotten all about it by now, seeing as you were literally the first pan-numbed douche to get himself killed! Honestly, it’s impressive how fast you were able to show everyone how inept you truly are. It’s like you were actually going for the record of least time spent being productive… Oh, oh here we go again! Horns this, horns that. What is your obsession with my fucking horns?”

“Goodness…” You mutter to yourself, taking a step closer to the little guy. Possibly deranged or not, this hellion is clearly in dire need of aid. Dire need of… guidance, perhaps? And you’re just the Troll to provide it.

“Plenty of Trolls get rid of their horns, just because it’s not deemed socially normal on your backwards half of the planet doesn’t mean- No I didn’t break them off by accident! What kind of moron do you take me for? Look!” Amvinn continues to yell as he flings his hood off, revealing two stumpy little horns just managing to poke out from the hair on the top of his head. “See! Precise cuts, done with purpose, not that you would know anything about purpose, would you, you layabout piece of-“ He stops suddenly. The shedding of his hood seems to have widened his peripheral vision enough for him to have seen you.

“Um… hello.” You say, realizing that you’ve been essential eavesdropping on him this entire time. Even if you were out in the open, he undoubtably hadn’t noticed you there.

“h-hey…” He mutters, his cheeks turning a dark mossy green as he averts his gaze from you.

“You, um… Are you doing well out here?” You ask, preparing a few different sermons you’ve had sloshing around in the back of your thinkpan for just this occasion. “I heard yelling from within the cave and I was unsure if trouble had arisen.” You doubt Amvinn would be very receptive towards one of your more relaxed speeches, but your more high profile style talks might come off as too preachy for his blood’s tastes. Maybe a more relatable, person-to-person conversations could prove effective?

“Sorry if I woke you. You can go back to sleep, I’ll keep it down.” He promptly informs you, like he’s trying to shoo you away as quickly as he can. Something feels off about him, but it’s hard to put your nub on it. He still refuses to look you in the oculum.

“Oh, thank you, but no, I’m well refreshed already. Nothing gets you rested quite like sopor, yes?”

“I guess. It gets you to sleep quick enough, but I don’t remember ever being well rested all too much whenever I woke up.” He says as he crosses his arms, still keeping his gaze off you.

“Remember? You don’t use your recuperacoon anymore?” You ask, stepping into his field of view, hoping he’ll look at you.

“I… forgot to bring it with me.” He admits, turning green once more.

“You did? Why didn’t you bring this up? Mine is more than spacious! I’d happily have made room for you.” You tell him, setting up a potential future late night sopor-filled sermon.

“I bet.” He mumbles with a grunt. “Highbloods always get the cream of the crop, don’t they…”

“Pardon?” You heard him mutter something about Highbloods, but not much else. “Apologies, friend, but I didn’t catch that last part. You said something?” He doesn’t answer, just looks at you with a lazy glare. “A-are you not feeling well?”

“Oh, I’m just fine.” He sarcastically jabs, looking away again. You have a sneaking suspicion that might not be true.

“Amvinn, please, if there’s anything you wish to tell me, I’d be more than happy to lend you an attentive noisecatcher.” You inform him, extending a salt-fruit branch. Rather than taking it, Amvinn evacuates his bellowsacs with a heavy sigh, like he’s grown confounded with your conversation.

“Do you even remember me? From back on Alternia?” He asks, refusing to look at you as he speaks.

“Alternia? I-… I knew you back then?” You don’t remember ever meeting Amvinn before the Arena, but your Hive was near a rather large forest on Alternia. Olive bloods tended to hug close to their hunting terrain, so perhaps he lived in a subgrub nearby? Seeing that you’re still in the dark, Amvinn retrieves something from his strife deck and quickly marches up to you with it.

“This look familiar to you?” He inquires, holding up a large, sharpened shiv-looking key for you to inspect. You suppose this is one of his lower tier armaments he used before Sgrub, but you don’t recognize anything about it. Regardless of recognition, something’s certainly got Amvinn's tuft in a ruffle. Flashing your weaponry is a very serious gesture, especially when it’s towards one’s own teammate.

“Uh, I-I’m sorry, friend, I don’t-“ You struggle to find a way to explain your lack of recollection without angering him further. As soon as he realizes you still haven’t the faintest clue what it is he’s talking about, he quickly drops the key down to your lower torso and lifts your shirt, exposing your abdominal fleshwindow. “H-hey! Stop that.” Ignoring your plea, he continues to poke at you with the sharpened point of the key artifact. You go to grab the prong he’s holding your shirt with, but as you do, you notice where he’s leveled the key. He’s positioned it against one of your scars.

Scars received in fights were a rather common occurrence for a Troll in a brood, mostly due to the high likelihood of a strife breaking out from territorial disputes, both with outsiders and chapter members alike. You especially bear a divine canvas of extensive war ornaments, having been terminally strife-prone in your youth, a disposition that ultimately got you the metaphorical nub-protector from the Following. Even someone less proficient or bellicose in combat than yourself would find themselves forming quite the formidable collection of battle scarage, especially in a Highblood exclusive chapter, where aggression levels were both expected and maintained to be as high as possible.

After the first few slashes and stabs you received in the brood, you stopped bothering to keep track of who painted what on your flesh-canvas, however Amvinn’s key blade matches your scar tissue down to the grove pattern. So you truly must have known him back then. Seeing your face brighten with realization, Amvinn goes and sits back down at his stump and flings the key into the ground, burying its blade in the dirt at his feet. He’s back to not making oculum contact with you again, glaring off at the open air of the forest. So that’s what this was all about…

“God, Amvinn I’m… I’m so sorry, but… Well geez! Why had you not said anything earlier?!” You exclaim, walking up to him and patting him on the back. “If I had known I had an old strife-buddy traveling with me all this time, we could’ve cracked some wicked elixir together! A- I don’t have any Faygo with me, unfortunately… b-but we could have done something together, yes?”

“Kalzah, what in fuck’s name are you talking about? We weren’t strife buddies, you dolt!” Amvinn snaps, shirking off the hand you’ve left fondly resting on his collarnub. “You and your friends hunted me down and tried turning me into paint! You killed my Lusus, you makeup wearing psychopath!” …Oh. You take a step back, as Amvinn looks about half a twitch away from making a lunge for your squawktunnel.

A long, painfully awkward silence passes between the two of you. You don’t think there’s ever been a point in your life where you’ve been at a loss for words, yet you can’t think of anything to say that might make this situation any less guttural. Even if you could, you doubt the unfortunate waif would wish to hear a weep out of you right now. You lightly run a prong against your side, tracing the scar Amvinn gifted you all those sweeps ago. You shutter as the memories start sloshing around in your thinkpan. It’s not a time you like to ponder upon, back in your Brood. For the most part, your Chapter in the Following tended not to concern themselves with the lower castes, but hunting down Lowbloods for hivemade paint supplies certainly wasn’t out of the ordinary. As a matter of fact, paint-poaching was only a fraction of what one could expect from your branch.

Looking closely at Amvinn, the recognition begins to set in from way back when. It’s easy to mistake him for someone else without his horns, but he’s unmistakably one of the handful of trolls who lived in proximity to your communal Hivespace back on Alternia. Ironically, most of the Brood respected his presence in the woods. He was bold enough to live near a Highblood Praisehive despite being the lowest hue in the region, which by all accounts meant that the boy was shithive maggots, and if there was anything that the Following respected, it was the cajones of the radically deranged. And so they left him alone for the most part. Boundaries were acknowledged and cordiality was established. However, one fateful day, the mural hall ran out of green paint, and it was only a matter of time before someone suggested to hunt down the local lowblood.

After that, you and a few other members went to collect the goods, only to be met with a significant backlash, with the Olive putting up more of a fight than any of you were expecting. He had incapacitated three of your ranks before getting overcome, and even with two of your strongest holding him down, he still managed to struggle out of their grasp. It was your first time going on such an expedition, and as such, the responsibility to cull the party’s prey fell to you as the initiate. The other’s held him down for you, expectantly waiting for you to deliver the blow.

You recall how something had felt off at the time. Of how you saw your Brothers and Sisters making merry of the hunt, prodding and taunting the Oliveblood you had cornered, treating him like a pet to be toyed with. You remember wanting to join in, a familial longing to partake with them in their joyousceese as you had done with all other merriments with the Brood, but when you saw the panic in your kill’s oculum, and how feverishly he tried to escape, clinging for life… you found it unexpectedly impossible to swing your club into his cranium. In that hesitation, he had managed to force his way out of the subjugative grasps on him.

He must have realized you were the one who was to cull him, for as soon as he broke free, he drove that same key-knife he’s got there into your acidtrack. After that, he took down two more of your strife team’s line-up before absconding deeper into the woods in a panic. His Lusus, on the other hand, had no idea of the scuffle taking place outside of its Hive. For as tenacious as Amvinn was, his Lusus was rather timid, especially for the amount of armor it had on its hide. After your group got its prongs on the Custodian, no one bothered to go after Amvinn. That was all the green paint the Brood would need for a long while afterwards.

“Stop that.” Amvinn orders, finally breaking the silence. You look over to see he’s half glanced at you, still hanging his head low. The anger in his eyes could even give Mia a run for her money… if she were still fit to feel anger at all, that is. You’d be flattered if not for the fact of how plutonic that hate is.

“… Stop what?” You cautiously ask, not wanting to shatter this horribly fragile situation.

“Feeling sad.” He clarifies. “It’s annoying.”

“I…I…” His demeanor is cold, and you don’t doubt that he’d make an attempt on your life if you aren’t careful with how you proceed, but the boy’s not as closed off as he wants you to think. There’s still an air of approachability about him. You doubt you can change how he feels about you with a mere few words, but you can’t possibly leave his grievances unacknowledged. Your Brood drove him from his dwelling, killed his Custodian, and you didn’t even grant him the decency of recognition over these past few days of cohabitation. You’ve disgraced yourself with such ignorance. Redemption may not be a prong’s reach away, but you have to start somewhere. Slowly, and ever-so carefully, you approach the frazzled wildling, sitting on the lumber nub just across from his own. He doesn’t bother looking up. “I’m sorry.” You tell him, voice steady. Another bout of silence passes as you wait for his reaction, but he remains stoic, unmoving and unspeaking. “I-… I know… what it means to lose what you love. I can’t imagine what you might think of me or the actions of those like me, a-and you aren’t mistaken for this, however please believe me when I tell you I know how you feel. I-” Before you can continue on with your exonerative courtship, you notice a trembling in Amvinn. A kind of soft shutter, as if he’s gone cold. Your muscles tense up instinctively, anticipating for the inevitable overspill of his wrath. Perhaps sympathy isn’t the irenic technique Amvinn wishes to hear at this current junction.

“Haa.” He sharply exhales. “Haha. Hahahaha! Ahahahahah! HAHAHAHAHAHAH!” He’s… Laughing? He’s cackling like he’s got a hole in his thinkpan. “AHAHAHA. Ahaha, ha.. ha..” As quickly as his twistedly jovial demeanor unveiled, Amvinn’s laughter soon fades, instead taking form into a quiet sob as streams of green roll down his face, decorating the forest floor. “you piece of shit…” He murmurs just loud enough for you to hear, fighting to get a hold of himself. His head shoots up and you get a clear look at his face again. The anger in his sightglobes is diluted, its potency clouded by the mossy colored tears adorning Amvinn’s face as he grits his fangs trying to keep his veneer of pride. A streak of Orchid flashes across his iris for the briskest of moments, and the water-works suddenly come to an abrupt halt. “Who the fuck do you think you are...? You know? You know? What the fuck do you know? You and every other fucking highblood I’ve met, you're all the fucking same! Every last one of you tried stepping all over me like I was a fucking grub the moment you laid your shitty purple eyes on me! And as soon as you realize you can’t, as soon as you realize that I. Wouldn’t. Let You. You go to any extent just to snuff me out. Beat me, cull me, turn me into Paint! They couldn’t stand that I wouldn’t role over and die, so your kind took everything from me! You left me to rot like a dreg in the gutter… You killed my fucking dad! And for what? To paint the halls of your shitty chapel...? So, please Kalzah, what gives you the fucking right?! Who are you to stand there, pretending as if you know, when you don't! How the fuck would you know anything about what I feel?!” You remain wordless for a horrifically tense instant, patiently waiting for Amvinn’s breathing to slow. All this shouting has whipped him up into a frenzy, leaving him panting like a ferocious beast. If you tried to speak anything to him in a state like this, it’d likely fall upon deaf soundfolds.

“… I know because… because they left me like that, too.” You quietly confess to the small lad once his breathing's died down. “I was a kid, I-… I thought I knew what I wanted. My Lusus, she-…” You shift your gaze down, you don’t have it in you to keep looking his pain in the face anymore. “she would always say that the others weren’t like me. That I was better somehow, that I was hatched to be a leader… I believed her, too. I thought that I was destined to rise to the top of my Caste, and that all I had to do was fight hard enough for what I wanted, give a little more of myself for it, until I’d finally be able to stand at the pinnacle of my aspirations… And I did just that. For sweeps I gave up pieces of myself, little concessions that let me fill my role better. Little compromises with who I was so that I could make way for who I was going to be. Giving piece after piece of myself to my Brood… a sacrifice at the altar of their expectations. I gave and I gave and I gave, all the way up until they had the Drones escort me out of my own Praisehive.” You squeeze your prongs in a firm grasp, feeling the indignity of your past ignorance. “I’m ashamed to say this, but I didn’t see the Following for what it really was until after they kicked me out. I never saw how fucked it could be until I was on the outside looking in.” You feel a lump forming in your soundchute, but you manage to swallow it down, continuing on. “We were vagabonds for a while, my Lusus and I. At least until I could find another Hive big enough to accommodate the both of us, which took far longer than I had originally believed it would. We had to take on less than dignified jobs to get by in the meantime. After only a few months of this, my resources were beginning to constrict. Some days, I could barely afford the frozen flavor discs at the sustenancestem, and… we ended up having to scrounge and steal for our supplies, like common urchins in the undermarkets. Some destined leader I turned out to be… Me and my Lusus never quite got along the way we used to after everything was said and done. We’d barely talk for more than a few exchanges at a time at our new hive. I could tell she was disappointed with me, like she had chosen the wrong wriggler back in the caverns. And I honestly couldn’t blame her for it. I was a failure as an Orchid, and I was a failure as a decent Troll as well… I like to think that the trials I faced out in the wild were atonement enough for my time in my Brood, but everything that I did for them… the blood I spilt… I don’t think I’ll ever find forgiveness for those sins… Those motherfuckers used me like the fool I was and I happily sullied my mortal soul on their behalf. They took all that I was and all that I dreamed to be and damned the rest.” Your fists tighten at the thought, enough so that a small purple stream flows from your palms.. “That’s how I know how you feel, Amvinn… You’re Furious… I know because I feel it too.” As soon as you finish your little speech, you realized that you were speaking to an actual person, and not just crafting hypothetical lectures while bathing in your ablution trap. The realization cause you to blush a fair deal. Looking back up, you’re shocked to find that a significant portion of anger Amvinn’s face was painted with just a moment ago has seemingly vanished. It hasn’t completely dispersed, but you had anticipated him to still be unapproachably furious with you, regardless of what you said. Instead, you’re met with a stern softness, a concerned yet jaded appearance. There’s yet another long pause, as Amvinn contemplates what you’ve confessed to him.

“…Your Lusus could talk?” He finally asks you in a calm voice. Not exactly what you were expecting to hear, but thankfully it appears your broaching of this sensitive subject hasn’t done any irreparable harm to your standing with the Oliveblood.

“Ah-… She was a Psychic Bipedal Gorebeast. A very rare breed, to my knowledge. Vastly intelligent with a formidable physicality. Her… her name was Asterion.” You say, trying to compose yourself. You see him wipe away a tear from his face and gazes upon it as the drop rests on his prong.

“You’re very genuine about what you say.” He states, still entranced with the green liquid. “I didn’t see so much as an ounce of deceitfulness or dishonesty the entire time you spoke. You aren’t like any highblood I’ve ever met, that’s for sure." He pauses once more, lowering his hand and looking to you once more. "That just leaves me with one question… If you hate the Following so much, why do you still wear the makeup?”

“Old habits die hard, I guess.” You try to joke. As you force a pitiful laugh from your chattergland, Amvinn simply stares at you, blankly waiting for your actual answer to come. “…For as long as I can remember, this makeup was my entire identity. Putting it on every morning was almost like a ritual. It was… meditative. Wearing it was a physical affirmation of who I was, it connected me to my Brothers and Sisters. I felt exposed without it, like I wasn’t really me if I didn’t have it on. It’s pathetic, I know, but I’d found myself grinding my fangs without it on, anxious of being seen without my face, even when I was somewhere private like my respiteblock. Without it, I really didn’t know who I was…”

“Hm.” Amvinn grunts, looking down, retrieving his key-shiv from the dirt. This isn’t like before, though. His head is still up and he’s still facing you, but his sightglobes have started to wander away. There’s a sort of disappointment in the gesture. You’re losing him…

“But…” He glances back up seeing you’re not done. “It doesn’t matter now.” You declare. Grabbing the collar of your hood, you run the golden cloth of your god tier across your face a couple of times. “I’m someone completely different from who I was. I suppose I just needed someone to point that out to me.” You close your oculum and present Amvinn with the largest smile you can muster, hoping he might take note of your earnest gesture. As you present your makeup-less visage to the collateral of your youth, a cool breeze brushes past your face, and for the first time in forever, you feel the fresh air against your bare skin. The sudden sensation makes you feel exposed, unprotected against the universe, but... maybe that's not such a bad thing... "This is who I am!" When you re-open your sightgloabs, it appears he has, as he’s perked up and bearing a small smirk of his own now.

“That’s… good to know.” He says, glancing back down at the key in his hand.

“… It’s an awful thing to grow up alone. I’m truly sorry for what I’ve done to you, Amvinn.” You say, entirely unsure if he’s actually forgiven you or not.

“Don’t be.” He says, rejecting your grovel without fanfare. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m still not sure how I feel about you yet, but you weren’t that big a part of what happened to me back in the woods. Honestly, all you did was show up to my hive when your friends told you to tag along with their hunting party. I don’t really have any hard feelings towards you, and I didn’t mean to yell at you. I guess you just caught me at an… intense moment… And besides,” He brings a hand up to his windhole and pulls a necklace out from under his shirt. There are around five small beads strung into the string. No, wait, those are teeth. He has a tooth necklace. “Armored Grazebeasts shed their fangs like crazy, I always had a few to spare. I got to see my Stag-dad again, albeit as a sprite this time.” He runs his big prong along the teeth, closely cherishing them as he looks the calcium nubs over.

“That’s… that’s very nice. I’m happy for you.” You say. It’s a small catharsis, but your amends with Amvinn, however brief, is like a weight off your collar nubs. Hopefully this conversation is a sign that redemption isn’t the impossibility you thought it was. “… Do you mind if I ask you a question, Amvinn?”

“Hm?” He grunts in responce.

“I apologize if this oversteps your boundaries, but… what happened to your horns?” You ask, recalling the rather rakish set of antlers he used to sport.

“Sawed em off.” He answers nonchalantly.

“Youch.” You grumble as you lightly tap the base of your own. “…Can I ask why?”

“…” His brow furrows at the question, making it clear he’s uncomfortable with the asking.

“Um… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to press you in any way. Please, forget I brought this up.” You’re about to get up and let him be alone for a while when he stops you.

“… My world…” Amvinn says, grabbing your attention again. “The Land of Cults and Crypts, there was this practice the Doe Consorts there had. They called it ‘Giving Reverence’. It was a part of their worship for a Woodland Deity they believed in, where they replicated their likeness so they could be closer with them. Apparently there was a prophecy about this God, saying that they would one day emerge from the Vast Wilderness of Locac and present themselves to the people, taking their place as the Consort’s bridge into the afterlife. After this, they would unite the world of the living with the dead and bring their people wisdom and salvation with the knowledge they gained.”

“That’s quite the theology.” You declare. “So your quest was to find this Deity in the Woods of your world, yes? And lead them to their people?”

“If it was, I never had the chance to try.” He explains as he solemnly shakes his cranium. “Ya see, the prophecy also included a way to identify this God as well, so that the Consorts would know it was them when they saw it. Would you like to know what it said?” You vigorously nod, chopping at the bit to hear the doctrines of this Consortic Institution. “Watch ye forevermore the borders of the wild, for no Doe may know the hour of his emergence. And give ye reverence upon him when he doth reveal himself. For ye shall know him by his sight, for he bleeds the very Moss of the Forest, and carries with him the Crown of a Stag.”

“… You mean-“ You begin to ask, realizing the implications of the verse he recited.

“I was their God.” He preemptively answers.

“By the Four Corners…” You mutter to yourself. “… I’ve never met a God before.”

“Yeah, well don’t go getting your horns all in a twist, I ain’t.” He quickly dismisses. He sounds touchy on the subject. “But… yeah, they took one look at me and they knew who I was. How could they not? One of their main religious symbols was attached to my head. They even wore replicas of them as a sort of tribute to me… It’s funny, the Consorts on my friends’ worlds wouldn’t so much as give them the time of day. They thought they were vagabonds lurking about the Land, not realizing they were the Heroes prophesied in their cultural legends. It was different for me, though. Because of my horns, it was unquestionable that I was the one in Locac's prophecies.”

“Was that… a bad thing?” Judging by the fact that Amvinn’s sawed his own horns off, you chance a thought that shepherding a Faith might not’ve been all it’s cracked up to be for him.

“Not at first.” He sighs. “I mean, you get kicked around all your life, it’s nice when people start treating you like royalty. The One Above them All, that’s what they’d call me. OAA for short, or Oh-Ah if you say it phonetically. With a name like that, you could imagine how they treated me… and you could imagine how much I liked it, but…”

“But…?” You mimic, hoping he’ll continue. This is without a doubt the most interesting story you’ve heard in sweeps.

“It didn’t last long.” He obliges. “The thing about being a Living God is; people expect you to perform your miracles. The Consorts wanted me to be their bridge into the afterlife, to see beyond the veil.”

“Did you?” You inquire, waited in bated breath.

“No, I didn’t fucking see beyond the veil, I had no idea what that even meant!” He snaps at the folly of the question. “But I couldn’t just tell them that. So I made excuses, I dodged responsibilities, I even tried running away to different parts of the Land, but no matter where I went, everyone knew who I was almost instantaneously. Every day it felt like my bloodpusher was going to explode from all the stress of their expectations. I just couldn’t cope with it. Eventually, I exiled myself to the catacombs of the Land, into the crypts.”

“Crypts?” You interject.

“These enormous stone structures the consorts would house their dead in, sort of like hives for the deceased. The Consorts rarely went in there out of superstition. It was the only place it felt like I could get away from them. Escaping the living through the dead.” He says with a modicum of shame. “Even still, word eventually got around that I was hiding out there. They began traveling to me in pilgrimages, waiting for me at the entrances like a congregation. The braver of them traveled into the underground to speak with me. Each time, they all had the same question. What was I doing there? Why was I spending all my time hidden away and not with my people?”

“Well… why did you hide away, if I could ask?”

“Because it stressed me the fuck out!” Amvinn practically bursts. “All this admiration and approval, all of it hinging on me doing something I couldn’t do. I didn’t know how to look into the great beyond, I didn’t know how to be their bridge. It was like asking me to turn thin air into gold, I just didn’t have the capability to perform something like that. I didn’t even know where to start! And there were all these voices asking for this impossible task, begging me to shine the light, to lead the way, it was like they were constricting around me, choking me!… All I could do was hide and pray they wouldn’t find me.” He’s slumped down, practically deflated as the memories swirl in his pan. “I managed to get them off my posturepole for a while by telling them I was going on a spiritual journey and I needed to be alone in deep meditation. For a time, they stopped searching for me, not wanting to interrupt my reflection… but with the situation on Locac getting worse and the Denizen of the world terrorizing more and more Consort townships, the people became demanding... With all the pressure mounting on me again, I just… I just snapped. And I decided to… detach.”

“Is that when... when you sawed your horns off?” You doubt he needs your questions to work through his woes himself, however you feel the gesture is meaningful in some regard. It isn’t every day a former God confesses their self-doubts to you and you aren’t about to take a passive role in this conversation, even if that means offering paltry sentimentalities to let him know someone cares enough to listen attentively.

“It was the only thing connecting me to the Consorts. It was the only way they could find me. So… off they came.” The way he speaks, it’s clear he’s uncertain of his decisions. It doesn’t seem like he regrets what he did, simply that he wishes there was some other way he could’ve found. “I didn’t feel it, really. It was like I was in a trance, I didn’t even realize what I was doing until I was already halfway through my second horn. By then, there was no turning back. I was out. After that, none of the Consorts recognized me. Almost like a switch flipped, and they didn’t know who I was anymore. No more praises, no more godhood… no more me.”

“What happened after that?”

“Nothing.” He defeatedly shrugs. “At that point, I had botched my quest so badly that there was no salvaging it. I stayed in the crypts, too afraid of the failure I had left in the outside world to ever really leave. And with me gone and my team fumbling around the session, one thing led to another, and… now I’m here. With all the other failures…”

“It’s an unfortunate situation we’ve found ourselves in, I agree.” You tell him. “However, since we were destined to falter on our paths regardless of what we did... I’m glad we were able to meet once more, you and I. This time under better circumstances, mercifully.” He grunts at the sentiment.

“Yeah, well… Anyway, that’s why I sawed my horns off.” He unceremoniously concludes. “Hope it was all you were hoping for.”

“And then some!” You happily nod.

“…You’re weirdly peppy for a Highblood.” He informs you. “But you’re right, it’s… nice meeting again. It’s actually been kinda cathartic, unbottling emotions instead of pushing them down and letting them fester.” You smile brightly at what you would consider a declaration of peace between you and him. While you share this moment with your newly established companion, a thought dawns on you.

“…H-hey, I just realized; where’s Jason? I didn’t see him in the cave.” Amvinn looks at you for a moment before pointing up to the space above his cranium. That’s odd. Does he mean to indicate your horns? You reach up and feel your horns up and down, and yeah, there was something there. There’s a note attached to your right horn. A piece of paper? You slide it off and unfold the parchment. “Oh!”

 

***

 

Would you look at that, you’re Jason again. And just in time for the chapter’s end, no less. Let's see how his end of this story is going.

“You move an inch and I’ll shred you like a grub.” The mysterious assailant hisses, jabbing the gun barrel against your spine.

Isn’t that great! Well, good luck Jason! We’ll take the story to a different, more safer narrative-vessel while he deals with this situation. Let’s see who’s available right now. Both Esspin and Amvinn’s story potential were just dried out, so they’re off the table. Mia and Sara are still fast asleep, along with their consort companions. Guess that just leaves the ghosts for us to be. Greg, possibly? Wait, what? His story potential is minuscule! What, does this guy have literally nothing going on for him? Is he not important to the story at all? You don’t even think it’s physically possible to be him right now. How about we try for Haugrr then? He had a decently sized story potential. Yeah, let’s go for him!

 

You decide to be Haug̵̰̞̤̱͖̯̮̝̪̀̍̐͜͝r̵̡̛͓̟̳͚̰͉̯̭̯̺͖̞͕̍͊̔̂̓̈̑̃r̶̨̩̠̞͉̉̍̓͘͜ ̴͈̜̙̮͉̲̔̈́̋͒̾͋̚w̷͔͚̣̟͇̪̼͚̺̦̟͗̈̽̍͗͋̔͐͠͝͝h̷͉͗̿͑̽̓̉́̐̐͠į̷̧̧̛̝̠̯̰̙̤͉̞̮̥̜̋̃͗͌͜͠l̸̛̝̿̾̽͂̽̊̈́̇̄̍̉̈́̍͝é̴͖͙̬͕̓̿̄͗̄̓̈́̈̿͝ ̵̧͎̣̘͖͚̞͍̯͎̲́̋̈́͑̃̉̚J̴̛̛̥̲̼̲̒͗͒̓̉͗̉̈͋͋̀͘ä̴̢̲͎̰̱͕͈̬̰͔̜́̂̈́̐̇͂͗͐̚͠ͅš̴̝̦̐̀͂́̍̈́͘ơ̸̡̳͙͔̞̞͕͍̗͉̦̫̆̊̽͐́̈̍͊̔͊͜͝ͅǹ̸̨͎̙̬̥̠͈͕̱͇̘̥̑̽̔̒̈̂̀̕͜-̴̢̙̗̮̞̼͖͇͚̦̯̘̰̜̃̀̊͒̏́̓͊̎̏͘̕͝͝͝

 

 

Wha… What happened? You’re still Jason?! Did Haugrr just… did he just refuse to host the narrative? H-…he shouldn’t be able to do that. Son of a bitch, it looks like we’re stuck with Jason for the time being. It looks like you’ll have to weather the storm on this one. The storm being the psychotic gun Troll in the cave Jason bumbled into without a second thought. Or you could just activate the Checkpoint Jason set up instead. They are the perfect out for all situations, after all. Yeah, how about you do that.

 

Jason, activate your Checkpoint.

Chapter 19: > The All Seeing Eye

Activate the Checkpoint? What? That’s ridiculous! You can’t activate your Checkpoint yet, you’ve come too far to throw it all away now. You’re staying on this wild ride, no matter how many extra holes in your torso you get along the way! Also, it’s entirely possible Jason already forgot about his little trapdoor exit. He means well, he’s just got a piss-poor memory.

“Don’t move.” The person orders in a quick, hush tone. “Who are you? What do you want with me?” They demand, jamming their gun against your spine. Instinctively, you put your hands up, letting them know you surrender.

“I-I-I’m Jason, I’m the Page of Time, please don’t kill me!” You blurt out, completely taken off-guard by the situation. Your face glows hot, embarrassed how high your voice just went. You try to say something else but your throat’s gone completely dry, and you lose your voice in the attempt.

“Well, Jason, Keep. Talking. What do you want? And what the hell was that little stunt outside all about?” They question, jerking the barrel into your back once more, evoking a small, but incredibly undignified yelp from your gullet. Hey, would you look at that, you just found your voice again.

“I-… Me and my group would like to r-respectfully ask for your help with a project we’ve been planning. A-a-and the thing outside was because the grass wanted to eat me.” You say, not even trying to sound sane. “Y-you’re the Seer of Space, right?” They don’t answer. Guess that’s a yes, then. “You were the one who responded to my message. That means you saw what happened at the Forge, or the explosion anyways. Unless you were on Loaeaf at the time, tha-that would mean you would have to have some sort of enhanced sight.” They don’t say anything, but you can feel a tenseness fill the cave. Guess that’s another yes. “You have it, right? Sight Omnifold?”

“How do you know about that?” They ask in an equally assertive tone as before, jabbing you with their gun again. Despite the demand-and-command tone the Seer has, their actual voice is rather soft. You haven’t had the guts to sneak a look at them, but you’re pretty sure they’re female, unless they’re just a really feminine troll. Amvinn’s kind of petite, but his voice is deep enough to deem male. You haven’t actually asked, so who knows. This seemingly pointless mental tangent is appropriately interrupted by another jab in the spine. “Hey! Answers. Now.”

“I-I had a friend with the same Title as you, and I figured there was a chance you might have the same powers as them.” You quickly explain, trying to make up the time you lost zoning out. “Look, I-I’m not here for a fight. I came because I need your help. I’ve got a plan to get out of this hellhole, me and a few other Godtiers are teaming up to try, but we need someone with a skill like yours if we’re going to get anywhere. Which is why I wanted to meet… no-no other reason.” There’s another long pause and you’re sweating bullets waiting for their answer, which ironically, you hope won't be a bullet itself. “…Please?”

“Sit down.” They finally say in a softer, but still commanding tone.

“Uh, r-right here, or…?”

“What? No, there’s a gap in the corner over there.” They nudge you forward, but you still don’t know what they’re talking about, causing you to tense up.

“Do you have a light or something? I can’t really see in here.” You tell them, still completely blind in the cave. You hear them softly scoff behind you.

“Hold on.” They say before the cave is suddenly bathed with a blinding white light. It’s rather intense at first, and you have to squint before your eyes can adjust. You turn around, looking to see what the Seer was using to illuminate the cave, but curiously they don’t seem to have anything on them.

Unsurprisingly, they do seem to be female, based on certain… curves., You guess Human and Troll sexual dimorphism isn’t too different from one another. Nothing you weren’t unaware of seeing the differences from Amvinn and Esspin. What actually is surprising though, is that the light that’s filling the cave seems to be coming from the Seer’s glowing skin. Turns out trolls are bioluminescent, fun fact of the day. Also, on an equally surprising note, she doesn’t appear to have any sort of gun on her. The Seer’s left arm is completely mechanical, going up past her sleeve, most likely attached at her shoulder. The metal you were feeling against your back must’ve been her poking you with one of her fingers. Clever, if not annoying. Her jade green wings flutter after a while, letting you know that you’ve been staring at her for an uncomfortable amount of time.

“You didn’t have a weapon?” You finally ask, looking for confirmation of just how badly she played you.

“Technically, I was armed.” She coyishly jokes, showing off her prosthetic. You sigh, and go over to the bunk-looking-nook in the cave wall the Seer was referring to. She follows, sitting in the cubby opposite of the cave to you. “But seriously, this thing could rip your posturepole out faster than you could say… well anything, really. Its signal-response is crazy fast.” She flexes her fingers for emphasis.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You nervously nod, repositioning yourself on the rock-bed. “Don’t think I could get my pickaxe back by any chance, do you?”

“Actually, I think I’ll hold onto this for the time being, if you don’t mind.” She tells you, placing Bane of All Mountains by her side, petting it a few times. “Safe keepings and all that.” You guess that’s good foresight, although you do have your backup picks in your Strife Deck you could retrieve if push comes to shove. Which means this is definitely a power play on her part. It’s smart, but it’ll be hard proceeding with that kind of wall between the two of you. “Now.” She whips Bane around, resting her chin on the end of the grip. “You said you needed my help? Something about a plan?”

“Yeah, very much actually… B-but I’d like to ask you something before all that.” You say, finally able to get ahold of yourself. “You understand why we’re here, right? In the Arena?” She pauses for a moment, pondering what exactly you’re asking, before solemnly nodding.

“I doubt I have all the details, but putting two and two together, it’s rather obvious. From what that stranger with the white text said, and based on the resulting killings going on around the Arena, it really seems that we’re here to slaughter one another until only one of us remains.” There’s a woeful tone to her voice. At least she seems to disagree with the notion of killing her way out of the Arena. Which means you’ve already got a foot in the door then.

“The white text guy got in contact with you too?” You remember that Bard, Finlus, mentioned he had gotten into contact with him as well. So that means he’s been talking to all of the players?

“That’s right. Contacted me directly, just like he did everyone else. Didn’t say all too much, but fortunately for me, I’ve had the luxury of peaking over the shoulders of the more informed, so to speak, back when they first arrived here. It seems whoever it was talking to us was very meticulous about how much information they gave away and to who. For some, he was rather talkative, but for others… well, I’m not entirely sure he got in contact with them at all, other than to bring them to the Arena.” She explains, seemingly deep in ponderous thought. “One odd trend I noticed was that out of everyone being contacted, the Bards seemed to receive the most information, by far.” …Bastard.

“That’s quite… illuminating.” You say, unaware of how cheesy that sounds when the person you’re speaking to is actually glowing. “So you more than anyone know how big of a risk I’m taking even coming here. Out in the open, miles away from my team, I’ve really got my neck stuck out here. A lot of my plan up until now has relied on faith alone, which has worked because of the people I have around me, but right now we’re in a mission critical state. I can’t afford to go around, exposing myself the way I am, telling everyone about what we’re trying to do. I need to know I can trust the people around me. So-” You extend your hand out to her, a custom at this point. “My name is Jason Greene, I’m the Page of Time, and I need your help. Can I trust you?” Again, she pauses, just staring at your hand, as if she doesn’t know what to make of it. After a moment, she grasps it with her robo-arm, causing you to jolt at how cold it is.

“My name is Dallra Heimda. It’s a pleasure to meet you Page Jason. And I can say with certainty that you can trust me.” Dallra, huh? That's an interesting name. You and Dallra shake hands, completing your team's induction ritual, officially welcoming her aboard. As you do, Dallra flashes you a warm smile and you notice she had… gold teeth? All four of her canines look like they’re made of, or are at least coated in, gold... Trolls are weird. “Now that that’s out of the way, I’d like to hear more about this plan you’ve so tantalized me with.” Dallra says, continuing to smile at you. You're a little put off by such a sharp grin, but at least she seems genuine about hearing your proposal. And now with a little traction in the conversation… You look down to Bane of All Mountains, then back up to Dallra. You cock an eyebrow at her, hoping she’ll work through what you're implying herself. In a sudden change in expression, Dallra sighs and rolls her eyes. “Fine.” She tosses Bane back to you.

“Haha, yesss!” You say in celebration as you're returned your precious pick.

“Alright, you’ve got your little stone carver. Now spill it, this human-scheme of yours. You’ve got my attention, I’m getting fidgety waiting so long.” She says, grabbing her knees and scooting forward.

“Right. The basic idea so far is… we gather up specific players with useful powers and remove the doomed fate status we're all afflicted with ourselves, rather than killing each other for the one undooming the Arena offers. There’s really only one person we actually need to do something like this, but that’s just the first step. After we make sure our deaths aren’t unavoidable, we’re free to do whatever we want. Go wherever we want, more importantly, but that’s a whole other thing entirely.” You try to sum up for her. “The main problem I keep coming back to is that I have no idea where the people I need are. The Arena is made up of twenty five different planets, and there’s only so much time we have before everyone is dead. Normally I would go scouting through Time to make up for this, but… something is off. I haven’t seen any version of myself anywhere in the Arena. It’s like there’s a grid lock on the Timeline or something. I can’t rely on them for information and we can’t go turning over every other rock until we find the right people. So that’s where you come in.”

“Alright, I think I get it. If I’m following this right, you want me to be a living Grub Positioning System.” She scoffs, gripping her chin with her FMA arm.

“Uh… Grub?” Probably not the first thing you should have addressed about her deduction. You definitely need her help, and treating her as a tool isn’t going to be good for your case, but at the end of the day… you’ll only need her for this one thing. It seems kind of dickish, but if dickish will get you out of this place alive, dickish it is then.

“Sure, then.” She decides before you can say anything else.

“W- really?” You weren’t expecting a verdict so fast.

“You can get people to stop fighting, right?”

“I can take away their reason to want to kill each other. Making sure they don’t fight is a whole other thing unto itself.” It dawns on you that you've yet to consider anything about the endgame of your operation. Player relations might pose a bigger problem than you initially thought if the people on your team don’t get along. Especially if the only thing keeping them united is the immediate threat of dying. Your journey out through the void could be disastrous if things fall apart with the group. “But, yeah. We won’t have to fight to the last person if we pull this off. Anyway, are you sure you want to commit this quickly, though? I’d be happy to give you more time to think it over.”

“Sure, your plan isn’t as concluded as it could, or really should be, and I’m not sure I believe in your ‘Cross that Bridge when we get there’ attitude, but it’ll have to be good enough for now. I’ve watched your group for a little while now, ever since you blew up a Forge, and… there’s a lot to be desired, but I can only avoid the other Immortals for so long. And on my own, with some of the people running around the Arena… well, it’s a difference in power that I simply can’t stand up to. If I am to survive this little game of war we’ve found ourselves in, I would imagine it would be by not playing that game at all. So if you say you don’t want to play as well, then yes, I’ll help orchestrate your great escape. Besides, it sounds fun!” Her tone spikes at the end, and she smiles at you again.

“Uhh-” There comes a sudden fluttering in your chest at her cheerful expression, and a chill travels your body as your heart skips a beat. She reminds you so much of her... “W-well, great, yeah. So long as you’re sure about it.”

“I am.” She agrees once more without hesitation.

“Uh, go-good. Great, even. I wish I had something to commemorate you joining the team!” You awkwardly laugh, not quite sure how to express your gratitude. You didn’t know what you were stepping into coming here, but you definitely didn’t expect it to go so… smoothly. Almost like you didn’t have to do any convincing at all… Well, no point looking a gift-horse in the mouth. You stand from the rock bunker. “Ah… we should get going, then. Lingering this far away from the team makes me a bit… uncomfortable.”

“Probably smart. Let me grab something first.” Dallra agrees before walking over to your corner of the cave. You watch as she reaches up and grabs hold of a small metal sphere affixed to the ceiling you hadn't noticed up until now. Holding the object in her hands, she pulls the device open, revealing a glowing core enclosed within a glass cylinder, connected between the two metal pieces she'd gripped. With a careful twist, she rotates the half-globe in her left hand 90 degrees and closes the pieces into a sphere again. Now a ball once more, Dallra shoves the object into her robe pocket before turning back to face you. That’s odd, why doesn’t she just captchalogue the thing?

“What’s that?” You ask, pointing towards the pocket she put the ball in.

“Huh? Oh, just my insurance.” She nonchalantly informs you.

“Insurance?” You mimic, cocking your head at her.

“Yeah, it’s a dead man’s switch.” She fishes the device back out of her pocket and opens up its core once again. “You see this little nucleus looking thing in the suspension-tube here?” She asks, tapping the glass holding the glowing green blob. “It’s a small sample of stabilized inter-dimensional fusion.”

“Fusion?” You repeat her again, completely lost in what she’s showing you.

“Pure Universe Energy that’s been expelled out into the Void, only to meet and combine with another Universe’s energy secretions!” She says shaking around the ball thing and watching the green energy wobble in the liquid.

“Is that supposed to… do… something?” You’re not too well versed on anything sciencey, let alone something assumably far advanced like Dimensional Energies. You always thought ‘Energy’ was a term shitty sci-fi writers used to explain away impossible bullshit without having to call it Magic. Energy is so much more mature sounding than Magic, and is totally real unlike its unbelievably fake-as-shit counterpart.

“Do something?” She collapses it back into an orb again. “Ha! If you consider being able to put a dent into a collapsing Hypergiant ‘something’, then yes. This can do something.” She answers, carelessly tossing the megabomb up in the air, playing catch with herself like it’s a fucking baseball. You clam up, fully realizing that the person you’ve just allied yourself with is, in fact, fucking insane. “Crazy, right? See, every Universe has a different overall Energy signature to it, which will normally dissipate from an object or individual if they were to travel between dimensions, but every now and then these energies will run off, out of their own contained universe through a stable vector in negative-space and will merge with another stream of Energy while in Nothingspace. Not every Energy Fusion is inherently explosive, but I’ve observed that this particular combination is incredibly volatile. All it needs is a current to be run through the liquid medium it’s suspended in and Kablooey!” You flinch back as she throws her arms up for emphasis, and you see that she’s let go of the energy bomb, letting it fall to the ground.

“Shit!” You exclaim as you see the bomb falling to the floor. Not wanting to be vaporized, you lurch for it, almost running into Dallra as you do. Having to quickly twist around her side, you barely avoiding outright tackling her as you grab for the hyper-bomb. You caught it, though.

“Oh, hello!” Dallra exclaims at your sudden breach of her personal space. Realizing you’re practically wrapped around her waist, you snap back upright, wordlessly returning her her bomb as you try not to blush too much. “Ah, thank you!” She smiles again. You back away while you can still keep your composure. “As I was telling you, this little trinket is my insurance for whenever I run into other Ascended. I’ve rigged a signal transmitter to the main highways of my bloodpusher, which lets me monitor the rhythm of my life pulse. In the event that this rhythm is ever interrupted for more than twenty seconds at a time, i.e. if I’m ever killed, the transmitter will send a signal to the holding matrix’s spark-port and signal it to shoot a current through the suspension chamber, activating my little concoction and evaporating whoever it was that got the lucky shot on me, along with a mile radius surrounding the both of us, too. You know, just to be on the safe side, make sure I get the bastard.”

“That’s… psychotic.” You bluntly declare. It’s rude to insult your new ally like this, which you’re aware of. There was even half a second in your mind where you thought to not to say what you said, but the concept of someone strapping a nuke to their heart with the express purpose of blowing up everything around them when they die is too horrendously nutty for you to not comment on.

“Well I think it’s rather clever.” She says, brushing off your comment like it didn’t even phase here, which in all likelihood, probably didn’t. “I’m not what you would call a ‘heavy hitter’ in a fight, Jason. If current circumstances were to continue on the way they are, one of the more powerful Godtiers bouncing between Lands would inevitably end up getting the better of me before the final survivor of the Arena is crowned. It’s not something I’m happy about, but I came to terms with it once I got a long enough look at the kinds of people participating in Paradox Space’s games. So although I might not be able to be the last one standing, if nothing else, I can at least make sure whoever kills me doesn’t get to be either.”

“But-… But what about allies? You’d have them die with you, as well?” You reason with her, silently beginning to rethink your decision to recruit this girl.

“Oh calm down, my anxious human compatriot. I’m not that reckless.” She assures you. “The Negaton bomb is designed only to detonate when primed, something I’d only ever have active if I thought the people in my vicinity held lethal intent for me. I wouldn’t have it on if I was traveling in a group.”

“Still though, can’t it just… go off if you bang it around too much or something?” You continue to debate while making it painfully obvious you still know squat about explosives.

“Please, as if my work would be that shoddy.” She says, rolling her eyes as she moves for the cave entrance. “In a dormant state, the thing’s nothing more than a fancy paper weight. It’s safe, I can assure you.”

“Paper weight that could dent a star…” You mutter under your breath, not knowing enough about your grievances to voice an opinion on them. Dallra continues on, either unaware or uncaring of your dubious new doubts of her.

“So, Page Jason. Shall we get going?” She enthusiastically asks. You pause for a moment, truly weighing the pros and cons of having someone like this on your team. Her ability is invaluable, that’s undeniable, but what’s also undeniable is that she’s got a fucking screw loose, but… maybe 100% sanity is asking too much of the fine people of the Arena. Maybe you’re just going to have to work with what you get and pray to god you can make this work by the skin of your teeth. Still though… she’s got a fucking nuke on her person. What’s a guy supposed to make of that? Is she safe to be around? Can you trust her?

 

 

W O U L D Y O U T R U S T L E X I E ?

 

…

 

 

“Sure.” You finally say, cautiously stepping around her towards the cave’s entrance. Dallra follows, deactivating her luminescent glowstick ability as you exit into the Forest’s natural light.

The two of you stay relatively quiet as you move through the forest. Honestly this is all moving quite fast for you. You were expecting this whole thing to take several hours at the least, but Dallra seemed rather gung-ho about joining. She did have all that time you were asleep to think it over.

“So.” Dallra speaks up, breaking the silence. “The grass was trying to eat you?” You glance over at the troll, unsure what she’s referring to, and find that you’re back at the crater you created just outside the forest.

“Yeah, just… keep moving. Don’t let it get around your ankles.” You tell her, not wanting to get into it. She gives you a strange look as you cautiously venter into the grass before imitating your high-knee walking style. “Hey, you haven’t seen anyone skulking about around here, have you?”

“Besides you?” She snickers. “Can’t say I have.”

 

***

 

You’ve begun to walk normally through the field again. The grass hasn’t tried to grab you since you left the cave, which you figure means whatever it is doing the actual grabbing won’t make a move with another person around, the punk-ass grass that it is. Your legs are grateful for the normal stride, as goose-stepping through five miles of tall grass is a bitch and a half on your thighs. Not to forget a huge waste of time as well.

Dallra seemed to catch on that the walking-like-a-jackass section of the hike was over now, and has again mimicked your return to normal stepping. Beyond that, she seems rather disconnected from your journey together. Every time you glance back, she’s got this spaced out look on her face, like her head’s permanently in the clouds. Having a look around the Arena, if you were to guess.

“Anything interesting?” You ask without turning back. She can probably see your face anyway.

“Just keeping an eye on certain… individuals.” She informs you.

“Anyone I should be worried about?” A moment passes where all that can be heard is the shifting of grass as you walk. The sudden ominous atmosphere that comes over your small party sends a dreadful shiver up your spine.

“I’ll, um…” She says, finally breaking the silence, “I’ll let you know if it becomes a problem.”

“That’s reassuring.” You whisper to yourself.

“…” You wait for her to say anything else about what it is she’s seeing, but you guess she likes to play it mysterious. You can’t say you blame her, a power like unlimited sight would probably lose its mystique if you had to explain every little thing you saw.

“… So…” You begin to say, aiming to fill the static air between you and her. “… nice weather…” You can practically feel your half-assed words crumple against her unimpressment. This walk has been awkward enough, and it’ll only get worse if all you can bring to the conversational table is that weak-sauce small-talk bull-shit.

“You aren’t very good at this, are you?” She asks, jaunting up next to you to look at you directly. It’s a small move, but it’s a surprisingly nice gesture, considering she doesn’t need to physically see you to see you.

“I’m actually a very exceptional conversationalist. I just can’t walk and talk, is all. Multitasking doesn’t come natural to humans.” You say in some strange attempt at a joke. She sort of half laughs, half exhales at it. Mission accomplished?

“How about I take lead then? Since I know how to do both.” Oh thank god. “Tell me about yourself, Page Jason.” She says, starting to skip along beside you a bit. “Any hobbies? Passions? Lifelong aspirations? Dark secrets burning a hole in your conscience? Profoundly odd obsessions?”

“Uhhh… I like… cryptography…” You stutter, taken aback by how close she gets while talking.

“Oh, so you like secret messages and all that?” She asks, drawing even closer. “Do you mainly work with computers or are you more traditional with it? Like a pen and parchment kind of deal?”

“Ah- no, I-I mean like, actual crypts. Ya’know like, old mausoleum and tombs with dead people.” You correct, embarrassed at such a critical misuse of wordage. “To find lore and stuff…”

“Hmm.” She hums, pulling back from you. Shit, you’re boring her. Quick, say something without thinking!

“So what’s the deal with the gold teeth?” You quickly ask before the conversation can die. In response to such an adeptfully asked question, she gives you this incredulous look, like she’s questioning if you really just asked that. Shit! Say something else! “I mean, unless if you don’t wanna talk about it, that’s cool too. Dumb… dumb question… It’s not a sensitive subject for you, is it? Or…” She keeps on staring at you with that quizzical look. “Ahhh… sorry for asking.“

“No-no, I’m fine with you asking. Just so long as you know what it is you’re-“ She stops, mid-sentence. You look back to see what’s wrong and find that she’s stood completely still, looking directly to her left. You’re about to say something when she takes off, grabbing you by the wrist as she rushes past. “We have to get out of here.”

“What is it? Is someone coming?” You ask, to no answer. She keeps running. “Are we gonna have to Strife?” Her grip on you tightens. Before you can say anything else, Dallra takes a sharp turn to the right, taking you to one of the nearby forest clusters.

Struggling to stay on your feet as she drags you behind her, Dallra pulls you through the field, wordlessly fleeing from some unseen enemy. You really have to break a sweat to keep up with her. The chick is deceptively quick on her feet, to the point where you’re pretty sure she’s holding back so you can keep up. After a minute or so of full-tilt running, the two of you reach the edge of the forest’s tree line. Entering into the woods, you’re about to ask Dallra what’s got her so worked up, but she pushes you down to the base of a tree before you can get a word in.

You’d protest, being so unceremoniously thrown to the ground, but you’re barely able to get a breath of oxygen into your lungs at the moment to do so. You look up at Dallra for any indication of what the hell is going on, but your vision is quickly obscured by her robes as she presses into you to keep you in place. The two of you are about the same size, yet she’s completely enveloping you in her wingspan, making sure you don’t move. It kind of reminds you of how your meeting with Finlus went, only way more… tender. At least you don’t have a chain wrapped around your neck this time.

Sneaking a glance up, you see Dallra staring at the bark of the tree with a terrified expression on her face, undoubtedly seeing through her sight omnifold to watch whatever it is heading your way. What the hell could be chasing you?

“I didn’t realize he had gotten so close.” She whispers to you. “He was almost a mile away a minute ago…"

“Who was?” You say in a tone too loud for her tastes. Quickly, Dallra pushes a metal finger to your lips to quiet you.

“Shhh!" She orders in a hush tone. “If he finds us, we’re done for."

“Who?" You ask, mimicking her volume this time. She nods over to the other side of the clearing and you peak your head out for a moment. They’re a little ways away, but you can clearly see someone standing there. You can’t make them out too well, but you’d know those purple duds anywhere. He’s a Rage player, for sure.

“I’m not sure how long he’s been like that, but he’s been going around the arena like a wild animal, attacking anything he comes across.”

“What’s he look like?" You ask, trying to measure the level of fucked you are right now. Pretty much every Rage player is going to be insanely dangerous, at least that’s the impression you got from their Compendium series, but if he’s a low power class like a Mage or if he’s unrealized, the two of you should have no problem dealing with the guy, but-

“I don’t know. He’s some sort of black mist creature when he’s not in a different form. But he’s wearing this stupid saggy looking hood.” But if he’s a naturally powerful class, like a Prince or a Heir, you’re pretty much screwed. Great. Just great.

You stick your head out again to see if you can get another look. Terrifyingly, he’s far closer than he was before, enough to be able to see the dark smoke drifting out from his purple god tiers. Dallra was right, he's some kind of entity made of black mist, and more alarmingly, you can confirm him as the Heir of Rage, based on the tube sock hoodie swaying around behind him. From what you can tell, he hasn’t spotted you, but he’s headed directly for where you’re hiding. Is it just a coincidence, or is he actually tracking you?

“Dallra, he’s heading right for us.” You tell her.

“I know!” She says, clenching her teeth as she thinks “We need to move deeper into the forest.”

“What if he sees us?” You ask. Not a second later, Dallra shifts around behind you, fishing around in her strife deck until she retrieves a slingshot. She can’t seriously want to fight, can she? Plucking a stone up from off the ground, Dallra loads the rock in the cradle of her sling and pulls the thing back with a robotic strength, holding the winch with her metal hand. “What are you doing?"

“Be ready to move on my mark.” She says, not bothering to answer your question. Arching back, Dallra fires the stone directly up in the air before turning towards the forest like she’s ready to book it. You think of asking what the point of throwing a rock in the air was, but she seems to be focused on something else right now, so you figure it’s best to keep quiet. “… now!” Before you realize, Dallra is three trees deeper into the forest behind you. A half second of hesitation trips you up as you look back to the Heir, unsure if it’s safe for you to retreat. However, when you peer back, the Heir is looking away, preoccupied with something behind him.

It takes a moment to click for you, but that stone Dallra slung into the air must have landed behind that Heir, meant to distract him while you got away. Feeling somewhat more confident in your stealthing, you turn to join Dallra, but in typical You fashion, you trip over your own feet and come crashing down to the ground with a particularly audible thud. You scurry on your belly to the nearest tree as fast as your flimsy limbs can take you, which is only one tree back from your original hiding place, and try to stifle the panic attack that folly just gave you. Getting a hold of yourself, you peer back out to the clearing again to find that the Heir’s attention is centered in on your direction. It’s hard to tell if he’s looking at you, but you have a sneaking suspicion that he’s got a good idea someone’s nearby.

“h e  h a s  f o u n d  y o u r  s c e n t .” You hear Dallra whisper. “h e  w i l l   f i n d  y o u  n e x t .”

“I know!” You whisper back. “What do we do?”

“What?” She asks back.

“I said; what do we do?” You say a bit louder this time.

“y o u  c a n n o t  e s c a p e .  s t r i k e   f i r s t   o r   d i e .” She whispers back.

“Shit…” You mutter to yourself. “Are you sure about this?”

“Sure about what?” How is she having such a hard time hearing you? You can hear her clear as day.

“Are you sure you want to confront him?” You clarify.

“t h e r e  i s   n o   o t h e r   w a y .” While hesitant, you trust your new friend’s decision making abilities. If she really thinks the two of you can handle this, you don’t have any reason not to believe her.

“Alright… alright, okay alright let’s do this!” You jut up into a standing position out into the open. The dark haze where you assume the Heir’s face to be focuses on you like a predator finding its prey. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little intimidated. Okay, very intimidated, actually.

“What are you doing?!” Dallra frantically whispers as you slowly walk forward. Confused by her sudden withdrawal from the confrontation plan, you look back only to see a petrified look of fear on Dallra’s face. Wait, what? Didn’t she say she wanted to fight this guy? What’s she doing?

Looking forward again, you’re horrified to find yourself face to face with the billowing mass of living-fucking-thunderstorm that is the Heir of Rage. Two haunting orange eyes peer at you through the void of smoke that make up his face, and you can only imagine what sort of incomprehensible anger lies within this smokey zephyr.

“U-u-uh… h-hey. How-how’s it going?”  You stammer, too intimidated by the monstrous form that stands before you to speak straight. “M-my name is Ja-Ja-Ja-Jason, and ah…” You try to extend your hand to the creature for the traditional interspecies hand-whatever but a sickening feeling befalls you, leaving you paralyzed in your fear to move.

While you struggle to even draw breath into your lungs through this paralysis, the smoke encompassing the Heir begins to billow outward, enveloping his entire form until all that stands before you is a cocoon of black vortex. As the mists swirl and churns around the Heir, a low thumping sound, like the rhythmic beating of a drum, emits from the entity, and on a twitch instinct, everything in you screams to Run.

Before you can turn tail, however, the smoke begins to dissipate, and a human face emerges from the night. At first, you believe the Heir must have deactivated whatever ability it is shrouded him in this dark mist, but a chill falls over you when you see who it is revealing themselves. It’s You. Your face, the same face you see every time you look in the mirror, has pierced through the Heir’s veil.

“Tick. Tock.” The other You says as the rest of the shadows strip from him, revealing a Crimson Red God Tier just like the ones you wear.

“What the fuck…” You whisper to yourself as you slowly begin to back away, your legs finally starting to take you away from the horrorshow you’ve found yourself in.

“Tick. Tock.” The other You repeats with a booming voice, following after you like a predator ready to pounce. This is… this is his power, it has to be. But how? A Heir of Rage shouldn’t mimic their opponent’s physical appearance, they’d-… they’d… Whatever the hell this is, you’re not about to wait around for shit to go south.

“Alright I… seemed to have caught you at a bad time. I’ll just… let you get back to it then.” You don’t dare break eye-contact with the Heir as you continue your slow retreat. You saw a documentary once when you were a kid about jungle cats. They said to maintain eye-contact with whatever it was that had you in its sights. You think that applies here. “So if you don’t mind-“

“RAH!” It appears the eye-contact method has failed spectacularly, with the Heir powering right through your finely crafted strategy as they lunge for your throat.

Tucking your face into a reflexive guard, you feel the enormous weight of the Heir’s hand as it latches onto your forearm, changing targets from your neck to your wrist. His grabbing grip alone nearly crushed your arm, anchoring you in his grasp. In a flash, he jerks you down and slams his knee just beneath your nose above your lips, evoking a geyser of blood to erupt from your face.

“Get out of there!” You hear Dallra say from… okay, you’re a bit disoriented right now, so you don’t know where that came from. But you did hear her say it!

“Uf!” You grunt as you hit the ground. You’re inclined to stay there, considering the fact that that hit nearly knocked you out cold, leaving you feeling rather down for the count. However, a sudden creeping sensation worming up your leg gets you moving in an instant, as it seems the Grass has tried to wrap itself around you again.

Wriggling out of the blades of grass coiling your leg, you roll to the side, narrowly avoiding a stomp the Heir was apparently aiming for your chest while you were flat on your back. You prop yourself up onto one knee, unsure whether to counterattack or abscond. Before you can decide, you’re nearly knocked back to the ground again as Dallra goes flying past you, slamming her robo-fist square across the jaw of the Heir, nearly flinging him out of the forest. She sure wasn’t lying about that arm, the thing packs a hell of a punch.

“You okay?” She asks, grabbing you by the shoulders to help you up. Once you’re on your feet, she reaches to the forest floor and snatches up a rock, loading it into her slingshot and firing it in one swift motion. The sling snaps like a cannon, flinging the rock like a bullet. The shot lands against the Heir’s cheek just as he’s getting up, tearing a large chunk from the side of his face on impact. In an instant she already has the sling cranked back again, ready with another shot.

“Yep.” You say not even convincing yourself as you try to quell the hefty stream of life-juice pouring from your nose. “Little dazed, but… what were we talking about?”

“What the hell were you thinking?!” She chastises as she lets the second shot fly. You can really feel the pressure of her sling as it snaps, shooting her ammo striking directly at the Heir’s chest this time, taking him aback. That thing must have an insane draw weight.

“What do you mean? You told me we were fighting him!” You protest. It might just be the reestablished concussion speaking, but you feel like today has been an absolute clusterfuck of a day. You retrieve Bane from your strife deck and hope for the best.

“I did no such thing, Page Jason!” She exclaims, firing two more rocks towards the Heir in rapid succession. “Ugh, it doesn’t matter. We’ll just have to get away before he- Look out!” Your attention jumps back to the strife in time to see the Heir advancing at a staggering speed. Almost instinctually, you raise your hands and cast a Time Knot on him, summoning a Red Clock construct that anchors the Heir in place.

As if you can’t believe you did it yourself, a scoffing laugh escapes your lips, proud of your quick combat reflexes. Meekly, you slowly lower your still shaking hands to your side and exhale an anxious sigh, certain the strife is over. While the tension of combat slowly leaves your body, you get a good look at the Heir behind the clock constrict, studying his impersonation of you. He didn’t mirror you exactly. His hair is longer and more unkempt than your own, and he’s missing the new scar on your eye, not to mention his God Tiers are… they're covered in blood and dust. He’s…

“…That was… close, huh?” You partially mumble as you glance back at Dallra, more than a little bewildered by the visage before you.

“Handy trick.” She says after a moment, smiling through the stress she seemed to share with you.

“Yeah, well, you know what they say, Time waits for no-“

--KRRRECCCH--

Before you can finish that cliché saying, there comes a thunderous metallic scraping from behind you.

--CH CH CH CH KRNCH--

The Hand on the Clock Construct are being forced backwards. Your Time Knot is being destroyed… Again.

--CHOOM--

With one final jerk, the hands are flung from the clock face and the construct is shattered. Standing in it’s wake, with a dark crimson smoke drifting from his blistered claws, is the Heir of Rage wearing your face like a deranged mask.

“… Man.” You sigh to yourself.

In what you would personally estimate to be 1/6th of a second, the Heir cracks you twice across the jaw and once in your stomach. You’d imagine he’d continue giving you the business in such a manner, but luckily you have Time abilities other than the snares that've been constantly failing you as of late. Activating Time Dilation, you slow down your perception to (5 sec. your time =1 sec. local time), allowing you to actually see the attacks coming at you.

While slowing down time is keeping the Heir’s moments visibly trackable for you, they’re still remarkably fast, as if he's still fighting at a normal speed. Nonetheless, you can at least compete with him now. And compete with him you shall! Ducking back from one of the Heir’s punches, you ream the top of your pickaxe against the side of his head and- wow did he just counter attack you fast!

Barely phased by the hit to his head, the Heir had backhanded you directly across the face in a trade of blows you definitely came out on the losing end of. With a thoroughly numbed cheek, you almost don’t feel when an arm is hooked around the underside of your jaw as the Heir slips behind you. Usually you don’t have time to figure out what a Strife Opponent is doing when they make quick moves like this, but with the Time Dilation, you’ve got ample time to realize that you’re about to be thrown backwards by your fucking neck. Yep, you’re being lifted off your feet as you think this. Here we go, soaring through the air now. It’s always neat having new experiences like this, being judo thrown in slow-motion by a psychotic doppelganger in a magic whisper-forest. You’d think an accomplishment like this would hop you up another God-Tier, but it would seem you’re still stuck at the Sommerfeld rung.

“R-O-L-L W-I-T-H T-H-E F-A-L-L!” Dallra yells in a slowed, low pitch. You always found the effects Time Dilation had on people’s voices amusing, even now. Unfortunately, the gravity of your current situation is impeding on your ability to enjoy the comedy of such tomfoolery to its fullest extent.

You’re in the air for maybe ten perceivable seconds before you finally hit a tree, snapping you back into real-time as you lose concentration on your Time Dilation. You feel all the breath in your lungs jettison from your body on impact and it takes a moment for you to even start breathing again. By the time you're able to get oxygen back into your chest, Dallra gets tossed as well, slamming directly into you, setting you back to square one as she lays limply strewn across your lap.

“Alright, maybe we should abscond.” You suggest, trying to wince away the pain.

“It’s no good.” Dallra quickly dismisses. “He’s too fast, and that clock trick of yours won’t be able to hold him off for long. We’ll be long dead before we get anywhere near the rest of your team.” Looking back to the Heir, you see his mimicry of your eyes has changed, morphing your normal pupils into a strobing cycle of colors and shapes, rapidly alternating too fast to make sense of what your seeing, turning your face into a disturbed characterture of a slot machine.

“Maybe… but I’ve got something else up my sleeve…” You wheeze, sitting up under the troll.

“Something else?“ Dallra mutters, looking back to you. “Like what?” You’re a little too pressed on time to answer her question, as the Heir leaps forward at you with the express purpose of putting his fist through the back of your skull. Seeing as that outcome would most likely result in a Dead Jason, you’ve elected to divert from this eventuality by any means possible. Dead Selves are, after all, a universal and well known enemy among all living and healthy selves. You outstretch a hand and ready your plucking finger.

“Let’s try this again. Activate; Checkpoint.” You declare, strumming a phantom string that’s summoned by your incantation. Temporally stimulated, your entire being turns stark white as you’re popped out of reality. The last thing you see before disappearing is the Heir’s psychotic imitation of you, raging as they lunge at you like an animal. Closer now, you can see that the Heir’s eyes weren’t slot machine rollers like they first looked, rather… they were pool balls. The sight sickens you with a terrible dread for some reason.

 

Jason, Return to your Checkpoint.

Chapter 20: > Thicker than Water

This time, you have absolutely no quarrels about using your Checkpoint. And boy, did you use it. You used it so god damn hard, it feels like you’re being torn apart, atom by atom. God damn, perhaps you shouldn’t have activated your time powers with such rapacious ferocity. The pain is actually so great, you can’t stand to open your eyes. Not that you need your sight to tell what's transpiring. You can feel in perfect, excruciating detail what’s taking place right now. Your ontological existence has been flung backwards on the ligature of temporal reality, yanked back towards the moment in time you set your Checkpoint.

Something’s wrong, though. It’s… it’s not supposed to hurt this much, and your movements feel sluggish. You’ve only done this a few times, but you don’t remember feeling so weighed down before, like something’s dragging on you, scrapping you against the abrasive flow of time. Without warning, you jerk to a halt, the momentum slamming out of your theoretical anatomy. You’ve reached the moment you originally cast your spell, and are about to reincorporate back into tangible reality.

Nothing happens, however. You just sort of float around in the moment between zeptoseconds, anticipating being spat out back into existence. Suddenly, you’re whipped into motion, once more. This time forward, headed back towards the present. What the hell? Did the Checkpoint not work?

With a hop skip and a body-shredding run through the fabric of reality, you come back into physical being maybe a foot or so in the air, and as 3d space and all its pesky rules take hold of you again, so too does gravity begin to dictate your range of freedom, and you fall down to the harsh, unforgiving ground. The pain is enormous. Bone splinteringly, flesh flayingly enormous.

“GaaAAAAAaahh!” You scream out. It doesn’t do much for the pain, but at least you get to vent your anguish to the surrounding world, thoroughly converting the current state of agony you’re in. After a moment of rolling around in your misery, you manage to calm your nerves enough to get a grip on yourself. Taking a few deep breaths in and out, you peel an eye open to see Dallra looking down at you.

Her skin is glowing again. You watch as her mouth moves, but you don’t hear any words. Just a soft buzzing. Slowly sitting up, you try to signal to her that you’re okay, or at the very least that you aren’t dead, and she leans away to give you space.

You appear to be in another cave. Your own cave it would seem, judging by the fact that your team is here. Esspin is at the mouth of the cavern, alongside Amvinn. Huh, she looks different. Did she wash off that clown makeup or something? Sara and Mia are still curled up on their respective furnishings with their respective consorts, all of them with looks of bewilderment on their faces.

“Jason? Jason?! Jason?!” Dallra yells right in your ear just as your hearing comes back.

“Gah! Yes?!” You cringe, mimicking her inflection.

“Are you alright?” She asks, roughly moving you around as she searches for any possible injuries that could be causing your apparent pain.

“Yeah… I’m fine, just… a little tender.” You assure her while trying to breath through the intense stinging sensation that still wracks your body. Assuring her you're fine, Dallra pulls herself off of you, seemingly having landed on you when you fell.

“Ahem.” Esspin steps forwards, clearing her throat to get your attention. “Jason. Is she…?” She has her rifle in her hands. Not aimed, but her grip looks tight enough to snap the stock. She’s clearly uneasy about the new person you’re with. Dallra was hovering over you rather close, and you were just screaming bloody murder a second ago. Reasonable enough to be suspicious.

“It’s fine, Ess. She’s friendly” You say, raising a hand up at her, hoping she’ll lower the gun. Seeing Dallra has your approval, she loosens her stance, sling her rifle over her shoulder. With there no longer being a potential threat in your quarters, Esspin saunters over to Sara’s couch and takes a seat, cooling off from the adrenaline of your sudden lively entrance. Amvinn elects to stay at the mouth of the cave like a weirdo.

“I was worried when I found your note.” Esspin says, crossing her arms as she closes her eyes. “I would’ve happily accompanied you on your jaunt, had you asked. Traveling alone is a risky endeavor in its own right, let alone with the countless recreants scattered throughout the Lands.” Mia seems to perk up at her comment, stirring awake Gretel on her lap, who somehow slept through your entrance.

“Huh? Mr Jason!” Gretel chirps, poking up at the sight of you sat on the cave floor. She quickly hops out of Mia’s lap and gallops towards you, jumping straight into your arms. You huff at the sudden weight placed on your chest. “Hi.”

“Hey, kiddo.” You mutter through the re-flared pain.  “Uh, Sara?” You call over to your resident medic. She juts up on her couch, looking a tad frazzled by her rude awakening.

“Hmm?” She hums.

“You think you could do that thing...? The Healy thing?”

“Oh, sure. No problem.” She says, getting up, much to the dismay of the Chameleon consort still curled up sleeping next to her. Mia also rises from her flamboyantly fuzzy fur pile of a chair to join her. Dallra moved to the side to let Sara get at you but stays close, still concerned about your condition. With a hand on your back and a quick gust of wind going through your lungs, you’re feeling back in ship-shape. You use this newly found ship shapeness to stand on your now ship-shape feet.

“Ah!” You exclaim at the refreshing sensation. “A million thanks wouldn’t be enough, Sara.” She smiles at the praise. With the pain of the incident now a distant memory, the obvious question plaguing you comes to mind. What the hell even happened?

That Heir wasn’t able to get his last attack in, so… was that recoil from the Checkpoint? No way, Checkpointing isn’t an attack move, let alone one with a bounce-back damage risk, but… somehow, something went wrong. A Checkpoint is supposed to bring you back to when it was first set, but Esspin was still in that pod thing when you placed it here, not out in the woods with Amvinn. Then you’re still in the present? Is that what all that jerking around in the temporal flow was? You getting bounced between timeframes, from when you first set the Checkpoint to when you strummed the activation string? And what about Dallra? How the hell did she end up here with you? Checkpointing isn’t designed to take multiple players back to the past, but the only way she’d be here was if she tagged along for the jump. You didn’t even think that was possible. God, your head is starting to hurt again.

Before you can think yourself into a migraine, Mia huddles close to you, lightly grabbing you by the wrist and pulling on you.

“You went out alone?” She sort of whispers to you in a whiny voice.

“Y-yeah. Our Seer finally reached out to us.” You whisper back, a bit put off by genuine concern coming from her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She asks, tugging on your arm slightly harder, pulling you close. The white of her god tiers reflect Dallra’s glow pretty harshly into your eyes. You sort of have to squint to look at her.

“Uh… sorry?” Mia looks about one off-comment away from crying. “R-really! I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” You assure her, awkwardly patting her on the top of her head. She gives you a weak half-smile, clearly trying to keep back tears before hugging you tightly. It freaks you the fuck out, seeing Mia this way. You’ll have to think of something to get her back into fighting shape. Maybe not right now, but definitely soon. You doubt you can take much more of Emotionally Crippled softie-Mia.

“Hey, excuse me, Jason?” Amvinn pipes up, finally entering the cave. “As nice as it is to see that your Seer retrieval worked out, what the hell happened out there? You go skipping off into the wilds for nearly six hours and then just… appear back here on the verge of popping an airsack, screaming your pan clean.”

“Don’t worry, my… air sacks are fine… I think?” You carefully peel Mia off you before continuing. “We just ran into a little trouble on the way back.”

“A little trouble?” He asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“The Heir of Rage.” You clarify. “Completely off his fucking rocker. Didn’t even hesitate to start a strife, so we uh… we got out of there.”

“You got out of there… the hell does that mean?” He continues to press you. You forget, he’s able to see right through your brave face with that empath sight of his. You were trying not to make a big deal about that sudden snag in your powers, but you’ll be damned if it doesn’t scare the shit out of you that they just malfunctioned out of nowhere like that. Sure, your plan mainly relies on the powers of other players, and your role in escaping isn't all that pivotal, but the lose of your abilities would be disastrous. Without your power kit, you’d be at the complete mercy of those around you. Sure, that might be fine with the people you have with you now, but what if some power-hungry maniac comes along and tries to take control of the group by force? You’d be S.O.L. without a way to keep them in line by force. Now is the absolute worst time for your powers to falter, especially in such a repercussive way. But… if there’s one silver lining to your power-folly, it’s that even though it didn’t take you to the timeframe it was placed in, thank god your Checkpoint took you to the location it was placed, instead of just spitting you back out into your strife with the Heir.

“It’s a long story. The point is, we’ve got a murder-happy force of nature not even an hour away from us. So I’d say it’s in our best interest to leave before he finds his way here.” You tell them all. Amvinn looks like he wants to say something more, but holds back. Probably for the best, now isn’t the time to be arguing. Running, however… it's the perfect time for running.

“Where do we go?” Sara asks as she nervously fidgets with her fingers.

“Ideally, we’d really just want to get off-planet asap, but…” You look over to Dallra. “I’ve got somewhere specific in mind. Someone, to be more precise. Think you could plot our course?”

“Why else am I here?” She laughs, flashing her gold teeth. “Who’m I looking for?”

“The Heir of Mind. Long hood, green god tier with this squiggly looking circle on his chest.”

“ Pretty sure it’s a neuron ” Dallra mutters, “But no problem. It might take a minute to find the guy, probably a few more to work out the route to them… In the meantime, why don’t you get your friend outside up to date while I work.”

“…what?” You ask, thinking you might’ve misheard her.

“One of your friends, he’s still outside, so he probably didn’t hear what’s going on.” She clarifies, still leaving you confused. “...I was saying since it might be a while before we can leave, you should get him up to speed.”

“H-hey, guys, headcount real quick. We’re all here, right?” You look around the cave, and yeah, the entire group is here, consorts and all. A chill runs down your spine as you slowly realize what Dallra is saying. You turn towards the entrance of the cave, almost anticipating someone to appear there, dramatically summoned by your very thoughts. “Dallra, could you lead me to who it is you see outside…” You request in a hush but urgent tone. With a puzzled look on her face, Dallra exits the cave, guiding you out into the forest. Slow and steadily, you move through the brush, careful to keep your motions muffled by the patter of the rain, your eyes darting every which way looking for the possible ambusher who’s apparently breached your perimeter.

“Right there.” Dallra blurts out, nonchalantly. She gestures forward, towards a tree. You look around, thinking they might be hiding behind it or up in its branches, but there’s no one there. You look back to Dallra, beginning to suspect this might be some sort of practical japer, but she nods towards the tree again, stressing downward this time. You keep looking, but there’s just nobody ther- holy shit there’s someone there.

Cooped up in a nook at the base of the tree, balled up and fast asleep, is some beat up looking kid dressed in a tattered god tier outfit. How the hell did you not notice him?! The part of the tree he’s squirted away in is nowhere near concealed enough to keep him camouflaged, he was practically hiding out in the open . You march up to the tree and grab the guy by the collar. Strangely enough, he doesn’t wake from his slumber. Who the hell does this bastard think he is?!

More than a little perturbed that someone would be so arrogant to not only sleep this close to your group, but to sleep so soundly as well, you pull the kid out of the tree and toss him to the forest floor. Shaken by the sudden movement of his person, the tree dweller, although drowsy, seems to have finally woken. He looks around, confused at what had happened to him, going stiff once he sees you and Dallra.

“H-hey… you found meee…” He nervously hums, trying to play his trespassing off as some sort of game as he scoots away from you, eventually backing up against another tree. You open up your strife deck and retrieve Bane, ready to deal with the intruder. “A-a-and you have your weapons out.”

“Who are you?!” You demand, marching forward and jabbing the head of your pick against his chest, making sure he stays against that tree. “And what do you think you’re doing here?!”

“Frank! Frank, my name is Frank!” He squeals. Stuck between a rock-breaker and a bark place, the kid grabs at your pickaxe, trying to lighten the amount of pressure you’re putting against him.

“Frank what?” You demand, pressing him harder. He seems to get the message and lets his hands drop to the ground, dealing with the constraint.

“J-just Frank.”

“Well, ‘Just Frank’,” You say, examining the kid closer. He’s kind of… hard to look at. Stitches up and down his entire body, even all across his face. Christ, it looks like he’s been through a blender. “what the hell do you think you’re doing, snooping around our camp?”

“Looking f-for an opportunity…”

“An opportunity to do what exactly?” Shit. This is bad. There’s no way one player would take on a group this big, which probably means he’s a scout for another big group sent to keep an eye on you. Is it possible he could be with the Heir of Rage? Are there any more nearby? Is there-

“To make frIEnds!” He shouts, his voice cracking at the stress. You’re… not quite sure what to make of what he just said.

“What?” You ask in stunned awe, removing your pick from his chest.

“T-to make friends with you. I wanted to introduce myself back on Loaeaf, but I never got the chance to…” He says in a quiet sincerity, looking down at the ground. “I saw you making a ruckus around all those lizards in that museum but you ran off before I had a chance to figure out my approach. I caught up to you at that nice lady’s speech, and I was going to try to talk to you afterwards, but it seemed like you two knew each other, and I didn’t want to intrude. And when I saw you at the volcano, you were already planting those bombs and you looked busy, so I thought I could wait until you were finished, but then everything just sort of… exploded. Heh…” Loaeaf? That's impossible. Has he really been tagging along with you for that long without you noticing?

“Jason.” Dallra says, touching the back of your arm. “Is he really not a part of your group? He’s been by your side since I started watching you. Directly … by your side.” So this kid has been keeping up close enough that Dallra mistook him as a team member... But how?

“Frank?” You ask, getting him to look at you. “Do you have some sort of passive hiding ability? Or any sort of power that can mask your presence?”

“I-… I’m just bad with people… they overlook me easily, and breaking the ice is… hard, so I tend to not get noticed a lot.” … You’re actually a bit gobsmacked right now. What he’s saying can’t possibly be true, can it? Does he seriously not have any sort of stealth kit, and you just didn’t notice him for the past week?

You look him over a few more times. His clothes are all torn up, but based on the dinky looking shoes, hood, cape and… shorts, if you want to call them that, this guy’s a Page. Brown and red God tiers, red slash across his chest. Page of Blood. Also, on closer inspection, his scars don’t appear to be just scars. He has a few different skin pigments scattered about his body, all sectioned away within the borders of wide and prominent stitches. He even has two different eye colors. Amber and Blue. He’s human… you think. Who knows in this place, though.

“…So you really just wanted to make friends?” You ask, offering him a hand to help him up. He looks at it blankly, as if unsure what to make of it. Then suddenly, a smile tears across his face and he eagerly grabs you.

“Unequivocally!” He shouts once he’s standing. He looks at you with anxious joy, not breaking eye contact for a second, literally holding his breath for what you say next.

“Uh…” You stop, realizing how what you just said sounds like you’re about to offer him a spot on your team. Not that you wouldn’t let… someone like him into the group, but you haven’t even weighed the pros and cons of letting him join. Ignoring the fact that he's been stalking you the last several days, you have no idea if this kid will be any use to your plan or not. Dallra seems alright with him and if he was up to something suspicious, you’re sure she’d have noticed by now. He said he just wanted to make friends, which is reasonable. It always pays to have allies in a battle to the death, but who’s to say he hasn’t made a few “friends” already? There’s still the off-chance that he’s scouting your team out for another group. Although… you’ll eventually have to make peace with a number of people in the Arena sooner or later, so if he is a spy, perhaps you could reincorporate him into a sort of ambassador to whoever it is he might belong to. Even if you can’t, he looks rather scrawny. You doubt he could take your entire team on directly in a confrontation. Then there’s the matter of actually bringing him into the team. It’s clear that he can keep up with your group, but you can’t think of any uses for a Page of Blood. This isn’t exactly a free-to-join club, everyone has to pull their weight. What can a Page of Blood even do? For some reason, what you read about him in the Compendium series is slipping your mind. You’ll have to re-read it at some point… Ehh, you aren't really comfortable with this. It's probably not a good idea to recruit him, especially without consulting the others... On second thought... He is a Page, after all. It’d be fucked up to reject your brother in Class, wouldn't it? Come on, why not let him join…? “Okay, you’re in.” You finally say.

“Su- suh-s-s-su ha ha ha” Okay, he’s starting to hyperventilate. “Subha sa sa tha- ha…”

“Hey hey, calm it down. Look at me, Frank.” You say, placing your hands on his shoulder trying to settle him. To your surprise, he lurches forwards, gripping you by the forearms. Your first instinct is to pull back, but he’s got you vised in place. Kid’s a lot stronger than he looks.

“S-s-stupendous…” He manages to wheeze out before taking several deep and gasping breaths.

“…You okay?” You ask once he finally seems to have composed himself enough to talk.

“I’m fine…” He answers, still breathing heavily between words. “My… pacemaker… got a bit… overheated…”

“You have a pacemaker?” The fuck? This kid can’t be a day over twelve, why the hell would he have a pacemaker?

“I had a lot of problems with my heart when I was young.” Frank taps on the part of his chest you assume said pacemaker is implanted. “My mom got it for me!” He declares rather proudly.

“Ah… just take it easy then.” You tell him with an awkward pat on the back. He seems to take this as a signal to go for a hug. He’s still got you in a death-grip so you can’t exactly stop it, evoking a slight chuckle from Dallra as he snuggles tightly around you. Christ alive, what did you just bring upon this team. “Alright, enough of that.” You pry him off, which doesn’t seem to phase him. You turn back to your Seer and Ms Golden Fangs is choking back laughter. “Dallra?” She clears her throat at the attention.

“Jason.” She more or less chuckled.

“The Heirs…? Both of them. We’ve still got that psycho roaming around out there, and I’d kind of like to get the fuck out of here before he shows up.” You remind her. “You got a course laid out to our Mind player yet?”

“Lucky for you, multitasking comes naturally to trolls.” She coos, lightly ribbing you with that reminder of your conversational difficulties. “And I can both enjoy your strange human social spectacles and plan the perfect exit strategy from the lovely land of Lopaw.”

“Fantastic. Where we going?” You perk up.

“Lofac. The Land of Frenzy and Crash. Two planets over.”

“Sounds… lovely.” You unperk.

“It does? It sounds rather unpleasant to me.” Frank chimes in. You stare at him for a moment, searching his face to see if he’s joking, but all you find there is a genuine look of confusion, completely missing the sarcasm of your comment. You quietly sigh to yourself.

“…Come on, follow me.” You finally say, turning back and heading towards the cave.

“Where are we going?” He asks, trotting alongside you.

“To meet the others. Get them…” You look at him, doing your best not to stare at his scars too heavily. “-acquainted with you.” You see his breathing begin to quicken again. “Hey! Easy, easy. It’s just meeting new people. We’ll be doing that a lot soon, so try to get a grip on that. Okay, bud?”

“O-… okay!” He exclaims as the two of you enter into the cave.

“Alright guys, listen up!” You begin to call to your group. “We’ve got an unexpected-“

“Holy shit, is that a tree gnome?!” Amvinn shouts before you can finish. Frank looks to you, seemingly unknowing what to do. You grip the bridge of your nose, already feeling the headache coming on. Frank does the same, mirroring your movements. Off to a great start.

 

***

 

Alright, everything’s cozy with the new recruit. Other than Amvinn’s little outburst, introductions went okay. You didn’t expect much hassle, regardless. Mia’s ability to protest is still out-to-lunch, Sara and Esspin were welcoming enough, save for being a tad put off by Frank’s… unique appearance. Amvinn settled down once you assured him the new team member was not a 'tree gnome'. The consorts are… well, consorts. Appearances don’t exactly register for them.

After that, you briefed everyone on your next destination and told them to pack up because you were leaving in two minutes. That was fifteen minutes ago. You’re kneeled down at the edge of your forest with Dallra, waiting for the others to show up.

“What are they doing now?” You ask, staring out past the sunny fields, half expecting the Heir of Rage to come barreling out over the horizon.

“Arguing about the white loungedevice.” Dallra answers with the same blank stare.

“Mia’s chair? Still?”

“Yes. In fairness, it is a very perplexing sitting apparatus.” She adds, glancing at you. Even without her little luminescent trick, she has a remarkably glowing complexion. Very soft looking features. And her eyes… they’re encapsulating. Jade like emeralds. Wow, she’s really pretty.

“Why are you looking at her like that?” Someone whispers to your left. You look over, quite startled, to see Frank sitting by your side.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, still not used to Frank’s uncanny ability to exist unnoticed. “How long have you been there?”

“A little while now. Everyone’s arguing.”

“I’m aware. And quit-” You’re trying to find the right word for it. “ Lurking like that!”

“But I was sitting right next to you.” He politely argues.

“Whatever, just-… go tell the others that if they’re not out here in five, we’re leaving without them.” You direct your new teammate. He quietly nods before running off back to the cave. You let out a slight huff.

“You seem agitated.” Dallra notes, not bothering to look at you while she does. You guess she doesn’t really have to, since her sight is omnifold.

“More like anxious. How’s our Heir? Mind, that is. You still have him, right?” You ask, beginning to tap a finger against your knee, trying to settle your nerves.

“Yeah, I still have him.”

“You’re sure?”

“Green god tiers with a long hood and the Mind Aspect Neuron on his chest. Just like you described.” She concisely answers. That’s him then.

“What’s he doing?” You continue asking, unable to sit still.

“Mediating, I think. That thing when you sit all cross-poled and with your sightglobes closed. Good way to clean the thinkpan, I believe.” No amount of time will ever get you used to troll terminology.

“And the Heir of Rage?”

“He seems to be roaming randomly, although he is getting closer to our location. We probably shouldn’t stay here much longer.”

“Tell me about it…” You huff. Guess this is what your dad felt like all those times you kept him waiting in the car while you messed around inside the house.

Busy in the throws of childhood recollection, a silence falls upon you and your new companion as you run out of things to badger her with. You’re still pretty new with Dallra, so you aren’t quite sure how to talk with her yet. You’re at that point where you can’t tell if you’re annoying her or not and don’t want to risk being that guy who never knows when a conversation is one-sided.

“What’s the plan with this guy anyways?” Dallra says, breaking the silence, asking you the question this time. Oh thank god, she isn't annoyed. “He doesn’t look like he’d be all too threatening in a strife, so I’m guessing you have something more tactical in mind for him?”

“That’s the idea. Heirs are typically masters at swaying their aspects, and as the Heir of Mind, he'd be a vital asset for convincing more stubborn individuals into joining our group.” You explain. “I’d say his role is just as important as yours in this whole operation. What good is finding everyone if we can’t get them to help out?”

“Isn’t that… sort of like thought control?” She asks, this time actually looking at you, hesitation written all across her face.

“I guess that depends on how the Heir’s powers developed.” You say as you stroke your chin, thoughtfully. The telltale sign of wisdom. “If they had a tendency of being a control freak, its possible they could have something along the lines of mind control in their arsenal. If they grew up being agreeable with others, they could just be adept at changing people’s minds simply by talking with them. Or…”

“Or?” Dallra prompts you to continue.

“Or they’re still unrealized as a Heir, in which case we’re probably up a creek.” That’s the big fear. According to the Compendium, a Heir has one of the highest probabilities of not realizing their powers, second only to Pages, which you didn’t really know how to feel about. And if the Arena actually is for reject-Godtier disposal, there’s a pretty big chance that the Heir of Mind didn’t make it to self-actualization. You suppose you could probably find another Mind player to be your team’s spokesman, or if worse comes to worse, you might be able to wing it yourself, but that’s a pretty big gamble. You doubt you have the conversational chops to convince even half the players you’ll need to get out of the Arena to join your group. Fingers crossed that your Heir can cut it... And that you can convince him to help you out to begin with. If they’re smart, they’ll probably realize your plan is their best chance at leaving this place alive, but at the same time, they could also probably figure out that their skill is invaluable to the whole operation and could make a whole list of demands you’d really have no other choice but to agree to. Intelligence sure is a double edged sword, and you’re not even that smart! Imagine what its like to have some actual brains.

“Hey!” You hear from behind you. You turn to see Esspin trotting your way with the others toting along behind her. “Are we departing already?”

“We were supposed to be departing twenty minutes ago!” You yell over. You see Frank break through the group, rushing past them all, stopping just in front of you.

“I informed them, as you requested.” He states with an eager smile.

“Uh, yeah… you did.” You tentatively agree. He certainly takes the concurrence as a ‘Good Job’, as he begins to happily hum to himself. The rest of the group finally gets to you, taking their sweet ass time as they go, and you all group up for one last debriefing. “Alright, everyone. I know Operation Blow-the-Forge-the-Fuck-Up wasn’t exactly a resounding success, but-“ You shift your gaze towards Dallra, “we got where we were going in the end. Now, our next person of interest is the Heir of Mind. He’s on Lofac, so we’ll be heading there next. If we can get him to help us, everyone else will follow suit. Is everyone good on that?” There’s some slight murmur as they all nod in understanding. “Great! Now, Dallra?” She perks up at you. “Wanna go over the route?”

“Ah, sure thing.” She agrees before clearing her throat. “Okay, ah, hello. I’m Dallra Heimda, I just realized we never got formally introduced. So, hi! Like Jason said, the Heir is in the Land of Frenzy and Crash, but we won’t be able to get there directly. Basically, the nearest portal to Lofac is on the other side of the planet. That’s an eight day trip from here, maybe longer given how large this group is. However, I’ve got a shortcut mapped out. We’ll be doing a little planet hopping, but it should cut the travel time down to around a day and a half, maybe two. There’s a gateway, half a klick west of us, that leads to the Land of Windmills and Cottages. We’ll only be there a couple of hours, tops, but from there, we’ll be going through the Land of Savanna and Dusk. There’s no way we’ll be able to reach the Lofac gate in one go, so we’ll have to camp out while we’re there. Does anyone have any questions?…… Okay! Let’s get a move on, everyone!” She springs up and begins making her way out into the field.

“W- uh-“ You stammer to get everyone’s attention on you again, slightly taken aback at how carefree she just bounced out into the open like that. You guess she doesn’t really have to look both ways, so to say. “Y-yeah, you heard the troll. Operation, ah… Get-the-Heir is officially underway!” Everyone quickly gets going out past the tree line and into the grass fields. “And watch your footing! Tall grass, and everything...”

“Hey.” Amvinn calls to you, having hung back as the group ventures on. “We need to talk.” There’s something about his eyes that seem off. It might just be the light, but they look more red than usual. Maybe he didn’t get enough sleep?

“About?” You ask, turning to him fully.

“ About? What do you think?!” He whisper-yells. “An hour ago, our group had two less people in it.”

“So?” You cautiously ask, still oblivious at what he’s getting at. His face flushes green in frustration.

“We were only supposed to get one! And the one we actually were supposed to get brought you back out of nowhere, screaming like a grub on culling day. Then, without explaining anything, you run out and bring back another?! Looking like a tooth beast’s chew toy, no less. What the hell are we supposed to think?” He angrily sums up.

“That… our group is growing?” You try not to make it sound like a question, but you’re not sure what Amvinn wants to hear right now.

“Yeah, growing too fast. Do you know how terrified everyone was when you first arrived back? I haven’t seen so much as an emotional peep out of Mia this entire time, then you pull this shit and she’s been blinding me with her LED sadness for the last half hour. You know how fucking annoying that is? Huh, asshole?” Did you leaving really upset Mia that much? “Then as soon as you stop screaming, you start waving around some mangled-up puppet like you're the best of moirails? That Shit’s. Fucking. Startling!"

“Hey! Frank might be a bit uneasy on the eyes but he’s… he’s… ah” You really did only let him join because you were both Pages. You don’t think Amvinn would be too happy to hear that, though.

“What, what is it? You’re getting all embarrassed.” God damn his feeling-sight. “Spit it out already, what?!”

“Nothing-! Its just-'' There's no way you can tell him. “I-I’m giving him a chance, alright?!” You hiss in the same quiet yelling voice.

“A Chance?” He asks almost as if he can’t believe what he just heard.

“Yeah, a chance.”

“Great. Great. A chance. Ha!” He sarcastically laughs.

“What? They don’t have chances on your-… fuckin’… weird troll planet?!”

“Oh we have chances alright. Last time I gave someone a chance, they gathered up all their friends and killed my custodian!” He snaps at you.

“So what, you lose your janitor and its suddenly the end of the world?!” You snap back at him. He gives you such a look of confusion that you instantly realize there’s a cultural barrier blocking a majority of the understanding in this conversation. “Look, he’s not gonna pull some machiavellian super-plot to undermine the local hygiene regulations or whatever the fuck’s got you in a tizzy. He’s not from… fu- Troll Land, alright?”

“And he’s from Earth, then?” He asks, noting Frank’s rather eccentric features

“Yes!” You declare. “…I-I think.”

“See! You don’t know what he is! He could be some weird alien shapeshifter for all we know!” Amvinn rants, crossing his arms as he glares at you.

“W-what if Sara didn’t give you a chance, huh?” You ask, trying to reason with him. “She brought you in the fold, what’s so wrong when I do it?”

“Don’t.” He growls through grit teeth. “Sara didn’t give me a chance. I came across her in a time of need and I offered her aid. I read the situation, then presented myself as a trustworthy ally. There was no reason for her to doubt me. What has this ‘Fr-an-k’ done so far?! Lurk in our shadows for days, watching us! How the hell are you supposed to trust that?!” 

“He’s bad with people!” You tell him, doing your best to defend Frank’s supposed shyness. Amvinn silently repeats your words as if to try and wrap his head around them.

“Bad with pe- He sat out in the rain for a week before you found him! Not until he thought he could trust us. Not until he came forward himself. Until he was discovered, hiding in our campgrounds. That’s not normal.” He… has a point.

“Hey! Hurry up!” You hear Sara yell from out in the field. “You were the one getting all uppity about not leaving on time! Quit chewing Amvinn’s ear off and let's see those legs Moving!” Amvinn grumbles as he moves past you into the field.

“Look. You want to let people into the group? Fine and dandy by me.” He tells you in passing. “But don’t be such a selfish prick about it. Run it by us first. If you’re gonna put everyone at risk with your shit, maybe see how we feel about it before you cast it in iron.” Without another word, he runs off to catch up with the others, leaving you behind before you have a chance to retort.

…Damn it.

 

Jason, Catch up with the Others.

Chapter 21: > Hotel Savannafornia

While you were busy catching up with the others, you incidentally became distracted and suddenly stopped being Jason. The change is so shocking that you have no time to fuck around choosing who you’ll be at some imaginary character select screen.

You’re Mia now.

It’s been a while since you were last Mia, and there’s been quite a few changes since then. Be sure to spot the differences.

Your group is currently being spearheaded by the new troll girl, Dallra, who’s taking you to LOFAC. She’s a Seer of Space, just like Lexie, so you think you can trust her. Although, every time she smiles at you… you feel this burning sense of sadness in your chest, and you aren’t sure why.

Following behind her is Sara and Amvinn who are quietly chatting about what they think the Heir you’re looking for will be like. Amvinn is worried he might not want to join the group. Gretel and George trot along with them. You’re trailing towards the back of the herd, alongside Esspin who’s giving off her usual upbeat attitude. You’ve been going a bit slower, trying not to leave Jason behind. He’s been hanging at the rear of the group with the weird boy he found. They aren’t talking.

You look back to see if Jason is doing alright. He seems to be thinking to himself. You’re worried about him. The boy, you think’s name is Frank? Whatever his name may be, he notices that you’ve looked back and energetically waves at you. He… sort of freaks you out. Not to be mean, but his scars are kind of scary. You think he’s nice, but he came out of nowhere, already knowing who everyone was. Was he following you? Freaky…

After a small jaunt out in the grass fields, Dallra leads you into another forest. As you expected, the whispering begin again.

“k e e p  t r y i n g  t h e y  n e e d  y o u r  s t r e n g t h” The forest whispers. You see Amvinn perk up and look around. You guess he’s hearing them too. You thought he’d have been used to them by now, thought.

As you travel further into the forest, you come across a cave, similar to the one you were all hiding in the past few days. Unlike the one you were camped in, this cave goes on much deeper. Your group crams in, single file down the rocky passage, trying not to bump into each other. Descending down, deep into the Land’s underground, the air begins to thin, and the natural warmth of LOPAW’s geothermal heat aches your muscles and fatigues your stride. Esspin checks in on you every so often, but you assure her you’re fine. You know they’d stop if they thought anything was wrong. You don’t… you don’t want to be a burden. You don’t want to slow them down.

Inevitably, your path leads you to something new. You come upon a soft glow emanating through the cave, painting the walls of the passage a light blue. A chatter arises in your group, conversing over the alluring luminescence you’ve met, and the tunnel opens up into a larger cavern. At the center of the room sits an elevated pedestal crowned by a blue Gateway.

“Alright.” Dallra calls to everyone. “This is it. If anyone has any business they need to take care of here, do it now.”

“How’s the other side looking?” Jason asks moving forward to the front of the group. “Are we okay to go through?”

“There’s a few people on Lowac, but they’re miles from where we’re going.” Dallra assures him as she approaches the gate.

“Hey, wait!” Sara exclaims, stepping into attention. “We need to link arms before we go.” Dallra gives her a confused look, prompting her to explain. “Y’know, so we all don’t get sent to different locations?”

“H-… have you all been using these things without setting a destination?” Dallra asks, looking over everyone from atop the platform. The silence seems to clearly express the word ‘no’ to her. “They have settings. You know that, right?” Not bothering to listen for another silent no, Dallra turns back to the gate to… set the destination? Putting a palm out, hovering maybe an inch from its surface, she moves her hand about the face of the Gate, shifting the shapes that it makes.

“What are you doing?” Jason asks, stepping up to the platform with her.

“Setting the destination.” She answers, still focusing on the gateway. Ah, so you guessed correctly. Yay! “If you go through without specifying a location, the gate will just send you to a random landing zone. Aaaaaaaand… done, we’re all set. Who wants the honors?” She turns back, looking for who wants first dibs at the new Land. No one really steps up.

“…’Kay, I guess that’s me then.” Jason says, moving towards the gate. “See you on the other side.” He says to Dallra. You try to step forward and say something, but it gets caught in your throat before you can get a peep out. Unable to speak, you watch as Jason places a hand upon the gateway, disappearing with a flash. Esspin sends a look your way.

“Are you alright?” She asks.

“Uh-h, y-yeah. I’m fine.” You say in a much quieter voice than you intended. She continues to stare at you with the same look. You try to ignore it, but she just keeps staring! You step forward, approaching the gateway, trying to escape her gaze, but stop just short. It’s like your body is frozen in place. W-why can’t you move?

“Would you like to go through together?” Esspin asks, stepping up to the platform as well. You try to answer, but your voice is caught in your throat again. You frantically nod instead. Esspin grabs hold of your hand and gives you a sincere smile before placing her palm onto the gateway. You shut your eyes tight as the two of you vanish, and in an instant, you’re taken off somewhere new.

“Hey guys. Looks like Dallra’s trick worked!” You hear Jason say from somewhere unknown. You still have your eyes closed.

“It would appear so, my friend!” Esspin laughs. While the two of them talk, you peek an eye open ever so slightly, hoping to get a glance at where you’ve landed. Some… sort of house? Wooden walls, brick chimney, a small kitchen and a few bedrooms in the back. It’s rather cozy in here, like a homely log cabin.

With your surroundings now thoroughly gathered and using your unparalleled sense of deduction, it would seem you’ve arrived in the Land of Windmills and Cottages unscathed. In any other circumstance, a simple jump through a transport gateway would be nothing more than a bi-daily to tri-daily occurrence for you, but in your current… compromised state, a feat such as this practically demands a jump up the echeladder! …Y’know, if it isn’t too much to ask for… please?

And just like that, you prove that polite makes right, as your take-what-you-want-but-only-if-they’re-willing-to-give-it-to-you attitude has earned you another Rung-Up. So long Trail of the Furious Fixation, hello… Accentato Acceso a Due ? Well… weird rank aside, at least you’re still progressing up God-tier Rungs.

“The others coming?” Jason asks, still taking a look around the house. Just then, you hear a sudden -thwang- sound from the other side of the cottage. Looking in through the door, Amvinn's appeared on one of the beds in the back rooms. A second later, Sara pops into existence a few inches above the bed across from him, plopping down and bouncing a bit as the springs settle. “Guess so.”

“Oh good!” Sara cheers, getting up from the bed. “I was worried it’d happen again.” 

“Certainly would’ve been a pain coordinating another rendezvous.” Amvinn notes, stretching out on the bed. “Jeez! What the hell is this thing, and why is it so comfortable?” Before anyone can answer, a thud comes from above, startling seemingly no one but you. Whatever it is up there soon begins to roll, eventually falling from the roof, landing with another thud at the side of the house. Jason moseys over to the nearby window, unlatching and opening it to look out.

“You okay down there?” He asks, looking out below the threshold. Suddenly, Frank pops into sight, springing up from the ground. He awkwardly rests on the windowsill, trying to look nonchalant.

“Ten-four, good buddy.” He grunts, obviously in pain.

“…Uh-huh.” Jason hums, not knowing what to say to that.

“Oi.” Dallra calls from behind you, appearifying without a sound. “What’re we lollygagging for? Let’s get this transportation-coach scuttling!”

“Seconded. We’ve got a long walk ahead of us, and daylight’s a-burning.” Jason tells everyone as he heads towards the door.

“It’s always daylight on this planet.” Dallra tells him as he walks past her.

“Still burning though…” He mutters.

“Up and at em, Am. No time for lounging.” Sara says, bending at the hip to tell a seemingly unconscious Amvinn, still lying on the bed he landed in.

“Five more minutes.” He shoos her without opening his eyes.

“Quite impossible, moss!” Esspin exclaims, snatching Amvinn by the nape of his hood and dragging him out of bed. She holds him up like a wet cat, keeping him suspended in the air to talk face-to-face with him. “A daunting journey lies before us, yet so long as we merry clergy stay as one, it’d be nothing more than a quick jaunt!” Amvinn stays silent, glaring as he hovers above the ground. “How ‘bout it? Wanna get walking, or do I have to carry you?” There’s an almost whimsy riding on her voice, like she’s purposefully teasing him.

“…put me down, clown.” He finally grumbles. Esspin stares at him intently, narrowing her eyes at him with a sly smirk on her face, causing Amvinn to turn a deep green for some reason. Is this what alien flirting looks like? She drops him after a moment, breaking the intense bout of eye contact between the two of them.

“Just don’t go twiddling your pincers.” She cheerfully says, promptly exiting the room.

“Twiddle whatever the hell I wanna twiddle…” He mutters to himself while scuffing the floor with his shoe.

“Hm.” Sara smiles at him before following Esspin out. You stay, watching just outside the door frame, not wanting to let one of your group members fall too far behind. Amvinn just looks down at the bed, staring at the furniture without saying anything. Maybe ten or eleven seconds pass before the bed disappears, captchalogued by the troll. He turns to hurry back with the others, stopping when he see you stayed behind with him.

“Um…” You go to say something, but can’t think of anything on the spot.

“You didn’t see anything.” He promptly tells you as he walks past.

“What a weirdo.” Frank says as he leans on the windowsill. Oh… apparently he’s still here too. You turn to follow Amvinn out the door to rejoin the others.

As you exit the threshold, you’re left agasp at the view of the Land. Enormous rolling hills of lush grass, decorated with countless windmills that stretch high into the cloud covered sky. You can see a series of finely kept dirt trails sprawled out across the land, with cottages peppering the paths all along the way.

“Wow…” You say to yourself in this moment of pause. While you’re busy taking in the scenery, Frank rushes past you in an almost skipping stride. He slows down once he’s by Jason’s side, who doesn’t seem to notice him. Realizing you’re lagging behind the others, you quickly hurry down the path yourself.

“Heya, what took so long?” Sara asks, seeing you’ve finally caught up. Amvinn gives you the side eye, telling you not to say anything. Not that you’d say anything anyways, but you wonder why he’s so cagy about taking a bed? Trolls are weird.

“Oh, just… you know. Taking a look around.” Seemingly satisfied knowing you won’t tattle on him, Amvinn directs his attention elsewhere, presumably going back to brainstorming future bed heists. “So, this place is pretty amazing, huh…” You mumble.

“You said it!” Sara exclaims. “Such vast open fields, light breezy winds pushing the mills? I don’t think I’ve ever felt more at home!”

“Really?” Amvinn asks, glancing over his shoulder again. “What’s the appeal?”

“What do you mean? This place is great!” Sara exclaims. “I wish I’d gotten a Land like this instead of Lotac.”

“Lotac?” You pipe back up.

“Land of Twisters and Chasms. Ugh, what a dump. The entire place was torn to shreds and these massive tornados would form every couple hours, making travel next to impossible on-planet. It felt like whenever I wanted to get somewhere, a windstorm would come practically falling out of the sky on top of me and I’d have to take shelter until it passed, which took foreeeeeever.”

“Hmph.” Amvinn grunts. “Nothing can top the shit I got saddled with.”

“Oh yeah, mr rough and tumble? Shoot.” Sara orders, poking at him.

“Let me tell you about the piece of shit that was the Land of Cults and Crypts.” He says with a noticeable disdain. “Little scale beast funerals left and right, couldn’t go two feet without tripping over a corpsebox. The entire world practically stunk of death. And worse of all? The actual living consorts there had gotten it in their heads that I was their link between worlds. All throughout my Land, there were these stories of the legendary ‘Seer’ that would arrive and let them communicate with their lost loved ones, like I was supposed to conjure up their spirit right then and there or something. I didn’t mind answering a few questions every now and then, but it was just so overwhelming sometimes. Just nonstop patter-patter-patter-patter, nagging! About what the dead were doing, if they explored the land like they always wanted to do in life, what sort of juicy grubs they had in the afterlife. I didn’t have the slightest clue what they were yammering about, so I ended up making up most of the stuff I told them. Between that and my own session mates driving me up a display staff, I ended up having to stow away out in the burial caves in the mountains, like some sort of demented recluse hermit-beast. Which… looking back, that might’ve been what sent my Land into a state of shock, with their Hero disappearing so suddenly like that…” There’s a sort of glumness in the way he talks about it.

“You seem sad about that. Didn’t you hate it there?” You ask. He sort of half-shrugs, struggling to find the right words for an answer.

“Well- yeah, but it wasn’t the consort's fault that they thought I could talk to the dead for them. It was all those garbage stories in their archives that got them thinking I was something I wasn’t. When I left, they didn’t really know what to do with themselves and just sort of… went crazy, the poor buggers.” He idly hums. “At first, it was just a few heated debates here and there, arguing about differing interpretations over the things I had told them about the afterlife, but then things started getting violent. Fights breaking out over the minorist of disagreements, entire neighborhoods burned and looted because someone who lived there thought something unpopular. Pretty soon, an entire civil war was tearing the Land apart. I thought the number of corpseboxes were bad before, but the casualties of the war made them seem like nothing in comparison. I just about ran out of crypts to hide in with how often they got filled up.” All this talk of dead consorts seems to have gotten to Gretel, because she runs ahead, scurrying up onto Jason’s shoulder, looking for comfort. Watching her climb up, you’re startled to see Jay’s already looking back at the three of you as Gretel joins him. Spooky… Something you all were talking about must’ve grabbed his attention. You give him a weak smile and a meek wave, but it doesn't seem like he’s looking at you.

“What about you, Mia?” Sara asks, pulling you back to the conversation.

“W-what about me?” You ask back, still a little put off by Jason’s look. He’s facing forward again…

“Are you even paying attention? What was your Land like?” She clarifies.

“My Land?” You ask more to yourself than Sara. “I…” You try to think back to what LOMAW was like, but you’re left with a hot migraine and a sickening sinking feeling in your stomach. “I don’t really… remember my Land.”

“Wha-ha-hat?!” Sara exclaims in a laughing disbelief. “It’s only been, what, a week? Maybe a week and a half. How can you not remember?”

“I guess it really hasn’t been all too long, but it feels like forever since I was there.” The two look at you with this… unimpressment on their face. “When I try to remember… I don’t know, it’s like there’s this blank nothing where it should be… ah, my head hurts…”

“If you just don’t want to tell us, that’s fine.” Sara tells you in a sort of motherly fashion.

“It’s not that, it’s just… I-I think there was a lot of loud noises… ah, I’m not sure.” You struggle to put that dull soreness clouding the already vague memories into words. Why can’t you remember?

“Sounds like you’re having a pretty bad mental block.” Georg Clooney tells you. “Those tend to be quite common with Eccentrics.” He speaks with a strange amount of confidence for a tiny purple lizard man.

“If that’s the case, maybe you should try meditating on those thoughts, might free up a few things kicking around in that noggin of yours.” Sara adds. Meditate on it… why does that make you so sad?

“What the hell is that?” Amvinn perks up, addressing the entire group. You follow his gaze off in the distance and see what looks to be a toppled Windmill down a ways along the path. Esspin briskly walks to the front of the herd to get a better look at it, quickly making her way to see it up close. Jason and Amvinn follow closely after.

“Come on.” Sara says grabbing your hand and rushing the both of you to join the others. You move past Dallra who’s standing completely still with a searching look on her face as she stares out into the open. You join in with the others in the half circle that they’ve formed around the scene. It appears something’s pushed over one of the windmills like you first thought. Sort of looks like a lumberjack chopped down a metal tree.

“What happened?” Gretel asks, still perched on Jason’s shoulder.

“Wind must’ve brought it down.” Jason reasons.

“No.” Frank says, seemingly coming out of nowhere with a fright. He crouches down to get a closer look at the base of the broken windmill. “Look at this.” He points to the area where the rest of the windmill broke off from. “If the wind was what took this bad boy down, the metal would be twisted, but everything would still be connected, like a folded straw. But the metal is torn, like it was ripped off.”

“I didn’t take you for a… metal forensic enthusiast.” Jason remarks.

“I have a lot of experience with alternative energy harvesting.” He bashfully admits. Esspin steps beside him and crouches down to look at the windmill base as well.

“So the culprit responsible would have to possess a spectacular strength, then.” She notes. “You suppose one of our peers is the culprit? Perhaps one of the Life domains was blessed with a particularly healthy physicality, one that could knock this structure down with ease.”

“I mean… probably, but they didn’t do it with their hands.” He notes.

“How do you suppose?” She asks back.

“Both halves of the windmill are bent in on only one side at the place of detachment, indicating that the source of tension tore through the mill in a single, swinging motion. The indentations are present across the entire side that’s bent, which is too wide for an arm’s length to cover… you know, unless they had, like… freak arms.” Frank continues to explain. You see Jason glance at Amvinn questioningly, to which he shrugs with the same confused look.

“What did it then?” Gretel asks. Frank shrugs, half grimacing.

“Maybe… a really long club? But that’s only guesswork.” He tells the Gecko. A small patch of wiring sticking out of the windmill’s base sparks, shocking Frank’s finger, causing him to fall back. “Gah!”

“Whoever did this-” Dallra says, stepping forward and grabbing everyone’s attention. “-they aren’t on Lowac anymore. However… there are downed windmills all along our path. All along our path. It seems the one responsible took the portal to Losad, just like we intend to.”

“W-will we run into them?” You ask, feeling your hands start to shake.

“Hard to tell. I haven’t spotted anyone in proximity to our path to Lofac, but there’s always the chance a Voidling is setting an ambush.” She tells you. “Those shady nubs have a habit of eluding my sight.”

“Alright, alright, let’s not get too caught up here.” Jason says in a relaxed voice, trying to quell the anxious air growing in your group. “Some kid went on a temper tantrum and destroyed a few windmills. Nothing more to see. We keep moving.” It’s strange, but what he’s saying does calm you down. Enough to keep your hands from shaking anymore, at least. Esspin helps Frank up from off the ground, which he apparently kept laying on, before continuing down the path. Amvinn stares at Jason for a moment before quietly scoffing as he turns to follow the others down the trail.

“Wanna get going?” Sara asks you.

“S-sure.” You say, still a little shaken up by everything. You’ve begun to catch up with everyone when you notice Jason and Dallra haven’t moved yet.

“These windmill’s weren’t down when I was first plotting our course.” You hear Dallra whisper to Jason, both of whom having purposely fallen behind the group to talk. “This happened recently.”

“What’d you make of it?” He quietly asks back.

“Nothing good. Someone was able to slip under my radar, even when my attention was directly on the area. Not only that, but they seem pretty strong too. It’s cheesy to say, but there’s a toothbeast in these waters.”

“Shit…” Jason mutters to himself. You’ve got a bad feeling about this.

 

***

 

Your legs are on fire, flaring up again and again with each step. You’ve been walking for the past twelve hours through the Land of Savanna and Dusk. It’s… alright, you guess. A bunch of waist high orangish grass and dark brown flat plains. The sky is capped with a roof of darkness, with the only light in the Land coming from the edge of the horizon, keeping LOSAD in a perpetual state of sundown. You’ve seen a few of the Land’s Consorts running around out in the fields. They were little hyena-people, you think. Hard to see them rushing around out on the plains. You saw a bunch gathered around a watering hole a little ways off your trail a couple miles back, splashing about with one another.

“Who else is sick of walking through fields of grass?” Jason idly asks to no one in particular.

“At least we have a nice dirt path to walk on.” Sara notes, trying to look on the bright side. “That’s pretty nice, huh?”

“I guess…” He huff, kicking up a bit of dirt with his next step. LOSAD does have a nice system of paths carved out through the grass fields all across the planet, making travel a lot easier than back on LOPAW. So the dirt path is quite an improvement, you’d say. “Maybe I’m just sick of walking.”

“It has been some time since we last stopped.” Esspin says, looking back over her shoulder from the front of the group. “Perhaps we could find sanctuary for the night?”

“Sounds good to me.” Jason huffs in agreement. “But we should set up off the path. Preferably not in the middle of a field, either.” Esspin twists around, searching the plains for a suitable campsite to settle at.

“Over there seems like a fine enough place for respite.” She points out towards a large rock sticking out in the field to your left.

“Everyone okay with that?” Jason asks the group. No one objects.

The short jaunt through the savanna grass is surprisingly swift. Not nearly as thick and gripping as the grass on LOPAW. Jason has you all set up on the other side of the rock, facing away from the trail. You think that’s smart. LOSAD is a flat plain planet, and there aren’t many places to hide away when a majority of the Land is out in the open. Except, of course, for the few rock formations around the oases, like the one you’re nestled at the base of. It’s a nice rock, the one you’ve set up near. At least you think. Big enough to hide you all, tall enough to give you some shade when day comes. But… there is no day here, so point retracted, you guess. Still, it’s a nice rock.

“Hey, you gonna deploy your fuzz chair?” Sara asks, snapping you out of your rock admirations.

“Oh! O-… O-okay.” Her question causes you a moment of fluster for some reason. That’s been happening a lot lately, the simplest of interactions with others sending your heart into a flurry of unbridled nervousness. As if your place on this mortal coil relies solely on whether or not your response is deemed acceptable by those you talk to. You… you remember it being… different. Conversations. Talking to people. You remember when you didn’t have to care so much. When the little things could stay little… You’re sure it’s nothing, you just… you just need some time to work through it. You’ll bounce back… you’re sure… I-… In the meantime, how about you activate a BoardBreakers™ construct and try to deploy your Plush-Leather Recliner? Right? That’ll make you feel better. Appearing in your hands is a hard-construct board, ready for you to split in half. You hit it against your knee, but the thing stays intact… Uh… You… keep pushing it against your leg, hoping the force will eventually make it give, but no such luck. You try hitting it against your knee a few more times, growing rapidly faster and faster the more frustrated you get until inevitably, you hit it at a bad angle, causing a jolt of pain to run up your thigh. “Ah!” You yelp.

“Still troubled with that retrieval modus?” Esspin asks, coming up after hearing your cry of pain.

“Y-yeah.” You shamefully admit. “I think my modifier is on the fritz. The constructs it usually makes are never this hard.”

“Don’t worry, I’d be more than happy to help. Here.” She tells you as she gets into a striking stance, motioning for you to raise the board up. You do so and in a blink of an eye, Esspin’s fist breaks through the construct and hangs directly in front of your face. Your throat goes dry at the sight, fear-struck by the intimidating display. “There we are!”

“Th-… th-thanks.” You manage to say as your recliner is deployed. In the midst of trying to not let yourself cower too noticeably, you notice towards the other side of the rock, Jason is talking with Dallra, but he has his eyes dead-set on you. A stern expression lies on his face, unimpressed with your skittishness. Your gaze instantly drops, feeling your eyes start to well up, as you’ve undoubtedly disappointed him with that pathetic exhibition.

Not wanting to become the center of attention again, you throw yourself face down into the fuzz of your chair and pretend to be sleeping as you silently drain your tears into the clutches of the recliner. Thankfully, Plush-Leather is incredibly absorbent.

“Amvinn! I’ve still got extra space in my recuperacoon. How about it, friend?” You hear Esspin propose through the fuzz.

“No way in hell, Kalzah. I’m actually prepared for today’s weird interspecies slumber party.” Amvinn replies shortly followed by the sound of something large being deployed on the ground.

“Where in the Four Corners did you get that?” Esspin asks, sounding baffled.

“Wha- Amvinn?! Did you take that from one of the cottages on Lowac? That’s stealing!” Sara huffs in her stern mom-voice.

“It’s only stealing if you get caught.” He says with a huff as he throws himself down onto what you can only assume is that bed he stowed away in his captchalogue.

You don’t think they’re gonna settle any time soon and you don’t see any end in sight to your silent sobbing. You might be here a while, face down, seeping eye-fluid into your mystery cushioning. Perhaps you should try to get some actually sleep, then? That might fix things. You’d try anything at this point to get back to the way you were…

 

***

 

Coldness creeps in, seeping itself into the gaps within your spine. An overwhelming feeling of suffocation envelops your entire being, like your lungs have been filled with cement. You don’t open your eyes, you don’t know why but something compels you to keep them closed. That same feeling you get when you’re about to jump from some place high. Even if you want to jump, there’s that primal side of your brain that tells you not to, like a magnet of self preservation holding you in place. You aren’t sure where you are. Nowhere good, you suppose.

That suffocating feeling suddenly shifts into a pulling sensation, like you’ve got a tether anchored in your chest, forcefully stringing you forward. You think this must be what it feels like to be a fish on a hook as it’s being reeled in. You try your best to fight it, grab at the intangible link, push off the non-existent ground, thrash and flail in whatever tractionless medium you’re suspended in. No such luck. Whatever it is dragging you forward, there’s no getting away from it. The space around you begins to warm as you approach the other end of the line. Warmer and warmer, the temperature rises until it feels like your skin is blistering.

“Take! It! Back!” The words thunder through your entire body, shaking you all the way down to the marrow in your bones. Your heart opens up and the scorching heat enveloping the area rushes into you, meeting the bitter frost in your spine, erupting into a geyser of roaring steam that seeps through your skin and blackens your insides. You don’t know what’s happening. You don’t know where you are. You don’t know why your eyes won’t open. You just want this to stop. You just want to be You again!

 

***

 

Your eyes snap open and you push yourself up, gasping for air. Your arms suddenly buckle and you fall back into the fuzzy, suffocating mess that is your recliner. You roll to your side and finally get a few breaths into your lungs. You guess you fell asleep face down in the Plush-Leather, which choked you awake. Maybe you should be careful with how you sleep on this thing in the future…

You prop yourself up on your chair and stretch, taking in your surroundings. Everyone else is currently asleep right now. You’re not sure how long you were out, or really how long you’re supposed to be camped out here for. Without a proper day or night, it’s hard to really tell what time it is. You wish day and night still meant something to you, or at the very least, you had a clock to conceptualize them with… It’s coming on four years since you last saw the night sky. The actual night sky, not just some cheap imitation SBURB cooked up the moment it created the Land. The actual sky, with actual stars, burning bright billions of lightyears away. What did mom alway say about them? ‘Stars; Painting the dark void of the night with brushstrokes of ancient light. Singing silent tales of past Sorrow and Woe, of raging galaxies soon to grow. They chart the course for all mankind, essences of the Cosmos, Spirit and Mind.’ You never really got the meaning of that rhyme. But that’s what she alway rattled off when you asked what stars were like.

“Brr!” You involuntarily shutter as a light breeze blows past you. It hadn’t occurred to you when you first woke up, but you’re completely drenched in sweat, making the wind extra chilly. You rise from your recliner and move out to the grass, where the heat from the ground can warm you up.

There’s a rustling off to your side. You quickly duck down behind your recliner and peer over. A bunch of those hyena consorts walk single file past your camp, talking and laughing amongst each other. You let out a small sigh, relieved it isn’t anything to worry about. One of them stops and waves at you when it sees you’re looking at them. You softly wave back and they continue trotting along.

You rise and quietly move to the side of the rock and continue watching as the consorts walk along to the path. Before you know it, you’ve moved way past the cover of the bolder and are standing out in the open field. It isn’t until the consorts have disappeared from your sight that you realize you’re completely exposed. You aren’t really alarmed at this realization, but you do sit down in the grass so you don’t so obviously stick out.

Looking up at the sky, you don’t see any stars. Just a black void. You shouldn’t be surprised, since this Land probably doesn’t belong to a space player. However, you can’t help feel a tad disappointed. Looking up at the night sky used to be your favorite pastime, back before SBURB. Lexie was actually the one to get you into star-gazing. You remember when you told her you’d never seen the stars before and she just about flipped. The light pollution on your property was… considerable. Mom had these floodlights that practically illuminated the neighborhood. Something to do with deterring break-in’s, but you always thought it was just meant to put a spotlight on the house, so the whole town could see that big ugly eyesore up at the top of the hill. Whatever the reason, it made it impossible to see anything shining in the sky from your house, and with you not being allowed out at night, the only information you knew about stars was secondhand. The closest you had ever gotten to them was those glow-in-the-dark stickers you'd put on the ceiling. It probably would've stayed that way too if it weren't for Lexie. She convinced you to sneak out one night and run off to the nearby woods. Far enough away that you could get a proper look at the night sky. It took a lot of persuading, and you were practically coming apart at the seams in fear of getting caught the entire way, but once you saw those shining lights… man… It was like the first time you were alive. The first time you were free. The first time you were You.

Lexie stayed on the phone with you that night. She wanted to hear your reaction the first time you saw ‘the best sight Earth has to offer’. You could practically hear her goofy smile through the call the entire time. You… you miss her. You miss her a lot. Her and Milo. Rich. Renee, Jess, Lucas. You miss them so much it hurts. But at least you… at least you still have… still have… o-oh god…

You’ve begun sobbing again. Much more audibly than before. Why do you feel so weak? Why can’t you keep yourself composed for more than five minutes at a time? Why does it feel like your heart's been ripped out?!

“Uh… Mia?” You hear from behind. You don’t look back. You already know who it is. “Are you… are you alright?” Jason asks, slowly walking up behind you. He’s dragging his feet through the grass as he walks, making this swishing sound as the blades sway around him. Such an innocuous noise, yet for some reason it irks you beyond belief. Like nails on a chalkboard. No, not the grass. That lazy walk of his! Scraping and dragging. As if he can’t be bothered to even raise his damn foot properly.

“I’m fine.” You say. There’s a heavy strain that carries on your voice, making it sound a bit gravely. He finally reaches where you are in the field, lurking just behind you.

“Why are you out here?” He asks. Why does he care? You don’t think you’re doing anything wrong, are you? No… no, in fact you aren’t!

“Just… just looking at the sky.” You tell him, hoping he might give you some alone time. Wait… Why would you hope for anything from this dickhead? As if you need to ask permission. If you want to be alone, you’ll damn well be alone! Who the fuck is he to stop you?

“I’ve actually been meaning to talk with you.” He says, sitting down on a small rock to your side. You can see him at the edge of your sight, gawking at you. Looks like alone time just went out the window. “So… you’ve been out of commission for a while now and… I’ve been thinking about how to fix you.”

“Fix?” You mutter to yourself. Fix… Fix? Like you’re some broken toy for him to piece back together? FIX?! Who the fuck does he think he is?

“There are a few people in the arena who might be able to get your head back in the game.” He continues, lost in his own world. “I’m not exactly sure what everyone’s powers are, but the obvious quick fix would be to find another Rage player. Obviously the Sylph of Rage would be the best case, but a Page or even a Witch could probably do the trick if that falls through.”

“Jason…” You interject, trying to get his attention.

“But in the case that all three of them don’t want to help, can’t do anything for your condition or just went off the psycho-rage deep end, I’ve got a few backups. The Sylph of Mind might be able to balance you out.”

“I think I want-“ You try again.

“Or maybe even the Heir of Heart could-.” Something snaps. Your hands instinctively curl into fists and your very being flares up.

“I don’t need your Fucking Help!”

 

***

 

What the hell? You’re not Mia all of a sudden. It appears she’s stopped You from being Her for the foreseeable future. She’s, uh… she’s not supposed to be able to do that… Huh.

W-well, uh… you guess… you guess you’ll be Jason? He’s probably not the safest person to be at the moment, given the context of what just happened, but all your other options are either sleeping or still locked. Again! Man, déjà vu, right? You’re Jason, and you really wish you weren’t right now, considering you’re in the blast zone of the current conversation.

You’d woken up just a minute ago, stirred by something in your sleep. Poking your head out of the small crevice-cave in the rock formation you’d claimed as your own, you saw that Mia was missing from her white fluff chair and thought the worst. Realizing you were down a member, you snapped awake, immediately scanning the horizon for possible threats. From what you can tell, there was no one there, letting you breathe a little easier. Although… the ever-present threat of unseen enemies remains at the forefront of your mind. Invisible, intangible, undetectable, the whole nine yards could be lying in wait out in those grass plains. God damn, does Nolan still have you paranoid…

You moved around your team’s little campsite looking for Mia. Nothing of note, except that Amvinn appears to be missing as well, but who gives a good shit about that guy. It wasn’t until you heard a soft weeping coming from off in the distance that you found her sitting out in the grass on her own. You didn’t want to intrude, but you can’t exactly leave her like this. She’s your friend and, more importantly, might be attracting empaths like a moth to a flame with her emotional emanations. It was best to try to balance her out, rather than letting her feelings run amuck. At least you thought so. Based on her reaction to a simple helping-hand being offered to her, it seems you were sorely mistaken. You may have just opened up a can of worms and threw away the lid. Maybe you should’ve just gone back to sleep...

“Mia, are you… are you okay?” You can’t help but cringe as you ask, half expecting her to snap at you again.

“No! I’m not okay! The only thing I wanted was a little time to myself and yet I’ve got some brainless Dickhead driving me up a fucking wall with his pointless gibbering that he thinks makes him sound less like the absolute bumbling moron he actually is! God forbid he realize what everyone else has and tries shutting the fuck up for once!” As she shouts at you, you can’t help but notice something crawling up Mia’s arms. Strange purple vectors slowly creeping up the white of her sleeves. Rage Purple. Vines of wrath incarnate, grasping and wrapping themselves around her, embedding themselves into the cloth of her God Tiers.

“Just, uh- c-calm-“ You say, trying to get a grip on what’s going on.

“No! I’m not gonna calm down! You aren’t gonna keep dragging me down any more than you already have, you fucking bottom feeder!” The purple vectors progress further up Mia’s arms, lingering around her elbows. This is… this is her Conviction. It’s re-manifesting itself, coming back on its own somehow. But… it’s slowing down, beginning to rescind. No, shit! You can’t lose Mia’s power again! Not when it’s this close to coming back. Think! Come on, maybe you can… coax it out of her? You know, give her a little push? This might be a bad idea but…

“Oh, so I’m the bottom feeder now?” You say, getting up from the rock you’re sitting on to get in her face. It’s about as unnerving as staring down a tiger you just kicked awake, but you need all the tigers you can get at the moment. “Because last time I checked, you were the one moping around, being dragged place to place by everyone else, slowing all of us down!” Her fists clench and her teeth grit. You half expected her to hit you, but she just glares. The purple vectors quickly jump up close to her shoulders with just that one comment. If you keep poking at her, maybe you won’t even have to hunt down someone to fix her. You can do it all yourself!

“I-if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t even be here right now!” There’s a sort of uncertainty in her voice, one you’ve never heard back when she would yell at you before, but she’s definitely getting back to her old self. You’re actually starting to be intimidated by her again.

“Oh cry me a river, Mia. Not everything wrong with your life is my fault.” You continue to prod, hoping her anger will finally just return already. “Maybe take a little responsibility for yourself.” The purple vectors have spread past her chest, into her midsection. Come on, come on, just a little bit more.

“Graaa!” She growls, “This is just like you, Jason! Always passing off your shortcomings like you had nothing to fucking do with them! Like you aren’t the reason why everything ended up so fucked! If it weren’t for you and your goddamn ego, they would all still be alive!” Suddenly, any excitement you were feeling in the moment is left behind by her words. They hit you like whiplash, leaving your senses shell shocked. She doesn’t have to say it, you know exactly what she means.

“W-w-what…” You stammer, taken aback by the sudden reminder of your friends. You were just trying to stir up her anger towards you, but it seems your own temper is being tested now.

“Do you even feel bad about what you did?!” She shouts as the purple vectors hover just around her chest, outlining the white of where her Rage symbol would be. “Do you even care that you killed them?” Her comment strikes a cord in your heart, and your lips begin to move before you can think through what you’re about to say.

“That’s rich, coming from the one who sent them to their deaths.” You mutter. It’s a spiteful little comment, the type you only say when you want to hurt the other person. You feel the guilt set in as soon as you say it, silently wishing you could take it back. Before you can say anything further, you’re looking to the left with a searing pain stinging the right side of your face. It appears Mia has slapped you. Fair enough. She probably still feels guilty about what happened. Calling her out on it when she’s freaking out probably wasn’t the best move. You look back and see she’s… crying? There’s tears welling up in her eyes. This feels all too familiar.

“Mm…mm” She mumbles through quivering lips.

“Mia?” You straighten back out from the slap to face her. Without warning, the purple vectors that’ve been creeping across her god tiers begin to dissipate, draining out of her as the anger is replaced by sadness. “Wait! Uuh, t-trying to pass the blame for all that onto me, I mean really, try to take some accountability for once, Mia.” You say, trying to re-spark her anger again. It seems to have the opposite effect, as her god tiers go completely white and she falls to the ground, bawling her eyes out. “I-… shit.”

“Waaaaahahahaha!” She begins to sob. Oh god, she’s gonna wake up the entire Land.

“H-hey, no no, it’s fine! I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean it, really, please calm down Mia.” You scramble, kneeling down beside her and bringing her in for a hug. It’s a bit awkward, but it’s all you can really think of in a moment like this. She grabs hold of your arm and buries her face into your shoulder. Looks like you’re gonna have to find someone to fix her after all. Damn. And you had gotten your hopes up thinking you’d gotten Mia back already.

“They’re…” She says between sniffles. “They’re dead, Jason. They’re all dead… And we’re still here. It-… it isn’t right! It should’ve been us…” Her grip on you tightens. “They don’t deserve to be gone… we don’t deserve to be left behind… It’s all so messed up. It feels like nothing’s going to be okay ever again.”

“I know, Mia.” You say in a soft voice, trying to sooth her now. “I know.” You hold still and let her quietly weep for a while. You lose track of time, quietly contemplating what you’ll do with her until she speaks up again.

“I’d like to be alone for a little while.” Mia says, staring through you as she blankly looks at the cog on your chest. You move back to give her some room.

“Okay.” You decide to let her be, not wanting to fight her on it. You get up and are about to head back to camp, but something isn’t sitting well with you. You don’t want to just leave her alone on that note. Something more has to be said on the matter. “Mia, yo-… we might not deserve to be the ones who survived. But we were… We were. The best thing we can do now is to keep going. Because that’s what they would’ve wanted. Because one day we might be able to see them again if we do. Maybe then… things won’t be so messed up.” A weary smile weakly crosses her face, still looking misty in the eyes. You turn and head back to the camp.

 

Jason, Go get some Sleep.

Chapter 22: > Interlude; Sleepover

In a strange jump-back in the timespace continuum, your perception changes from Jason to Past Jason. Specifically Three-Hours-in-the-Past Jason. Quite the leap in narrative structuring, I know. Please try to adjust yourself the best you can to this jarring shift in perspective.

Just a moment ago, you witnessed something that disturbed you to your very core; Mia struggling to snap one of her Board constructs. Even when you were first starting out on your quests, before Mia became… Mia, she could split those boards like they were made of wet paper towel. What the hell happened to her?

Seemingly embarrassed by her inability to access her own inventory, she does the closest thing to locking herself in her room she could and threw herself face down into her fluff-chair. You feel like you should go talk to her, but you aren’t really sure how… Sure, Mia not being able to bend you like a pretzel over the minorist of slights against her irrational sensibilities lets you actually relax around her for once, but the only thing that scares you more than raging-bull-Mia is emotional-teenage-girl-Mia. A Mia by any other name is still a Landmine you’re not about to step on.

“Hey, Amvinn,” Esspin calls, grabbing your attention. “I’ve still got extra space in my recuperacoon. How about it?” She’s tapping the side of her slime pod thing, trying to tempt the poor boy in with the siren-song that is their alien goo. A look of smug confidence flashes across Amvinn’s face at the offer.

“No way in hell, Kalzah.” He proudly declares. “I’m actually prepared for today’s weird interspecies recuperation party.” Summoning a captchalogue card with one of the more unique retrieval modus you’ve seen so far, Amvinn snatches the item out of thin air like a fancy magic trick. He deploys its contents and out comes a full size bed, dropping to the savanna grass with a thud.

“Where in the Four Corners did you get that thing?” Esspin asks, being left gobsmacked.

“Wha- Amvinn?! Did you take that from one of the cottages on Lowac?” Sara asks in a scolding tone, storming up to the guilty party. “That’s stealing!”

“It’s only stealing if you get caught.” He smirks, throwing himself onto the bed.

“You know, there are Law enforcement agencies on a few different Lands in the Arena.” Dallra chimes in. “Perhaps we should file a report?”

“Claptrap, I say, absolute claptrap! You’d really betray your fellow Seer like that?” Amvinn dramatically asks, flipping around in his comfy looking contraband to face her. “I’m hurt!”

“Allegiances will get you nowhere in the court of law.” She declares with a smile, leaning beside Esspin on her pod.

“Please.” He scoffs, stretching out on the bed. “Your blood’s not teal enough for you to be giving any shits about the law.”

“Hmph. True.” She admits, turning to Esspin. “Perhaps we could keep quiet about this then, on the condition that you join your friend in her recuperacoon, yes?”

“I’d love to have the company.” Esspin slyly agrees, giving a half glance over at Amvinn.

“Pff. No prison in the multiverse would scare me into that pod, tell whoever you want.” He waves her subtle last-chance off. “I’ll stick with the human sleepslab.”

“It’s called a bed.” You shout over to him as you move towards the rock formation you’re camping behind. You’d spotted a small in-cropping at the base of the bolder that could serve as a suitable impromptu lean-to.

“Oooh, fancy.” Amvinn mocks. “Don’t care what it’s called, I’m gonna sleep on it.”

“If you want to call things the wrong name, I’m not gonna stop you. Just know you sound like a moron.” You say while you work a small bed of grass into a makeshift mattress to sleep on.

“Bed… bedbedbedbedbed.” He repeats, as if he’s trying to get used to the word.

“Don’t hurt yourself…” You mutter under your breath.

“Bed… I’m gonna Sleep on this Bed.” He mockingly asserts in a deep-pitch decree. You roll your eyes, completing your small bed of grass. As you do, Gretel trots into your little in-cropping.

“Can I sleep with you?” She asks, appearing to already be comfortable in your claimed sleeping area.

“Don’t you wanna sleep with Mia on her comfy chair?” You ask, pointing out the far comfier resting spot to her. She vigorously shakes her head ‘no’. Aww, such a sweetie. “Sure thing, then, kiddo. I’ll make up a space for you.” Hearing this, she wraps her body around your arm, tightly hugging you. God, she is such a cute lizard.

“Are you… sleeping on the ground?” Sara asks, walking up behind you.

“Yep. I wasn’t really thinking I’d be in the Arena longer than a couple hours when I first took the portal here, so I didn’t bring anything to sleep on.” You admit, feeling a tad embarrassed. Back when you were first given the offer, you had no idea it would’ve ended up like this. Getting your ass handed to you on a daily basis, leading a haggard group of ragtag aliens and weirdos through a god damn purgatory fun house, all for a practically nonexistent chance at getting out alive. You aren’t sure if you would’ve accepted that white text guy’s proposal if you knew all the details of what you were getting yourself into. Which, thinking about it, is probably why you weren’t given any information about this place to begin with. This whole thing is supposed to be a trap, after all.

“I could probably make some space on my couch, if you’d like.” She offers, giving you a warm smile.

“Nah, that’s alright. So long as I have this little lady with me,” You pat Gretel on the head, causing her smile to widen. “I’m fine sleeping anywhere.”

“Well, as long as you say so.” She sighs. “Offer still stands if you get a kink in your neck.”

“Thanks, Sara.” You appreciatively nod, giving her a slight wave as she goes to lie down.

“Jeez! This rest apparatus is so comfortable!” Amvinn appears to be laying horizontally on his bed, sticking off both sides. “Is there anything else I’m missing out on in human culture?” He asks… you guess to any human in the area?

“Hmm… our movies are pretty good.” Sara notes as she sprawls out on her couch with her own consort friend. “I’m not sure all of them would be up to your Trollian standards, but I’m sure you’d like a few of them at least. What’d you think Jason?” You aren’t really listening, but you hear your name get called.

“Huh? Oh, uh, yeah… I don’t know. Food and stuff?” You stammer, continuing to make up Gretel’s bed. “Maybe like… gyros or something.”

“Mmm. I can’t remember the last time I had greek.” Sara hums with craving.

“What’s a gyro?” Frank of all people surpassingly asks.

“It’s like a Mediterranean taco.” You tell him.

“What’s a taco?” Dallra asks, looking over to you while deploying her own slime pod. See, that makes more sense.

“Here you go.” You whisper to Gretel, finishing her bed for her, placing her backpack on the edge like a pillow. She immediately curls up into it. With her all set, you turn back to the conversation. “It’s like a sideways sandwich.”

“The fuck’s a sandwich?” Amvinn asks, sitting up from his rest apparatus. Never in your life did you think you’d hear someone ask what a sandwich was with such confound ignorance.

“Its like a… fuck, I’m too tired for this, Sara, help me out here.” You request, not entirely sure how to describe something so basic to the point that an alien could understand.

“Like a series of meats and fermented milk stuck between two sliced pieces of baked wheat bricks, all slathered in sauce.“ She effortlessly translates into Troll.

“Oh, kind of like a nutrition stack.” Esspin notes, popping out from her pod. “Did you also have grubsauce?” You feel that question quite literally crawl up your spine.

“Uhhh… N-no.” Sara says, sending you a concerned glance. You shutter to imagine what the actual fuck ‘grubsauce' consists of. “We had mustard?”

“Sounds gross.” Dallra says, crinkling her nose at the word. Amvinn and Esspin nod in agreement. Cultural divides are weird.

“What about you guys?” Sara asks, turning the question on them. “What sort of food did you have on your planet?”

“All kinds. However, what you actually ate depended pretty heavily on your status.” Dallra explains. “If I’m not mistaken, Amvinn here would’ve hunted for a majority of his sustenance.”

“Damn straight I did.” He proudly confirms. “Had a nice stomping grounds in the forest at the outskirts of a Block district. Beautiful little grove with plenty of game for me to stalk. That is, until Giggles and her gaggle of clown friends over there chased me out of the region.” He glances over at Esspin, who’s sunken pretty low in her pod, to the point that only her eyes and nose are showing. A bright purple has flushed across her face. “After that, I was on a strict diet of flavor discs and canned oblong meats.”

“You chased him off his land?” You ask Esspin, who’s bashfully looking off to the side.

“S-… sort of.” She mumbles. You notice Amvinn chuckling to himself off in his bed, like it’s some kind of inside joke. You guess it wasn’t that serious? Or maybe Trolls are way more hardcore than you thought, taking life-upending events in stride. “It was a cultural thing.”

“How about you, Heimda?” Amvinn finally asks once he’s laughed himself dry, breaking the awkward silence. “What sort of nutritional bounties did that Jade blood get ya?”

“Nothing too fancy. Grilled Grubsteak, chopped vegetation, Seascuttlers, whatever my Lusus would manage to gather.” As intriguing as this conversation is, you’ve been walking for the past twelve hours and you don’t really give a shit about alien cuisine. You lie down in your nice little grass bed, next to your amazing lizard daughter and try to get some sleep.

“Oh, yeah, nothing fancy…” You hear Amvinn sarcastically grumble, sounding more than perturbed. You guess what she said was, in fact, fancy. “And you, Kalzah? What was on the menu in that Clown hut you called a Hive?”

“Highblood Lusi don’t really hunt for their bonds.” She says, half her face still cut off by her pod. “We’d make requests to a drone every cycle for provisionals, so what we ate was typically dictated on how we were feeling at the beginning of the month. It was mainly junk food. And a Lot of Faygo.”

“Huh?” You perk up, not sure if you heard that right.

“Oh my god.” Amvinn groans.

“Faygo?” You ask, peaking out of your in-cropping. “Like… like the soda?”

“Y-… yeah! You cracked the wicked elixir, Jason?” Esspin asks, completely popping out out of her pod to speak to you.

“Uh, yeah? Once or twice. I think a gas station near my first house sold them.” You tell her, actually having a hard time remembering. Feels like an eternity since you were on Earth, even longer remembering when you and Mia used to live near each other.

“Huh.” She smiles brightly at you. “I guess we aren’t that different after all.”

“Yeah, yeah, both our species drank garbage soda. Big whoop.” You can hear Amvinn rolling his eyes. “What I want to know is what sort of sports did you guys have? Anything like Throwspheres? Or Stickball? Ooh, what about Ringbound Fisticuffs?”

“Soccer.” You tell him while looking straight into the ceiling of your little cave.

“Come on, we both know I don’t know what that means.” He complains, twisting in his bed to look at you. “Gimme details, humie!”

“Two teams, two goals, one goaltender and ten field players per team. No one is allowed to touch the ball with their hands except the goaltenders. You kick the ball into the other team’s goal, you get a point.” You lazily explain, feeling your eyes start to lull shut.

“That’s dumb.” He declares. “All the psionic players would have an unfair advantage on the field! What would be the point of playing if you didn’t have telekinetic powers?”

“We didn’t have psionics on earth.” Sara says for you when you remain silent, starting to drift.

“…What?” All the trolls say in varying unison.

“Surely one of your castes possessed some form of distinguishing capabilities, no?” Esspin suggests, acting as if human normality was the most foreign concept to her. Which, to be fair, probably is.

“We… didn’t have castes either.” She continues, rocking their alien worlds even further.

“Okay, now you’re fucking with us.” Amvinn declares.

“Well, not one based on blood like yours, at least.” Sara mumbles. “Equally arbitrary, though.”

“I did find it was strange that none of the humans used any of their natural abilities around the arena. I just thought the powers they acquired from god tiering were more practical.” Dallra notes, slowly crawling into her pod. “But no innate gigalomatic traits in your species at all? That’s so weird! And fascinating, from a biological perspective…”

“Guess evolution isn’t a human’s strong suit.” Amvinn snickers.

“Wait, so if you don’t have any natural born powers, how exactly does a human’s thoughsponge secretions interact with your autonomic nervous system? If there aren’t any abnormalities in your grey matter, wouldn’t the fluid it produces be completely nominal as well? Leaving your entire overall anatomy without any sort of environmental adaptations or short-term evolutionary benefits. So your home world must have been overly hospitable in order to promote such a benign development, otherwise you’d all-?” Dallra begins to rant.

“Alright, I’m calling it here.” You declare. “No more cultural exchange or secretion questions. We’ve got a long day tomorrow, so everyone go the fuck to sleep.”

“Aww.” Dallra complains. “Can I ask secretion questions tomorrow?”

“Sure.” You yawn. “Why not.”

“Yay!” She cheers, disappearing into her pod. With that, everyone goes silent, and you’re all left in the soft quiet of LOSAD. A choir of insects chirp out in the fields somewhere, filling the air with ambiance. It’s nice. Peaceful. You think… you might…

“Psst!” You hear Sara call, pulling you out of the ether of sleep.

“Yeah?” Amvinn answers.

“You awake?” She pointlessly asks.

“…Yeah.” He pointlessly answers.

“I can’t sleep. How about you?”

“I don’t know… all that food talk earlier made me kinda hungry.”

“I’ve got some snacks tucked away in my couch. You want some?” She offers. “I think I’ve even got some sofa pizza.”

“I-… I don’t know what either of those words mean.” Amvinn confesses. “But... but I think I want to try it.”

“You guys, shut up.” Dallra says, joining the fray. “You’re gonna get us in trouble with Jason.”

“It’s fine, he’s asleep.” Sara incorrectly assures her. “Here, have a slice.”

“Oh my god, is that a flavor disc?” Amvinn gawks. A sudden rustling comes from his bed, as he shift around to reach for the midnight snack.

“So is this the 'sofa' we’re eating or is it the 'pizza'?” Dallra inquires with a mouthful.

“Guys…” You call, sounding more parental than you thought you could muster.

Hearing that you were still awake, they all go quiet, hoping they won’t get yelled at for being up past their bedtime. You never thought you would be the one forcing kids to go to bed at a sleepover. At least, not when you were still this young. It feels… weird. Like every part of you that’s still a kid is crying out in anguish at what you’ve become. An adult.

“…”

“……”

“………”

“Did you have any places of worship on your planet?” Esspin asks, popping out of her pod to break the silence.

“Jesus Christ.” You mumble to yourself.

“No, that was a religious figure, not a place of worship.” Frank clarifies. You are irked to no end.

This clearly isn’t going to stop any time soon. Maybe you should just try jumping to the future. In a meta sense, not a literal sense. Perspective terminology can be so confusing when the story’s narrative is through the eyes of a time traveler.

 

Jason, Be Jason. In the Future.

Chapter 23: > Here Be Monsters

As you walk back to camp, a sense of defeat on your mind and a shoulder soaked with tears, you’re about to crawl back into your small lean-to-cave when you hear someone clear their throat from behind you. You take a glance over, you see Amvinn standing with an unamused look on his face. Oh yeah, he was missing, wasn’t he? Guess that’s one mystery solved. He’s also covered in some sort of green jelly-looking substance.

“You really are a jackass, you know that?” He says in a hush voice.

“…What’s up slime-time?” You try and jab back, failing to realize that a troll likely would get that reference. “What’re you drenched in?”

“Sopor. Esspin kept pestering me until I joined her in her recuperacoon.” He grumbles, angrily wiping some of the substance from his forearm. “You wouldn’t know this, on account of you being human and all, but sopor is a powerful sleep aid for trolls. I should’ve been out cold for a solid six hours, at the very least. So tell me, Jason; why the hell is your bipolar friend trying to give me a fucking seizure with her emotional flash-bomb lighting up the god damn sky?!”

“Ah, right. Empath sight. Guess I forgot about that.” You sort of chuckle.

“Is there any reason in particular you enjoy ruining my sleep?” He rhetorically asks, reminding you of your last late-night meeting. You know, the one after you had killed Hansel the Frog.

“Ooh, don’t be dramatic." You wave him off. He does not look amused. “Things got a little heated between me and Mia, I’ll give you that, but everything’s settled. No more high-flying emotions for the night, alright?”

“I won’t hold my breath.” He huffs, turning to head back to sleep. 

“Wait.” You call out to him, recalling something that’s been bothering you for a while. He stops and glares back, looking faintly pissed he’s still conscious. “Back on Lowac, you’d told Sara and Mia that you couldn’t see the souls of your Land’s consorts. Why?” His perturbed expression quickly softens, seeing you have an actual serious question about his life before the Arena.

“Because I couldn’t.” He informs you. An awkward pause comes between you two, as you quietly wait for him to continue while he seemed to think that explanation was sufficient enough. “…Actually, I never had any powers at all back in my session. No Emotional Sight, no Soul clairvoyance, nothing… I-… I was kind’va sucky Seer.”

“When’d you get your sight then?” You ask. He looks at you like that was the most ridiculous question he’s ever heard. Wordlessly, he grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls it outward, holding it up to display for you, its scarlet cloth warmly glowing in the ever-setting sunlight.

“…When I ascended to Godhood… duh.” A soft, half-smile brushes past his face for a moment. “My Sight came along with it, sorta like a package deal.”

“Hmm.” You hum, tossing his words around your head for a moment. His powers didn’t develop naturally…

“That’s… kinda why I don’t talk about my powers a lot. Like… it was this legendary sight I was supposed to have so I could save my Land and fight the Armies of Derse, but… but the longer this sight didn’t develop, the more… obsolete I felt. With no way to fulfill my responsibilities, no way to be of any use to those who needed me… I… I didn’t know what else to do… I ran away… I wasn’t helping. I wasn’t needed. Not really, not in any way that mattered. Without my sight, I was just a burden on everyone. My friends, they went to fight the Derse King without me. I told myself that without any powers, I wouldn’t have been any help to them anyway, but… when only Haugrr came back, I knew… I knew I should’ve been there. Even if I would’ve died alongside them… I should’ve been there. Whenever I talk about my Sight now, it… it makes me feel anxious. Like I’m disrespecting them, showing off the one thing that stopped me from being by their side in the end… ya know?” Amvinn says, bearing his deepest darkest feelings to you. Unfortunately, you’re still too hung up on his last comment to notice.

“Huh?” You ask, being pulled back to the conversation. His expression suddenly hardens into anger.

“Are we done?” He impatiently asks, tapping his foot in the grass.

“Oh, uh… yeah, y-yeah that was all I needed…” You say, stammering back off into thought. He didn’t get his powers until Godtier… but that doesn’t make sense. Seers are supposed to cultivate their sight as they grow, not just nab it all at once in a power-up. Pages, Seers and Rogues all have delicate developmental stages, ones that heavily influence the kinds of abilities they end up learning. Their powers aren’t so much unlocked as they are created by them as they complete their journey. Sure God Tiering gets you the power boost, but it wouldn’t outright give him his ability. Maybe he did have powers, but they were so subtle in their base form, he didn't realize what they were until the God Tier amped them? Regardless, there’s no way that’s got his powers. Heirs and Princes are the ones most likely to receive their powers on a level-up system. Unless… Could SBURB have just stuck him with some generic version of a Seer of Heart’s power-set? Like the game realized ‘oh shit, you don’t have your powers yet’ and granted him a sort of default kit for him to use, in place of what he should’ve discovered on his own?

Before you can get too lost in your own little world, you hear a rustling off in the grass. Looking over, you see Frank sitting out in the field behind the campsight. Man, what the hell is up with everyone and going out into the fields tonight?

“Hey.” You call to Amvinn, grabbing his attention back once more. “How long has he been out there?”

“How the hell should I know? He could’ve just sat down there or he’s been there since we set up camp. Creepy bastard doesn’t exactly make a lotta noise.” Crass as it may be, Amvinn’s grumblings remind you of yet another thing that’s been on your mind as of late. You sigh to yourself, realizing just how dysfunctional your little band of misfits is.

“You really don’t like the kid, huh?” You say, sparking up your last conversation with Amvinn, from before you left your forest camp on LOPAW.

“What?” Amvinn grunts at you. “I couldn’t give a shit about him.”

“Well you certainly gave a shit when he joined.” You quip back.

“What are you on about?” He asks, looking back to Frank out in the field.

“Back when we were leaving the cave! You practically threw a tantrum over it. Said I shouldn’t have let him into the group so easily.”

“Oh. Right… I guess I did say that…” He passes to ponder.

“You gue-, what, you forgot?” You’re rather befuddled at his nonchalant attitude about this. He was so passionate about it the last time you spoke about Frank. It was only earlier this day, how could he be so benign about it now?

“I didn’t forget, it’s just… look, souls have a way of… getting in my head sometimes.” He tells. “I try to be carful about it, but if I’m not focused, they can influence my mood rather flippantly. One minute I’m fine, the next, I’m feelin' what they’re feelin’, ya know? So just-, if I’m being uncharacteristically fervid about something wildly pointless, it’s more than likely due to that. Don’t give it too much mind.”

“Souls…?” You bid. “How… how exactly does that work?”

“It’s like…” He stops again, trying to think of a way to describe the experience. “Everyone has their own temperament. How they act, how they feel, their disposition towards others, that sorta stuff. It’s those things about your personality that… carry on with you when you’re dead. If you hadn’t noticed, I’ve got a particularly closer relationship with the deceased than most people, and because of that, their temperaments can sometimes… cloud my thoughts. As a point of personal sangfroid, I try to stay more reserved in most of my social interactions, but… at times, I can end up acting more like the souls around me than my own self. Recently that Gorg guy, you know the dead Time Mage? He’s been getting anxious. Wasn’t too big on the weird tree gnome joining the group, so low and behold, neither was I.”

“You’re seriously influenced… by souls...? That doesn’t sound right.” You mutter to yourself. It’s been so long since you’ve had a chance to think your plans over, now that you’ve had a moment to review your circumstances, it feels like everything’s changed on you. Like nothing’s fitting in place in your grand scheme anymore. Amvinn’s situation is only part of what’s been bugging you about this, but it only furthers your theory about that players in the Arena. Something is very incorrect with the Godtiers here…

“Feh.” Amvinn sneers. “Sorry I don’t measure up to your standards.”

“No, no, I don’t mean-… Seers aren’t usually like that. Influenced by their aspects, I mean.” You say to him. “That’s more of a Maid thing, maybe even a Mage thing, but definitely not a Seer thing.” Without giving your explanation any mind, Amvinn waves you off, turning back to the camp.

“Sure. Whatever.” He huffs, continuing to ignore what you’re trying to tell him. “Look, if you really want to know if you can trust the walking pincushion, just go talk to him. That’s my two credits on it anyways. I’m going back to sleep now, so please, for the love of whatever human gods you pray to, keep the emotional meltdowns to a minimum.”

Talk to him? What? People don’t talk anymore, that shit’s for nerds! If you want to figure out if someone is cool or not, you just silently cohabitate the same social spaces as them until you can get a read on their vibe. Pff, talk to him. What is this, the 1800’s? Nah, you’ll just passively wait for somebody more adept at reading people to figure out if he’s trustworthy. And if it turns out he was an enemy spy the entire time, well… you’ll cross that bridge when you get there, you guess.

Or maybe you should listen to your Seer’s guidance, Boss. What, Amvinn? Yeah, you’d hardly call his little piece of advice ‘guidance’. More like a half-hearted couples-counseling tip. Okay, but it’s a solid tip. There’s a reason people say communication is key. Key to what? Having another awkward conversation with some weird kid? Nooo thank you. Besides, what would that even accomplish? Boss… as the Seer of Heart, wouldn’t he know the best course of action to discover a soul’s true intentions? W-… yeah, you guess, but come on! Why do you have to be the one who does everything around here? Someone else can pick up the slack, can’t they?… Hello?… Wait a minute, who were you just talking to…?

Aaah, fine! Whatever! You’ll go talk to the damn kid! If it means you won’t have any more voices popping up in your brain, sure, you’ll listen to Amvinn's advice and talk to him. It can’t be any worse than your last midnight pow-wow with someone from your team… at least, you hope… Fuck. You head over to Frank.

“Hey.” You announce yourself. The young boy looks up with a shocked expression, seemingly surprised by the sudden company.

“Oh! H-hello.” He says back in earnest. An awkward silence rises between you and him as he stares at you for a moment longer than feels comfortable. After thoroughly weirding you out, Frank goes back to blankly staring off at the plateau out a ways behind your camp.

“What are you doing out here Frank?” You ask, seeing that he probably isn’t going to say anything else besides ‘Hi’.

“Just… enjoying the scenery. I’ve never seen a place like this before. I want to remember it, in case I don’t come back.” He explains.

“Ah… I see.” You unskillfully observe. “Um… You mind if I join you then?” He nods his head vigorously while still looking off in the distance. With a healthy amount of reservation, you sit down next to him and try to relax. “Never been to a place like this, you said?”

“That’s correct. I grew up in a city. In the industrial complex, so I’ve never seen a landscape like this in person.” Frank elaborates while mindlessly ripping tufts of grass from the ground. “I traveled a lot, but only ever to metropolis areas. The climate and terrain here is much more like Subsaharan Africa… and I’ve never been to Africa.” He seems almost hypnotized with the scenery as he talks.

“Is that so?” You ask, beginning to loosen up around the kid. Frank’s certainly got a few quirks about him, but he doesn’t seem all that bad. Certainly doesn’t seem like he’s plotting anything. “You wanted to visit Africa, then?”

“Not particularly. My mother did, though.” He explains, sounding like his head’s in the clouds. “She had planned an expedition there and wanted me to brush up on the wildlife and different regional climates. The trip… fell through, unfortunately.”

“Bad luck?” You ask, grabbing Frank’s full attention for a second time. He looks at you, studying your face as he tries to comprehend what it is you’re asking.

“Of a sort, you could say.” He nods before turning back to stare out into space.

“Well, if Africa wasn’t your cup of tea, was there anywhere else you wanted to go?” Seeing more emotion come across his face since the conversation started, Frank’s expression is suddenly exuberant with some long-forgotten dream, leaving him smiling, ear to ear.

“The Americas. More than anything.” He answers with a joyful tune, looking down at the dirt as he smiles at the thought.

“America?” You mimic, questioning what’s got him so excited. “Well… America’s a pretty big place. Anywhere specific? Like California? New York, Chicago maybe, or…?”

“Salar de Uyuni.”

“So de wha?”

“The White Desert of Bolivia, the largest salt flat on earth. They say that after it rains there, the plains are transformed into a gigantic mirror with a reflective ability so fantastic, being there would be like standing in an ocean made of sky! I’ve only ever seen pictures… But there was nowhere else I wanted to go more!” A quiet chuckle escapes his lips as he sighs, happily. Yet after a moment of gleeful reminiscing, the smile on his face begins to die down, waning as something clouds his mind. “But, then, you know… the world ended, and… I guess so did Salar de Uyuni, too.” His eyebrow furrows and he looks back down at the ground again, tearing out grass from the dirt in a much more frustrated manner this time.

“H-hey, I’m sure, uh, Solar de Uni and all its salt is perfectly fine. Meteors were only supposed to hit where players initiated their Suburb sessions… I-I think.” You tell him, trying to lighten his mood. “I doubt anyone was playing Sburb out in a salt desert. No players, no meteors, right? It probably didn’t even get touched in the apocalypse!”

“You think so?” He seems to legitimately ask, looking you dead in the eye.

“Y-…yeah. Yeah! In fact, I’m sure of it!” You say, a little more confident this time, letting Frank smile again. A moment passes where the two of you sit in silence, enjoying in the collective hope that some random desert survived the meteor-beating Earth got all those years ago. This moment ends, however, when Frank’s expression sours once again.

“…Jason?” You look over at him, but he keeps his attention off into the distance. “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure, man. Anything.” You nod.

“I lied.”

“…What?” The statement catches you off guard, to say the least. The way he speaks is so soft-spoken and calm, you barely register what he said at first. Once you do, though, a flash of every possible outcome to the situation you’ve found yourself in plays out in your head. As your mind drifts towards the worst-case scenarios, your hand instinctively begins to open your strife deck.

“When we met. I lied.” Shit… You really didn’t want Amvinn to be right about this.

“Lied about what?” You ask as your entire body tenses up, and you mentally prepare to Mice and Men this situation in the bud.

“It’s not just Frank…” He tells you with a pained look of shame.

“Huh?”

“My name. It’s not just Frank, but… but I’m not supposed to say my full name.” What is he… wait, is he saying he lied about not having a last name? Back when you first met? You remember him saying it was only Frank back at the cave, you just figured he was trying to be mysterious.

“Uh, why aren’t you supposed to say your full name?” You ask, growing more and more confused with this conversation. You get him not wanting to give away his identity for privacy reasons, but he’s acting like it’s some taboo transgression to even hint at his government name. With a mope, Frank looks to his side, avoiding your eye contact and making it clear he doesn’t want to answer. “Frank… why aren’t you allowed to say your name?”

“It’s because… my mother… hmbrumbub…” He starts to mumble.

“What was that?”

“It’s because my mother… doesn’t like it when I say that we’re related.” He finally admits.

“W-what?!” You stammer, still trying to work through what he just said.

“She says it gives her name a-… a bad name.” He explains.

“Holy fuck…” You mutter, leaning back. “What a bitch!”

“N-no!” He quickly exclaims, like he’s shocked at what you said. “She was right… She’s the most amazing person I know. Having me attached to her name was… an embarrassment.” He says more to himself than to you. “I don’t know many people, so saying she was the most amazing isn’t really saying all that much at all, but… but still! There wasn’t anything she couldn’t do if it struck her fancy. She was a great person, so… so you shouldn’t call her such words, p-please.”

“Frank, it shouldn’t matter how great she is, that’s still a terrible thing to say to someone.” You try to reason with him, watching as he shakes his head in quiet dismission. “Aren’t you… pissed… or something? Disowning your own son, that’s… that’s a horrible thing to do to a kid.” He turns to you with sorrow filled eyes, looking to you like a lost child. Which you suppose he technically is.

“She gave me life… I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her.” He says, his voice hoarse with heartache as he tries to carry an upbeat tune. Whatever relationship Frank had with his mother, it’s obvious he’s got some complicated feelings about it.

“But… doesn’t it bother you?”

“I was confused… at first. Although, it’s not hard to see why people wouldn’t want to associate with me.” As Frank shares his woes, the young boy traces over the stitches decorating his forearm with an idle two digits. “Even when I was young, I was aware of how off-putting my appearance was for people. All the other kids would run away when they saw me, and I’d get stared at when I went outside by the older folk. Mom would too if she was with me.”

“How long have you, ya know… looked like that?” You ask, not sure how to put it. You’re unsure if his scars are a sensitive subject for him or not.

“For as long as I can remember.” He faintly laughs.

“Was there some sort of accident?” You quizzically followup. For as light-hearted as Frank seems, you can’t help but feel like you’re walking through a minefield asking questions like these. For some reason, though, you think it’s a good idea. For the most part, Frank seems to let most things roll off his back.

“There was, but Mother would never say what had happened.” He softly shrugs. “I know it was something hard for her, though. She’d mumble about it being her fault while she slept… how she regretted ‘those stitches’. I think it had something to do with my heart problems.” You close your eyes and let out a sigh. You aren’t built for this level of trauma-dumping. This whole night has just been you giving out emotional support you aren’t qualified to give. Christ, where’s Sara when you need her?

“So.” You finally say after a quick contemplation. “Out with it then. What’s your actual name?” He waits a long time, still debating if he should actually say it or not.

“…Franklin Victoria.” You pause again, mulling over the name. Then, extending a hand out to him, you offer Frank an Acquainting Shake, officially welcoming him to your group with a traditional sign of intra-species camaraderie. At least you think Intra-species… could be Inter, though. He eagerly grabs hold with both of his own hands. Not shaking, just holding firmly. You have to pull away after a moment, pushing forwards a half-forced smile.

“Nice to formally meet you, Franklin Victoria.” You tell him. His smile grows even larger. “Well, uh… don’t stay up much longer. We’ve got another long day tomorrow.” Looking to quickly end the dialog, you get up with a swiftness and start to head back to the camp.

“Are we friends?!” Frank bursts, practically throttling your attention back to him.

“Uh, y-yeah, man.” You tell him, not entirely sure if you mean it. You don’t want to just shut him down, especially since he just opened up to you a moment ago, but you did just meet him only a day ago. That’s a little quick to be declaring friendship, at least you think. Frank turns back around and lets out a quiet squeal to himself. You… uh… you just head back to camp.

Getting back to the rock crevice you were sleeping in, you see Amvinn spun out on that bed he stole, completely passed out. You pick up a pebble from the ground and bounce it off his head as you walk past, rousing him from his sleep in a fit.

“Told you we could trust him.” You say in transit.

“Wha- Every Time!” He yells, shoving his face back into his pillow.

You reach your sleeping patch and slowly crouch down to crawl into the small indentation in the rock formation. Gretel is still curled up in a ball, like how you left her. You carefully, but enthusiastically throw yourself into the small grass bed you’d put together when you first set up camp, mindful not to wake the grey gecko next to you. Your eyes slam shut and you’re on your way to dreamland. That is, you would be, if not for the audible sound of someone stepping through dry grass. Swishing and swaying, the mysterious strider inevitably finds their way to your small cove, lingering at the foot of your patch. It appears you have another nighttime discussion in your future. God damn it.

“Jason?” You hear Sara call as she invades into your domain, poking your cheek to check if you’re awake. You open your eyes and see a concerned look on her face. “Could I have a word?” You sigh, getting back up from your grass bed, coming to terms that you and sleep were just never meant to be. You see Amvinn’s head poking out from the side of his bed, sticking his tongue out at you, the bastard.

“Sure.” You breathe out. Sara flops down on the ground next to you, sitting criss cross at the mouth of your mini-cave. You turn to the side to face her. “What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to voice some concerns about recent developments.” She says with a motherly tone as she crosses her arms.

“Look, I already talked with Frank, everything’s been sorted.” You preemptively try to tell her.

“Wait, what?” She cocks her head to the side. “Did Frank do something I should be worried about?”

“N-no, it's just-… W-what was it that you need?” You’re really feeling the weight of exhaustion at this point.

“I’m sorry to bother you about this, but I’m a little bit worried about the logistics of this whole ordeal we’re going through.” As Sara speaks, she seems careful to keep her voice at a quiet volume, glancing every now and then back to the sound asleep camp. “I know we’re going off to find a Heir, but I guess I just don’t quite get why?”

“Well… basically, he’ll be the one pitching our escape idea to the other recruits. Like a PR Rep for the team. Getting the people we need on board to help, convincing the more stubborn-in-their-ways types to join. Hell, I might even have him use his powers to mellow out the more uppity players going around the Arena, if he’s got that sort of kit, that is.” You explain, trying not to drift off into sleep mid-conversation.

“Isn’t that… mind control?” She cautiously asks.

“I guess that depends on how the Heir or Mind developed their power. If they have a more dominating personality, then yeah, their abilities might end up being more forceful in nature. If they’re the passive sort, it could be that they’re just good at debating and persuading. Honestly, we’ll have to work with what we can get.”

“Wouldn’t that be morally wrong, though? I-if it is mind control?” The concern in her voice is lost on you, too distracted with your own exhaustion.

“Does it matter? We do what we have to or we die, our hands are kind of tied on this.” You say through a yawn. “We’ll have all the time to ponder the morality of our actions when we’re enjoying our cruise out of this hell-hole.”

“What if-…” She chews on her thought for a moment. “What if they turn on us? If they can control other people’s minds, couldn’t they control ours? What’s stopping them once everything is said and done from enslaving us all to do what they want?”

“I’m sure there’s someone in the Arena who can be our failsafe for something like that. Maybe like… the Prince of Mind or something? I don’t know, I’ll have to look over the roster a few times. I’m not too worried about it. Everyone here’s got a weakness. Everyone. It’s like some rock-paper-scissors tier bullshit.” Despite trying to ease Sara’s worries, you can see where she’s coming from. Being mutinied never really crossed your mind, but with the amount of power hungry a-holes running around, the chances of that happening are probably larger than you’d feel comfortable with. Especially if you’re going to be leaving on a ship. Pretty much every mutiny in history has taken place on a ship!

“Okay, so we find that person who can keep the Heir in check. What if they still try to take over? Then our contingency plan has to take out the team’s recruiter, and suddenly we don’t have anyone to keep everyone else in line and no one will want to join anymore. The whole plan would be in chaos! What would we do then?” There’s a sort of underlying franticness lacing her voice, as she begins to panic at her own hypothetical. Again, you don’t really take notice. You’re tired, after all.

“Wing it, probably.”

“Jason.” She says in her disappointed-mother-voice. You glance over and see she has a legitimate look of worry on her face.

“You okay, Sara?” You ask, finally realizing something is wrong as you fully wake back up.

“No I am not okay!” She says in the most serious tone she has. “I get that I might sound uptight right now, but we <b>should</b> be uptight. Things are scary right now, and I feel like we should be a lot more worried about our plans going wrong than we currently are.“ You pause for a moment. What she just said reminds you of something. That's right... Breath Players aren’t the nervous type.

“Yesterday, before Dallra contacted us, you had said it was second nature for you to get caught up in the details when stressed out, didn't you?” You ask her.

“That's not what this is.” She dismisses, thinking you’re trying to write her off.

"No, I mean-..." You sigh, thinking of a better way to put your feelings into words. "Some-... Something’s been on my mind lately, you just reminded me about it, is all.” A long silence passes before she says anything. 

“Well? Are you going to say what?” She asks.

“Oh, um… sure! Nobody’s ever asked me about my theories before.” You whisper to yourself. “Since we've been traveling together as a team, I’ve noticed something strange about the Arena lately. People aren’t acting right.” Sara opens her mouth to say something, but quickly shuts it again to think through what you just said. She looks at you skeptically, squinting with confuzzlement.

“Not acting right?” She parrots.

“Everyone in the Arena has a Class and an Aspect, right? Time, Breath, Page, Sylph, Mythological Roles and all that.” You say, going into the finer details of your observations. “Each of those combinations has a sort of expected perimeter for the personality tied to it. Breath players will generally take things easy, but a Knight of Breath is way more gung-ho about taking it easy than say a Mage of Breath would be. Time players tend to involve themselves in music, but the Sylph of Time will like a soothing melody while the Prince of Time might prefer death metal. And so-on and so-forth with notable degrees of distinguished separations all the way down.”

“How do you know all this?” Sara questions, fascinated yet still dubious of your revelations.

“Back on Lokat, I had found all these secret libraries tucked away in the catacombs! Each one dedicated to a different Aspect.” You recount to her, reminiscing fondly on the memory yourself. “Arranged within, they each had twelve Compendiums belonging to the varying player Classes. I spent days reading through all of them. Learning about the different arrays of possible powers we could have, what everyone’s journey back on their Land might’ve been like, the branching paths that would become available to us as we grew into our Mythological Roles and the general dispositions we’d have once we fully matured. It’s actually where I got this whole escape idea from. After finding out about the types of people in the Arena, I was certain we could do just about anything with the right combination of powers.”

“Soooo everyone’s wrong because we aren’t acting like these old books say we should?” Sara surmises.

“Yes!” You exclaim. “It’s like, everything in the Compendium series is just… off, in some way or another. Like no one’s acting like someone with their Title should.”

“Maybe those books you found were outdated?” She suggests with an emphatic shrug and a crooked grimace.

“I’m not sure it works like that.” You disagree. “Titles aren’t defined by their holders. Holders receive the Titles they best fit in, but with everyone in the Arena, it’s just… wrong! Like they got the wrong title.” It’s frustrating trying to put everything that’s been at the back of your mind into words all at once. “I didn’t know it at the time, but when I first entered the Arena, I met a Troll, Finlus. A Bard of Blood. A destroyer class that acts through those around him. He should’ve been hacking at the bit to team up with someone, but he just went off on his own with barely a goodbye. A-and back on Lokat, Esspin helped me summon the Hope Train, but a Mage is supposed to act through their Aspect, not manifest it within those around them the way she did. And just a moment ago as well! Amvinn told me he didn’t have any powers until he god tiered. None at all! And that he was susceptible to being influenced by the souls of the dead. Influenced! Like the Maid classes! While we’re on that, even Mia isn’t right. A fully realized Maid stops being controlled by their Aspect, but all her actions before that run-in with the Thief, she was like a wild dog snapping at anything offered to it, even a helping hand!”

“And me?” Sara asks. You pause a moment, thinking of the gentlest way to inform your Sylph friend of her miscalibrations, before opening up your sylladex. Catalog # 30, section 15x2, Right Left Left Right. You reach the item-node in your Maze Modus and appearing on your inventory screen is your trusty Digital Scribe Archive. Retrieving the device from subspace storage, you begin scrolling through the database of Compendiums you scanned in what seems like an eternity ago, eventually stopping when you come across the topic in question; the Sylph of Breath. You clear your throat.

“An oxymoron to their core, yet never unbalanced or bogged down with the minor details. Freedom in the face of obligation. To compare the Sylph of Breath to a careless leaf set free on the wind would be both an absolute analogy and a disservice to those they cherish. They sow the wind and heal the weary with its zephyr. A maiden with her head in the Clouds and her companions held close to her heart; as any true Sylph of Breath would be.” You read off the opening paragraph. “Nothing about anxious micromanaging.”

“Alright then, Mr secret-book-knowledge, what about you?” Sara says with a huff, seemingly offended by the idealized version of herself you’ve described. “What do these Compendium things say about you?”

“Don’t know.” You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly.

“Wha?”

“Mine was blank.” You explain simply.

“Blank?” She asks back.

“Nothing on the pages.” You explain further. “I’m not sure if I was supposed to fill it out myself or what, but there wasn’t anything to read.”

“That’s certainly… bizarre.” Sara hums as she anxiously taps the ground with the side of her foot.

“Yeah, I guess.” You say, glancing behind you to check on Gretel. Still fast asleep, curled up and snuggling that backpack of hers.

“Maybe you aren’t allowed to read your own book?” She suggests. “Like it’s against the rules or something.”

“Rules, huh?” You let the word sit in your craw for a moment. “Doesn’t matter too much, I guess. Point is, nothing feels right. Like everyone is crooked or… unhealthy.”

“Un-healthy?” She skeptically mimics.

“Like they didn’t develop into their Title properly. O-or like they’ve grown outside the parameters of their Mythological Role’s definition. Maybe they were rushed on their journey, maybe something happened that knocked them off track, but whatever it was, it left them… Unhealthy.”

“What does that mean for us?”

“Nothing good.” You sigh. “I thought the Compendium Series was our ace in the hole, but if the Godtiers here all didn’t develop into their Titles properly, that throws a wrench into things. If they don’t have the right personalities, who’s to say they don’t have the correct powers either?”

“And if we don’t know who can do what, then we don’t know who to look for, for the team?” She asks, seeming to fully empathize with what’s been bogging down your mood lately. “Then… what do we do?”

“Wing it, probably.” You tell her again. She scowls. “Don’t worry, even if people aren’t acting like they should, there's more than enough potential motif combos out there that’ll make up for the Godtier discrepancies.” Thinking about it, you could likely create the powers you need artificially if you have enough people. You really only need One person to have the powers their Compendium promised for the plan to work. If they don’t, you’re pretty much screwed. You’d never tell your group that, though… “It might take a bit of luck, and it’ll definitely be harder to plan around others, sure… We’re just gonna have to roll with the punches, if and when they’re thrown.” She lets out a small breath of relief, seemingly reassured by your claims.

“Jason, be straight with me.” Sara tells you in her serious tone again. “Are you scared?” You look at her, unsure what level of honesty you should be displaying with your team. As the guy with the plan, you should be exuding an air of confidence, you think, but… Fuck it. Sara’d probably see through that anyways. You swallow that bit of pride and give the truth.

“Fucking terrified.” You tell her, leaning back against the rock and looking up at the dark void above you.

“Yeah, me too.” She agrees, leaning back on her hands and looking up at the sky with you. “But… I think we can pull it off.” Looking longer, you finally realize that there are actually stars in LOSAD’s sky that you hadn't noticed before. They’re at the very zenith of the heavens above, and you have to strain your eyes to see them, but… they’re there.

“…Yeah.” Unlike you, Sara’s actually capable of giving quality support. She’s a good friend…. Since you have her ear, you might as well tell her. She seems like she can keep a secret. “I haven’t seen myself around the Arena yet.” You confess. She looks at you quizzically, not quite understanding what you’re telling her. “Future versions of myself, I mean. From time traveling.”

“Is… that… a bad thing?” She asks.

“I’m not sure. Back in my session, I’d see myself everywhere, all at different points on my journey that I’d later find myself on.” You explain. “But here… it’s barren. No activity on the timeline whatsoever. No travel, forward or back. Even the other Time players have kept low profiles. It’s like all time shenanigans have been put on lockdown, with the only time manipulation being residential, like my Time Knots or the Prince back on the Forge fucking with local chronology.”

“If you’re worried about it, why don’t you try hopping through time to set your mind at ease? Maybe come back to this moment and confirm it for yourself!” She suggests. You shake your head.

“No go. Time runs a tight schedule. Unless I show up right now, giving myself the thumbs up that yes, there are still Casual Loops in effect on the timeline that I need to tend to, I’m staying right here.” You assert, dismissing the idea entirely. “If I go running around the timeline unsanctioned, who knows what sort of offshoots I could cause. We were sent here for doing shit like that to begin with, I don’t wanna know where you get sent to if this place isn’t enough of a deterrent.”

“Hmm. Well that sucks.” She grumbles, sympathizing with your anxiety. “Time travel sounds like a bunch of boring responsibilities when you put it like that.”

“I-… I guess they kind of are…” You admit more to yourself than to Sara, a heavy sense of defeat on your shoulders. Having bomb-ass time powers was kind of your whole identity for a while when you were first starting out on your journey. Everyone could do so much with their own powers so quickly, you couldn’t help but feel jealous at their progress. So when they asked you about your own, you had a tendency to make them sound cooler than they were. In actuality, you weren’t much more than a cosmic custodian, cleaning up the messes paradox space made of its timelines. It’s fucking embarrassing, remembering how you would coped with the reality of your abilities by verbosely paraded them around. It’s way beyond Ego Death, it’s practically an Ego Slaughter.

“Maybe this is a good thing, then.” Sara happily suggest.

“…How do you figure?”

“If time powers are just a burden, maybe having a break from them is a good thing?” She clarifies for you. “Like a nice vacation for when you’re burnt out!”

“…” You ponder her point for a moment. Maybe… maybe she’s right. Maybe shirking your responsibilities every now and then isn’t such a bad thing. “…There’s been so much to think about lately and I… I don’t really have all that many people I can talk to about this sort of stuff with. So… thank you.” She smiles brightly at you.

“I’m glad I can help you breathe a little easier, Jason.” Seeing that you’re done venting, Sara rises from the ground and waves a hand at you. “Night.” She chirps before heading back to her couch over by Mia’s puff chair.

Now alone, and without any more interruptions, you crawl into the nice indentation in the rock formation and lay your head back down in your grass bed creation. You’re asleep before your head can touch the ground. The tension in your body cuts loose and it feels like you’re floating off. You don’t think you’ve felt this relaxed since you were back on Earth, in your own bed. You… you miss those days.

 

***

 

There’s a soft vibration coming from below you. You try to put it out of your mind, but it’s too persistent to ignore. Like the very earth beneath you is trying to calmly rouse you from your sleep. Damn, guess you really aren’t getting any rest tonight. You open your eyes and… you’re somewhere new… Somewhere strange. The sky is no longer pitch black, rather replaced by a pale yellow, decorated by vibrant alabaster clouds. You sit up. No longer on the dim plains of LOSAD, you find yourself on a small wooden row boat, out in a sea of foam as white as the clouds above. You think you might be dreaming.

Taking in your surroundings, nothing stands out to you in your new environment, just an endless sea of clouds. Empty patches form in the foam on the water, allowing pockets of forest green liquid to poke through… Gross. The sea foam looks soft and fluffy, like if cotton were made of whip cream. Mmm… You might have to try throwing that combo into an Alchemiter next chance you get. Cotton might not be too hard to get a hold of, but whip cream’ll definitely be a tricky item to reproduce. Wait, why not just take some of this stuff with you and combine it with something sweet? That would probably spit out whip cream, right? If not something better. You grab a handful of the foam and captchalogue it. Hope Fluff, huh? What a weird name. But wait… if this is a dream, that means this stuff isn’t actually real. Dammit!… You’ve been fixing for something sweet ever since your cola supplies ran dry. Oh well. You take a lick of the froth remaining on your fingers, hoping to get a taste of the substance while you still can, and regret it almost instantly. Oh god, it’s so salty!

Feeling rather disgruntled by that unfortunate revelation, you go to stand up, but the boat’s too rocky to be upright on. You can barely get onto your hands and knees without feeling like you’re gonna capsize. Eventually you settle with sitting on one of the benches and finally let the boat calm. That soft vibration is still coming from under you, deep down below. You… you think something might be in the water. You look over the side, but there’s foam everywhere around the boat. You lean over a little further and start digging through the stuff, careful not to fall overboard. Once you’ve got a small pocket open, you try to look through, but the water’s too murky to make anything out. You strain your eyes, spotting a few vague shapes shifting around down below.

While you’re busy peering into the pocket in the foam, the distinct sound of something breaching the water comes from behind you, and you hear a snort of air, like an animal clearing the remaining mist from its nostrils. You feel cold drops of liquid falling down, thumping against your neck and back. A chill runs across the surface of your skin and you go completely stiff, trying desperately not to move an inch in some vain hope that whatever it is that just surfaces hasn’t spotted you yet.

“GREETINGS” An enormous voice rings throughout your skull. Slowly, you twist around to face the entity. Peeking out maybe ten feet up from the water is the head of a giant eel-looking monster. Mouth left agape and decorated with thousands of thin teeth, a giant ribbed fin running down the length of its spine, smooth green skin, darkest at its nape. It possesses two sets of eyes, the first forward facing, small and insectoid just above the bridge of its nostrils. The second, massive and fish-like, positioned on either side of its skull. It hovers directly above, neck hunched down to closer observe you with its smaller, beady eyes. It is pant-shittingly horrifying. “PAGE OF TIME; JASON”

You slam back down on the bench and grab hold the oars, paddling away from this thing as fast as you possibly can. You don’t get more than five or so feet from the creature when another head identical to the first breaches the water in your path, blocking your way.

Okay. There’s another one. Holy Fuck, Okay. You take it’s appearance in stride and change directions, desperately clinging to your ever narrowing chance of escape. Completely anticipating your evasion, a third head pops out of the water, creating a trio of identical sea-monsters that’ve surrounded you.

“oh no…” You mutter to yourself as all three heads begin to pincer in on you. They stop just short of crashing into your boat, close enough for you to feel their breath blow against your brow as they stare you down.

“BE AT EASE” The voice bombards your mind once more. “WE BEAR NO ILL INTENTIONS”

“W-what?” You peep, looking to the first head that surfaced, where this voice seems to emanate from. “What is this? W-w-what are you?!”

“I AM ██████████████████, YOU MAY ADDRESS ME AS ARNIMONEMUS.“ Unfortunately, the name of this beast seems to be beyond your comprehension, so you don’t quite catch it’s title. It’s strange. You heard what it said, at least you think you did, but your ears went numb as you tried to comprehend what it actually told you. A half moment of primal panic runs through you as you’re stricken with a small bout of vertigo, losing all sense of direction as your mind is sent in flux. You… don’t think you’d be physically able to recall what it just said, even if you wanted to. “YOU HAVE BEEN SUMMONED. HONOR OF THE UTMOST”

“Uh, utmost of what?” You ask it.

“THE UTMOST” A thunderous cacophony erupts into your brain as all three heads seem to speak in unison directly into your mind. The boat rocks ever so slightly as you jerk, bringing your hands up to cover your ears. It’s a frivolous and instinctual response, attempting to shield your eardrums. This monstrous uproar has no vibrations to be shielded from, being projected into your mind the way it is. Whatever these things are, they must be apart of the same body, the same whole. Like a hydra. Their body must be what’s down below the boat.

“Okay! O-o-okay, the utmost… Why… why was I summoned, then?” You ask as meek as a mouse. The thumping in your chest is like a burning engine, making it impossible to keep your hands from shaking. The terror rests itself at the bottom of your throat, and keeps you from looking directly at these things. You notice out of the corners of your eyes that the heads wriggle in unison at your question.

“YOU ARE A MOVER” The first head says.

“A-… yeah?” They don’t seem to get that you’re lost in what they’re implying. “W-what does that mean?”

“THERE ARE MANY PLAYERS ON THE BOARD” The first continues.

“PLAYERS OF ALL WALKS” The second adds.

“YOU ARE A MOVER OF FATE. PUTTING IN MOTION THE ACTIONS OF BOMBASTIC AND FANTASTIC EFFECT” The third finishes.

“So… you summoned me to tell me I’m a mover?” You ask, feeling lost in what you’re beginning to suspect is not a dream.

“THIS REALITY IS A MOLD OF PUTTY” The first says.

“MOLDING ITSELF TO RID ITSELF OF THE UNDESIRABLES” The second adds.

“YOU ARE THE UNDESIRABLES” The third finishes. You get kind of dizzy, bouncing your attention between heads.

“Reality? You mean Paradox Space?”

“FRIVOLOUS TITLES. THE BASE OF EXISTENCE DESERVES EQUATIVE TERMS” They all say in unison, blowing sea water into your face.

“Gah! Alright, alright! Equative terms! W-what does all this mean?” You ask, shakily wiping the water from your face.

“WE ARE A COSMOPATH. A BEING IN PURE MENTAL UNISON WITH REALITY” The first says.

“THESE CHANGES ARE AIMED TO ERADICATE YOU, BUT THESE SHIFTS ARE IN METAPHYSICAL REALITY TOO” The second adds.

“THEY ARE LIKE SCRAPING METAL UPON OUR MINDS. THEY WILL END US JUST AS THEY WILL END YOU” The third finishes.

“This is kind of a lot you’re throwing at me. You said there are changes? Like what?” You ask, trying to grasp everything that’s going on.

“A BARRIER OF TIME AND SPACE ENCAPSULATES THIS POCKET OF COHESION. NO ESCAPE, NO RETREAT, NO RETRACTIONS. ONLY ONE OUTCOME. ONLY ONE ESCAPES THEIR FATE”

“A BOUNTY OF STRENGTH GRANTED, A RESERVOIR FOR ALL TO DRINK FROM. EASIER TO KILL WITH. BODILY LIMITATIONS STRIPPED, MADE WEAPONS OF THEIR FLESH. EASIER TO LOSE CONTROL OF“

“SOULS LEFT MINDLESS TO WANDER THE OTHER SIDE, LEST THEY INTERFERE WITH THE AFFAIRS OF THE LIVING. OUT IS OUT AND DEAD IS DEAD”

“Time Barrier? Stripping Limitations? That’s crazy, it’d be total chaos out there!” You mutter to yourself, working through this new obstacle revealed to you. “With things like that happening so suddenly, then… then people would just start killing each other faster. Some people’s powers aren’t working while others are going haywire? No one can resurrect dead players because their soul’s wandered off? Cooperation would be next to impossible. I mean, how could you trust a total stranger under those sorts of conditions…? It’s going to be pandemonium.” Reality is changing itself in the Arena, trying to force everyone’s hand into cooperating with the Last-Man-Standing outcome. But if that’s true…“So these changes, they what? Cook your cosmic brain or something?”

“CORRECT” They say in unison. “OUR EXISTENCE RELIES ON NORMALITY, A CALM WATER TO BALANCE UPON. YOUR PRESENCE HERE INVITES WAVES UPON OUR EXISTENCE”

“Then what do I do?” You ask the giant reality sea monster, beginning to gain an air of confidence around it now.

“LEAVE” Their voice booms in your head, rattling your eyes and jittering your teeth. Whatever confidence you thought you had quickly vanishes again.

“ESCAPE. PERISH. WE CARE NOT, ONLY THAT YOU VACATE OUR HOME”

“W-wait, you didn’t summon me to help?” You’re getting more and more confused the longer this conversation goes on.

“INCORRECT. WE OFFER YOU THIS INFORMATION AS A FOREWARNING TO THE MALICIOUS NATURE OF THE SITUATION YOU FIND YOURSELF”

“PLEASE HURRY YOUR PLANS ALONG BEFORE REALITY RINDS US TOO GASEOUS AFTERTHOUGHT”

“IT IS IN BOTH YOUR AND OUR BEST INTEREST TO DO SO. ESCAPE WHILE YOU CAN AND LEAVE OUR DOMAIN IN PEACE”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll… I’ll try to hurry things up before it's too late.” You concede, finally getting the point of this whole ‘utmost summons’ thing.

“ACCEPTABLE” Satisfied with your answer, the heads pull away to allow you some breathing room, returning to their original space hovering a few feet above you. “YOUR SUMMONS HAS CONCLUDED. WE THANK YOU FOR YOUR COMPLIANCE IN OUR PLIGHT”

“W-wait!” You interject, trying to seize your opportunities where you can. “Before you send me back, you said I was a Mover of Fate or destiny or whatever. Are there any others in the Arena like me?”

“THERE ARE”

“Who are they? W-where are they?!” You frantically ask. If there are other people planning to escape this place, you could probably collaborate, right? It only makes sense you’d want to find one another.

“THERE IS ONE OTHER MOVER IN THIS POCKET”

“ROGUE OF LIFE; ROBIN. THEY RESIDE UPON THE LAND OF LABORS AND HARDSHIPS”

“THEY HAVE ALREADY BEEN SUMMONED AND HAVE BEGUN TO STREAMLINE THEIR ACTIONS”

“D-… do you think you could summon them again?” You ask, not sure if that would offend them or not. After all, summoning is only deserved of the Utmost. “Maybe we could get out of your hair even faster if we worked together.” There’s a pause, as none of the heads seem to have anything to say in return.

“WE BELIEVE THAT THIS WOULD NOT BE IN YOUR BEST INTEREST" They finally say.

“What…? Well, why not?!”

“YOU WISH TO CHEAT REALITY, AND LEAVE THIS POCKET ENTIRELY”

“THE ROGUE OF LIFE; ROBIN WISHES TO ENACT THE BLOOD RITUAL”

“YOUR COOPERATION WITH ONE ANOTHER IS NOT FEASIBLE”

“…blood ritual?” You repeat. “What is… Oh no… oh god damn it! That fucker is going for the win, aren’t they?! Fuck!” You guess you aren’t entirely sure what a Mover of Fate is exactly, or if there are any powers that come with the title, but this big sea monster seems to think it’s important. And if you’ve learned anything on your journey, it’s that you trust what giant monsters have to say. So if they think a Mover of Fate is important, it should probably go to show how screwed you are that the only other Mover besides yourself said fuck it, and is gonna try and kill their way out. It would seem you have your work cut out for you as a newly crowned Mover.

“CORRECT. IS THIS ALL YOU WISH TO KNOW”

“No! Why the hell did you summon them?! They’re gonna ruin everything!” You snap at the thing. None of the heads take noticeable offense.

“WE CARE NOT HOW YOU RIDE YOURSELVES FROM THIS POCKET”

“WE ONLY CARE THAT YOU ARE VACATED, AND THAT WE ARE SECURE IN OUR HARMONY. A MOVER HOLDS THE MOST POTENTIAL TO REMOVE THE UNDESIRABLES FROM THIS POCKET”

“YOU WISH TO ESCAPE, THEY WISH TO ENACT THE RITUAL. BOTH OF YOUR PLANS HOLD POTENTIAL TO EVACUATE THIS POCKET AND GIVE US OUR PEACE. THE QUICKEST SHALL PREVAIL”

“The quickest shall- mother fucker!” You exclaim, shooting up in the boat, not even so much as rocking the dingy this time. “You bastards! You expect us to break our backs saving your hide, but you couldn’t give a damn what happens to the rest of us?!” There’s a long pause with only the sound of light waves hitting the side of the boat to fill the silence. You take their hushed looks as a ‘yes’. “And what if I say fuck you and stop everything in it’s tracks? And all those ‘Undesirables’ stay exactly right-the-fuck where the fuck they are, and reality get to eat you for breakfast, just like us!” Almost as soon as you finish threatening the primordial water horror, the main head slowly leans in again, practically brushing up next to you, forcing you to sit back down in your boat. It brings the side of its face up to yours, so it can stare you dead in the eye with its larger set of oculars.

“THIS WOULD BE A VERY. POOR. DECISION.” A soft, but cutting voice echoes through your head.

“Um… right…” You manage to get out as you swallow down your fear. The head pulls back again, seemingly calmed by your quick compliance.

“MAKE HASTE, PAGE OF TIME; JASON. THERE IS ONLY SO MUCH TIME LEFT” They say one last time in unison as their heads descend back into the water, leaving you sitting alone in the boat once again.

You sit for a moment, dumbstruck and blankly staring out at the endless horizon, left demoralized by all that’s been dumped on your plate that you now have to deal with. Lethal changes in reality, a race between Movers with some Rogue you don’t even know, an unspeakably terrifying Sea Monster breathing down your neck to get your plan off the ground. God, it’s all so much! Gah!… Okay, okay, take a breath, you’re still operating on dream logic. Gotta get back to waking-brain logic before you start to unpack everything. You settle yourself and wait for your summons to complete and for this dream to end, but… nothing happens.

“Hey… Hey, come back!” You call to the long-departed creature, peaking over to the edge of the boat to look down into the water. “How do I get back to my team?!” Suddenly, a particularly large wave washes by and rocks your vessel to the side, flipping you off into the water. The sudden submerging sends you into a frenzy! You panic. Flailing randomly, frantically, desperate to find the surface. This isn’t exactly dignifying. Perhaps you should just Wake Up, then?

 

Jason, Wake Up.

Notes:

Happy Valentines Day everyone! May your local Blood Player bless you and your Quadrants!

Chapter 24: > A Snag in the Plan

Notes:

Happy 4/13 to all practicing Homestucks out there!

You wake with a start, gasping for breath and trying to force the non-existent sea water out of your lungs. You shoot forward, slamming your head on the rock overhead. Now you’re drowning, AND your face hurts! The absolute worst combination. You lurch to the side, falling to the grass and grasp at the ground to hold on to something solid in these trying times.

You look around, getting a grasp on your on your surroundings while continuing to hyperventilate. You’re back on the Land of Savanna and Dusk, or… you never left? Was that… really just a dream?

“Hey.” You hear. You adjust your attention to the person standing in front of you. It’s Amvinn. “The hell is wrong with you? What’re you screaming about?”

“N-… nothing. Just a bad dream.” You sputter, still gasping for breath and rubbing your forehead. “Sorry for waking you.”

“Huh? No, I was already awake.” He brushes off.

“Oh. I wasn’t… giving off too much emotion residue or whatever it is you see, was I?”

“You weren’t really giving off any emotions. Kinda thought you died in your sleep, that or some soul-snatcher snatched your soul in the middle of the night.” He tells you. A chill runs up your back. “I checked your pulse to see if you were okay, and it seemed fine. I mean, I’m not too familiar with human biology, but I assume a pulse means you aren’t dead. And hey, look at that. Still alive. Congrats, you emotional roulette wheel.” You stop listening half way through, your attention becoming occupied with searching through your inventory. Surely it wouldn’t still be there… Holy Shit.

Section 5x11, Catalog #55; Hope Fluff. That sea foam remained in your inventory. You truly were spirited away last night. Completely separated from this place.

“Hey! What is it?” Amvinn asks, snapping in your face.

“Huh?”

“You’re giving off heaps of Panic.” He informs you. “What’s happened?”

“We… might be in deeper shit than we thought…” You admit, trying not to make too big of a deal out of this. Amvinn folds his arms in a bitter impatience.

“Explain.” He demands. You sigh, preparing for the dumb shit you’re about to say.

“Last night, or just now, I guess, I was astrally summoned to an ocean of clouds by a… a giant three headed sea monster. They told me Paradox Space is trying to kill us… even more than it already is. Actively modifying reality with cosmic pitfalls and logistical entrapments that’ll leave everyone in the arena with no other options but to kill one another.” You explain. Amvinn looks at you dumbfound, as if unsure of whether you’re fucking with him or not.

“Your thinkpan rusted or something?” He more or less sneers. He doesn’t believe you, not that you blame him.

“They said… they said that souls are being left mindless so they get lost in the afterlife!” You exclaim, perking up. “You can confirm it, then. Where’s Greg right now?”

“The red guy? Well he’s, uh… he’s…” Amvinn looks about the savanna, casually searching for the red guy in question, before more rapidly twisting around, still searching for the missing soul. “Huh, I’m sure he’s around here somewhere. He was still lurking about when we arrived at the zephyr harvester planet. Where the hell is he?”

“See!” You say, backhandedly slapping him on the shoulder. “He’s probably off aimlessly wandering somewhere, like all the other souls now.”

“Okay, run it by me again, what’s happening to the dead Godtier souls?” He asks, still looking about the place with a growing concern on his face. You guess he’s still trying to find Greg?

“They said… out is out and dead is dead. Paradox Space wants us dead, so maybe lobotomizing all the souls lowers the chances of them resurrecting somehow.” Amvinn’s now progressed from looking to frantically searching the landscape. Suddenly, he juts up and runs off without another word. Okay, maybe he really wants to find Greg…? “Ah- g-good talk… I guess.” You say to him as he goes running off. What’s up with that guy?

You lay back and think about everything you've learned from that summoning. All the souls will be left adrift, huh? That’s kinda fucked up, although maybe mindlessly running around this place is a better fate than drifting around in void-soup with the Horrorterrors for all eternity. It always sends a chill through you thinking about all the other You’s that are out there in the dark. That monster, Arnimonemus, wasn’t it? They said there were more changes besides the soul-nerf as well, something about a dome and power buffs?

This isn't looking good. Arnimonemus only told you about three changes in the Arena, but what if those are only three so far? Should you be expecting more of these little alterations to keep popping up as time goes on? What if there are other mix-ups at play in all this? Hell, there might even be dozens other reality-level alterations that the damn water-horror doesn’t even know about! This is a lot to try and sort out. Okay, just take it one bit at a time, then. What is it that you already know? Arnimonemus said that the Arena… was encapsulated by a dome of time and space, but what does that mean? You hold your hand out in front of your face.

“It couldn’t be…” A faint glow illuminates from your palm as your temporal travel warms up. You haven’t activated a Time Jump since you arrived in the Arena, too hesitant to try without the express instruction of your future self, but surely you can still activate a leap forward or back, can’t you? It’s just like Sara said, test it out just to see if you can. Your entire forearm strains as you attempt to activate the jump. Five minutes into the future, a quick there and back, simple. Alright, here it goes… right… about… now!…Fuck! It feels like all the muscles in your arm are collapsing!

As you feared, you physically can’t access the time flow. There seems to be a gridlock on temporal moment, save for usual linear (1sec=1sec) movement forward. Perhaps to keep players from withdrawing from the arena via traveling back in time, or maybe to limit their ability to retroactively effect events, or maybe some third reason, you don’t know, fuck! This is so fucked! What else can you expect Paradox Space to throw at you? As if the deck isn’t already shit-house stacked against you as is!

Alright, come on Jason. Calm it down. This isn’t so bad. You weren’t even going to use your time travel unless you were told to by a future self, and now that you can’t, your future self won’t ever tell you to, so what’s the difference anyways? Try to look on the bright side, at least all of the time players are on an even playing field with the timeline. At least you’re not at a disadvantage on that front. And hey, Arnimonemus said you’d be getting a boon in power. How about you test that out, take your mind off things.

You bring your hand up again, readying another ability. Full Time Stop. Everything around you halts in a sea of gray, remaining this way for twelve seconds before the world comes back to life. Usually, you're only able to hold that in five second bursts, with a considerable duration-decay-rate after the second use. Now it feels like you could rapid fire these Time Stops non-stop. Next up; Time Dilation. You rev up your temporal juice and feel the world around you slow. With the power boon, your new personal best is (20 sec. your time =1 sec. local time). Previously, the highest you could get it up to was (10 sec. your time =1 sec. local time), but you usually pass out after three uses. Hot damn! Okay, what next? How about; Time Knot. Full Hour snare at max output. You can even manage a 3x multi snare at 17 minute increments each. Who knows how many second long snares you can summon at once. And last but not least; Checkpoint. Huh, according to your Resource Hub, you can keep checkpoints after you activate them, so your one in the cave on LOPAW is still active. You can also keep multiple at a time. Apparently you’ve still got one active back in your old session. You don’t really want to know what’ll happen if you try and activate it though. You remember the last time you forced yourself through the timeline running from the Heir of Rage. Practically tore you asunder, and that was only trying to go back in time. Paradox Space seems pretty keen on keeping you in the Arena, so you’re pretty sure it’d outright kill you if you tried to jump out of the contending. Well anyway, that should be all of it-… Complete Close Off. …What the hell is that? You’ve never seen that power before… and there’s more? Dilation Close Off. Time Restore. Damage Turn-Back. Damage Pause. Off-Branch Summons. Local Time Summons. Off-Branch Jump. Time-Capsule Jump. Time Displacement. Loose Ends Knot. Infinity Knot. Fate Cries Foul. W-what is all this? None of these abilities were in your Skill Menu's Ability Index before now, let alone your Godtier Development Tree. It’s like you just received an entirely new power-kit all together! You don’t even know how to activate any of these… You guess this is all a part of the power boon, then? There was a second part to that warning wasn’t there? Something about Limiters being stripped away? God, that conversation is like a fog in your head now, like trying to remember that finer details of a dream you’re starting to forget.

If it’s true that your limits were taken away, it’s reasonable to believe you could end up using your powers in unconventional ways, or in moments where you physically can’t fulfill the energy requirements of your abilities. Maybe that’s why you were able to take Dallra with you through your checkpoint, and why you did so much damage to yourself just by using it. You must have gone past your normal limitations, and without your natural limiter, you were free to cause all the recoil damage you wanted. And the Gridlock on the timeline must’ve been what slingshot you back to the present. Then there’s the Space aspect to consider, regarding the Dome around the arena. How has it manifested? Is there something physically encapsulating the Arena, or is it more metaphysical like the lock on time? You’ll have to talk with the others about all this at some point.

You get up and stretch out. For a bed made of dry grass, your sleeping patch was surprisingly conformable. You still wish you snagged something soft to sleep on before you left, though.

“Jason!” You hear someone call to you. Glancing over, you see Mia walking up to you. “Good morning.” She seems in a chipper mood, especially with how you left her last night. “Er- well, I guess morning isn’t really a thing here, haha.”

“What’s up?” You ask her as she plants her feet with a skip in front of you.

“Nothing much. Everyone is wondering when we’re going to get going.” She informs you.

“Oh! I hadn’t realized I’d slept in so late.” You softly chuckle, trying not to let on that you’ve got a head full of problems. “If everyone’s ready to go, let’s hit it then.”

“I’ll go tell them! Don’t drag your feet too much!” She chirps before turning heel and trotting off. She’s… really up beat today. You check your surroundings to make sure you aren’t leaving anything behind that might leave a trail. You think you’re good, so you work your way around the giant rock to the main path you've been following. On your way, you see Amvinn off in the fields, still frantically looking about. Is he still searching for Greg?

“Haugrr! Seriously, dude, where the hell are you?” You hear him muttering to himself.

“Hey, Amvinn! Hurry up, we’re heading out!” You call over to him, prompting him to dart his attention on you, looking your way from over his shoulder.

“…shit!” He says before quickly walking your way, still looking from side to side. You join him and group up with everyone.

“Alright Dallra. Lead the way.” You say, joining her at the head of the pack.

“Man, it’s so weird waking up to a dark sky, isn’t it?” You hear Sara ask Amvinn.

“Y-yeah, totally. So weird.” He agrees, sounding as if he’s not even listening to her. You glance over your shoulder at him and see he’s still eyeing every direction, looking for something. Dude is seriously tweaking…

“Actually,” Esspin speaks up, joining the conversation. “Trolls are creatures of the night by nature. Most of us can’t endure the brutal heat of the daytime. I’m not sure why Amvinn would agree with that statement...”

“Yeah… why would he do that…” Amvinn says, making it clear he isn’t paying attention. You’ll have to keep an eye on him.

“Anyway…” You say, bringing the attention to yourself. “Best get this show on the road. If we can, I wanna shave an hour or two off this next go at it.” Looking over your group as you all begun to embark upon this journey once more, an anxious jitter begins to infect your movement, as Arnimonemus’s warning echoes through your mind. ‘There is only so much time left.’

 

***

 

For the past few hours, it’s been unusually talkative in your group. You aren’t sure what’s got everyone so chatty all of a sudden, but it’s starting to get on your nerves. Sure, walking in silence might seem boring, but is it too much to ask for at least a little time to think?

“And so then he tells me to hand over my Lusus or it’s both our hides.” Esspin says from the rear of the group. She’s been recounting tales from back on troll world, when she was a vagabond or something. From what you listened in on, it sounds like a fucking circus. Ironic, that she was wearing clown paint when you first met her. She’s not wearing it now, though, for some reason, so you think that was just some strange alien clown phase she was going through at the time.

“So what did you do?” You hear Sara ask.

“Oh, nothing too unreasonable. Just introduced the bridge of his scentreceptacle with the stalk of my rifle.” She slyly responds.

“But weren’t there four of them?!” Mia exclaims in a mixture of shock and amazement.

“What’s a ‘scent receptacle’?” Frank mutters to himself.

“Please, blue bloods are all talk.” She snickers. “In fact, it’s actually easier to get them to quiet down when they’re in groups. If you put the pack-leader in their place, the rest fall in line. It’s a simple pecking-order maneuver, really.”

“I’m surprised they took a swing at you to begin with.” Dallra says, glancing back at them. “Even in a group, Ceruleans know better than to go poking at an Indigo, even if they’re alone… especially if they are alone.”

“You’d be surprised how many lowbloods weren’t phased by the blood caste. Amvinn here looked a praisehive full of Indigos in the face every single day and didn’t so much as blink. We did, you know… try to kill him, eventually, but that was more of a resource thing, not a cultural thing.”

“Hm. Either way, you purples are a scary bunch.” Dallra shrugs.

“Anyways,” Esspin awkwardly carries on. “I let them off with a quick lesson on respecting wandering vagabonds and they ran off. Does anyone else have-“

“Hey, Dallra? Can I get an estimate on our arrival time?” You ask, interjecting before anyone can start on another hour long story.

“Oh, umm…” She says, dawning a concentrated face. “Actually, we’re only about five minutes out. Thanks for the reminder.”

“No problem.” You sigh a breath of relief, seeing that no one is attempting to pick the conversation back up again. You guess a reminder of the mission got them on edge, not that you mind. The quiet is a nice change.

“This is it.” Dallra says as you reach the end of a path. Arriving at the portal temple, you're met with several long, angular rocks all resting on one another, teepee style, forming a small shelter at the very end of the road. There’s a decently sized opening at the base of the structure, big enough to walk through standing upright. Your group enters without fanfare, hoping to keep your presence hidden from any players in the area. The inside of the temple seems pretty bland. Just a stage and a scarlet red portal in a rock cave. Can’t say you’re surprised, or impressed.

“Mind programming the gate?” You ask Dallra, still looking around the room, studying the technique the stone pillars were stacked in.

“Pff. Already done.” She says from the portal. “Everything’s good to go.”

“You heard the troll. Everyone in. Chop-chop.” You say, waving people through. As you do, Amvinn walks over and nudges you with his shoulder.

“Yo, you got a minute?” He whispers to you, trying to stay discreet.

“Uh… y-yeah. Sure.” You begrudgingly tell him. Stopping without reason isn’t exactly your favorite thing in the world, since every second might count with the escape plan, but… you guess team integrity is important. “Hey guys, me and Amvinn are gonna hang back a bit, alright?”

“What for?” Mia asks in that new worried tone of hers. Still freaks you the fuck out.

“Oh, ya’know… guy stuff.” You clumsily assure her. You aren’t actually sure what Amvinn wants to talk about, but based on his tone, you’re guessing he wants to keep it low profile.

“Can I stay too?” Frank asks from behind you, making you jump a bit.

“…No.” You inform him. “Alright everyone, get on through the gate.”

“Aww! But I’m a guy too!” Frank whines, stepping up to the gate and placing his hand on it, disappearing. The others follows shortly after, each vanishing with a flash.

“Make it quick, I’ve got a schedule to keep.” You tell him once the room is cleared out.

“There’s this… guy. I knew.”

“A guy?” You mimic him, making sure to sound unimpressed.

“He’s dead.” He goes on, explaining at a maximum of four words a minute.

“Ah… sorry for your loss, I guess?”

“No, no, he was an idiot. Totally got what he deserved.” Amvinn waves off, still looking concerned. “Actually, it was kinda funny. He just… walked off a cliff. Didn’t even look where he was going. I could’ve sworn he didn’t even start falling till he realized he wasn’t standing on anything, like he was a cartoon.”

“Look Amvinn, I’m not exactly good with… comforting people about mortality, so, like… are you upset about this or not?”

“Of course I’m upset, Jason! Someone died!” He tells you, sounding offended. “But I’ve got my soul sight, so it never felt like he was actually gone, but now…”

“He wandered off mindlessly. Right?” You ask, finally realizing why his head’s been on a swivel this entire morning. He’s been looking for him.

“Yeah. I just… I just think I need to talk about it for a minute.” He admits, scratching at his ears as his face turns slightly green.

“Okay, I’m listening.” You sigh, crossing your arms.

“He was… kind of an asshole. Loud, annoying. He made fun of my horns a lot.” He… confesses?

“What horns?”

“Oh yeah, real mature. Look, I’m trying to get this off my cage, man. I don’t need to be heckled as I do it!” He snaps at you.

“Wha-, yeah alright, sorry. Keep going.” You don’t really feel like arguing over nonexistent horns right now.

“It’s just, I don’t know, I think… maybe he might’ve been trying to open me up to a possible kismesissitude, but, sometimes it felt more like he was just being a bulge hugger more than anything. He sent a lot of mixed signals… It was sort of like he wanted… a black-rom moirallegiance. Like, frenemies without benefits.”

“Sounds complicated.” You say, giving your best support for this situation.

“I know, right! It’s like, pick a quadrant, jackass! But, now that I don’t have him chattering in my ear all the time, it just feels… quiet. Like there’s something missing. Gah! I let that damn honeyblood get into my think pan! Now look at me...” He huffs, kicking at the dirt as his big butterfly wings flutter ever so slightly.

“Well the best thing you can do is keep moving, you know. Keep your head in the game and all that.” You say, trying not to let him get all depressed. You need everyone firing on all cylinders for this plan to work. Regardless, though, he doesn’t seem to be comforted by your advice. You sigh. “What was his name?” It’s not much, but sympathy is sympathy.

“Haugrr Domark.” He says. “He was my session’s Prince of Doom.” As the words pass his lips, your body goes stiff, and a cold sweat runs down your spine. Did he just say…

“Did you just say…” Amvinn looks up at you, confused by your sudden tone change. “the Prince of Doom?”

“Y-yeah, Haugrr was my session’s hero of Doom. Why?”

“Why? Fuh!” You breathe out a puff of air, almost laughingly. “ ‘Why?’ he says. Why? Why?! Because his power was the only way we were getting out of this mess! That's why!”

“What?” He asks, still just as confused.

“Amvinn, what do you think being Doomed means?” You ask him, feeling like you’re about to pop. “It-… Lingers. It sticks to you like tar, and the Prince of Doom was supposed to be the one to scrape it off of us! Destroy our Doom! Do the Undooming ourselves! Without that power… shit! Why didn’t you tell me before?!”

“I-I-I didn’t know it was important before!” He defends himself.

“Oh Jesus fuck.” You mutter to yourself, furiously gripping the back of your head with both hands. “Oh Jesus Fuck!”

“Hold on, alright, just hold on, don’t go freaking out.” Amvinn says, finally beginning to grasp the situation. “Doom was his specialty, right, but he was hardly unique in his Aspect, no…? I-is there anyway for someone else to take his place in the plan?” You pause, going over any possible stand-in’s for the Prince of Doom.

“Okay… Okay, there’s-… there’s another destroyer class. The Bard.” You tell him, knowing full well what you’re saying is BS. “It-… it’ll be messy. Bards tend to be wild cards when it comes to their development, but maybe… maybe if we get a Mind player, or- or a Light player or someone with a suitable motif combination, maybe they could focus the destruction, or at least channel the chaotic energy away… away when the time comes…”

“Yeah?” He asks, unsurely. He must see what you’re feeling. No point in lying.

“Yeah.” You lie. Amvinn just stares at you. “This is just… a snag in the plan.” He keeps looking at you, waiting for you to say something more. “Look just-, keep quiet about this, okay? I’ll come up with something, I-I just need a minute… to get everything straightened out.”

“If you say you can figure it out, I’ll take your word on it, but… what if Haugrr was the only one who could-“

“It's just a snag in the plan! Alright?” You assure him before he can say what you’re both thinking. He looks at you, unsure what to make of your promises, before sighing and turning to the gateway. “I’ll think of something. Trust me.”

“If you say so…” He says before disappearing. Now in the quiet of solitude, you let your defenses down for a brief moment. You take several stressed and labored breathes as you clutch your fists in defeated frustration. You were bullshitting when you told Amvinn about there being a replacement for the Prince. The Bard of Doom is also dead.

You fish your Trans-Temp. Camera from your inventory to double check. The last time you’d looked through those Glowing Slabs to see who was still alive, you’d taken note that the Bard’s slab in the Doom Library had gone out. Scrolling through the camera, you arrive at the Bard’s pic. Just as you remembered, it’s gone completely dark. You scroll to the Prince’s slab and… what? It’s still lit up, not all the way though. It’s faint, flickering, like it’s broken or something. What’s that supposed to mean? What the hell happened to him? You guess it doesn’t matter. Half-dead or not, his soul’s probably lost in the Arena, wandering mindlessly.

As you contemplate you current situation, a thought occurs to you; Why did you tell Amvinn the Bard could fill in for the Prince? Even though you knew the Bard was already dead, you’d said it without a second thought. It's because, well... Amvinn would've told the others about it. If they all knew about the situation with the Prince, they might end up getting distracted! Yeah, that's it! You’re just trying to keep everyone focused on the mission right? But… if there’s really no way to invoke an artificial undooming, then your mission is pointless. Without the common goal of survival unifying the group, it’d only be a matter of time before you were all trying to kill each other again. So if no one knew the mission was a lost cause... you would have an edge against them... No! No, you… you wouldn’t do that. You just have to figure this out. You just have to… damn it. This fucking place just keeps throwing more and more shit at you! Is it so much to ask for a break every now and then?!

The others are probably wondering where you are right now. You can’t let them know what’s going on. If they find out how fucked you all still are, it’ll be chaos. Stepping up to the gateway, you try to suppress the dread in your heart and place a hand on the portal. You get that familiar feeling of being appearified off somewhere far, far away.

As you land in your new destination, there comes a distinct change in the atmosphere. It feels like there was a sudden drop in air pressure around you. You open your eyes and find you’re in a kind of Aztec styled temple, with intricate stone masonry ingrained throughout the walls. Mia, Sara and Esspin were all waiting for you in the landing room, but the others are out somewhere. They’re all looking at you…

“Where’s Amvinn?” You reflexively ask, pressured by their stares. You aren’t sure what they’re thinking, but a creeping paranoia makes it feel like they know something is wrong.

“He came through just a second ago. Dallra and Frank are here too.” Sara tells you, throwing a thumb over her shoulder towards the exit. You look to her point. It’s dark in the room you’re in, but there’s a bright light coming from outside.

“Did he say anything?” You ask, still unsure if Amvinn told them or not.

“Just that he wanted to take a look around the area.” She says, letting you breathe a little bit easier.

“What was taking you so long?” Mia softly asks, walking up and touching your arm to physically grab your attention.

“Ahh… a consort came by… and was… collecting boondollars… for… charity? So I, I made donation, cause… ya’know, I’m always looking to help out the little guy.” You say, hoping that’s believable enough of an excuse.

“Aww!” Mia coos. Thank God, she bought it.

“Shall we continue?” Esspin prompts, motioning towards the exit.

“Uh, y-yeah. Yeah, let’s.” You say, moving alongside Mia. Before you can reach outside, Frank slams into the stone door frame, panting heavily.

“You were right, Jason!” He says, through breaths. “This place is lovely!” You move past him to finally get a look at the Land of Frenzy and Crash. Stepping out of the dark temple, your eyes take a moment to adjust, but once they do, you’re taken aback. Like the room you appeared in seemed to suggest, you’re on top of one of those Aztec stair-pyramids. A sudden cold breeze brings to attention the fact that you’re up rather high. It's hard to tell exactly how high, however, as it appears you’re up within the clouds, coating the area is a thin mist. Looking out at what you’re able to see with this limited vision, you find that the pyramid you’re on is stacked on top of several other pyramid formations, creating some sort of… super-pyramid. You look down below to see that there are three other super-pyramid structures that seem to be connected to the one you’re on at a lower level, making a four pronged box shape that stack up into a point, forming all the super-pyramids into some kind of mega-pyramid. Paradox Space sure has a weird sense of architecture.

“See, now this is a temple!” Essipn exclaims with gesturing arms, taking in the sheer enormity of the monolithic structure. "Breathtaking magnitude, undeniable devotion to a cause, sheer fucking Inspiration! It's enough to make a girl cry!"

Standing at the bottom of the closest staircase is Amvinn, peering up at you with a stern and knowing look, like he’s disappointed in you. Off behind him is Gretel and that purple lizard friend of hers and… Dallra. You cringe at the sinking feeling in your stomach when you realize she probably eavesdropped on your conversation. Sure, she couldn’t hear what you were talking about exactly, but she must’ve seen you check your camera for both the Prince and Bard of Doom once you were alone. Even if she doesn’t know the significance of those players, she’ll definitely know something is up. You hope to god she isn’t the nosey type like… never mind.

“Hey!” You call over to them, looking over the edge of the super pyramid, still unable to see the bottom with the clouds in the way. You’re really high up. “How long is it gonna take us to scale down this behemoth?”

“Safely?” Dallra asks skeptically. “Probably around five hours or so.”

“Ugh, really?” You moan, trying to put off any possible questions about your conversation with Amvinn she might have.

“Yep. Luckily for you, the Heir of Mind is only a couple stories above us.” She informs you, pointing a metal finger to the sky.

“Wha- for real?”

“For real for real.” She chirps. “I was actually surprised myself when he migrated to our intended arrival area. He’s been here for a couple hours now, almost like he’s waiting for something.”

“Waiting?” You mutter. “Do you think he knows we’re coming?” She shrugs at you. “Hmm. I don’t like this…”

“Does this truly matter?” Esspin asks, walking up and joining the conversation. “Whether he knows we’re coming or if he’s just here by serendipitous chance, we still have business with the man, do we not?”

“I guess. Maybe it’s for the best that he sees us coming.” You say, more to assure yourself than anyone else.

With that, you start moving again. This place is pretty elaborate, with tons of walkways, maze like interiors and more stairs than you’ve seen in your entire god damn life. Thankfully, Dallra seems more than capable of guiding you through this mess of a structure with that handy Sight Omnifold of hers.

“Hey, is anyone else getting a little light-headed?” Mia asks, slowing down as she lags behind everyone else.

“It is getting a tad harder to take in breath all the way up here.” Sara notes. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep the air flow coming in.” As soon as she finishes speaking, you feel a wave of relief as the pressure that’s been building on your chest vanishes. You alway forget how useful Sara’s power kit is.

“Here it is!” Dallra puffs, exiting out onto an outlook and stopping just before another staircase going up. “Your man is right up these steps, Page Jason.” You look up to see a sort of Temple outlet sticking out like a sore thumb from the rest of the super pyramid. In fact, this whole section of the pyramid seems to stick out from the rest of the monolith structure. Looking across to the other side of the walkway you just emerged out onto, you spot another passageway leading down, likely meaning that there’s more than one way to navigate up and down the pyramids. Christ, this place it an absolute labyrinth.

Along with this, the walkway you’re on is built more like an observatory outlook, much wider than the narrow passages you’ve traveled before this. Between this and the large temple outlet, it’s formed a large rampart-like platform all the way up this high on the monolith. None of the architecture here strikes you as particularly sound, structurally speaking.

“Uh, cool…” You mutter back to Dallra before turning back to everyone. “Listen, you all stay down here for now. I don’t want to scare him off with an entire group storming his castle. So sit tight.” You turn back to the staircase, and after a moment to catch your breath, you start your climb.

Step by step, you can feel yourself straining to climb more and more the further you get from Sara’s easy-breathing area-of-effect. Thinking about it now, why is the air so thin here to begin with? You can breath perfectly fine out in the Medium, so why is it do hard to get air into your lungs all the way down on a Player’s Land? God, it must be some dumb environmental obstacle the Land’s player is meant to overcome on their journey. Developmental Hurdles are such bullshit! Especially when you’re not even the intended target of them. What’s even the lesson to learn from this, anyways? Don’t climb tall structures, you guess. This is stupid, just finish your ascent already.

As you reach the top of the stairs, you turn back to look down at the others, waving to let them know you made it. With one final moment of pause, you enter into the temple outlet, searching for where the Heir has stowed themselves. The temple seems to be one large stone room, with a series of half-wall dividers sectioning off parts of the room into a series of cubical looking sub-storages. You walk through the hallways, looking into the door frames to get a feel of the area. There isn’t much here, just a few pots and barrels. What is all this stuff?

You enter into one of the rooms and pull off the top of a barrel. It’s full of some bitter smelling powder. You do the same with one of the pots, finding they are full of a yellowish oil-looking liquid. There’s a few different glyphs that indicate that all this is… combustible? Holy hell, it seems you’ve just stumbled across an entirely new Boom-Hoard. If you didn’t know better, you’d swear this was a Doom player’s Land, but the color of the gateway seemed to indicate it was a Heart player’s. And that name, Frenzy and Crash… what’s that supposed to mean? From what you’ve seen of this place, it’s actually quite nice here. It doesn’t matter, you need to focus.

You exit back out into the hallway and get back to your search. You can’t put your finger on it, but something feels off. Like how old people say they can feel a storm coming in their joints. Even though you try to shake the feeling, it isn’t until you see someone off at the end of a hallway that you’re able to put it out of your mind for the time being.

Sitting in a meditative position, facing out into an open sky, is the Heir of Mind, lime green wind sock hood and all. Before you have a chance to approach, you’re struck with a moment of hesitation. There’s a pounding in your heart and your hands are claiming up for some reason. You aren’t sure why, but this situation has you feeling incredibly nervous. This guy is pivotal for your plan’s succession, but there are others who could fill his shoes if he refuses. You weren’t nearly as nervous when you were recruiting Dallra, and she’s leagues more important to the plan than this guy, so why? What the hell’s so different now?

“…In the case that I’m speaking to a troll or an elf or whatever other alien species poking about the Arena, humans tend to find it rude when you lurk about the corridors the way you are.” The Heir calls over to you, not moving an inch from his meditation. “Can I help you with something?”

“Ah-“ You’re a little taken aback by his sudden acknowledgment of your presence, but you quickly try to compose yourself. “Y-yes, actually. I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute.” You yell back over to him.

“Are we going to have this conversation from other ends of the hall?” He asks, still not turning to face you.

“Uh, n-no…” You mutter, briskly walking up to join him. He’s sat out past the threshold, out on a little guardless balcony that hangs outside the temple looking out at the open sky.

“What is it you want?” He asks as you approach. You peak over his shoulder to see that he still has his eyes closed. He’s a scruffy looking guy, messy black hair that curls towards the ends, pair of glasses with cracked lenses, and his face is all scraped up. He’s even got a small bandage covering the bridge of his nose. Must’ve been in a fight recently.

“You aren’t… worried I’m gonna start a strife or something?” You ask, trying to get him to emote in any way.

“I’ve got a pretty good sense for danger. If you were going to start anything, I probably wouldn’t have been here by the time you showed up.” He explains, still not moving an inch.

“Right, right, uh. Listen, I wanted to ask you something.” You tell him, thinking of how exactly you’re going to present this to him.

“Ask me something?” He skeptically asks, finally opening an eye to glance at you. They’re a rather peculiar green color.

“Yeah, just a hypothetical, i-if that’s not too much bother.” You explain. He looks at you with dubious eyes, studying you up and down like he’s looking for a fault in your person.

“Ask away.” He finally agrees.

“Say I asked you to convince someone to do a thing that they didn’t want to do. Could you?” This seems to grab his attention rather quickly.

“That's a very strange question to ask someone you just happened across.” He says, rising from his meditative position. He turns, moving past you to grab the baseball bat leaned on the side of the threshold, which you somehow neglected to notice when you first approached him. He walks back into the temple outlet, resting the bat over his shoulder. “I can’t imagine you’d ask a question like that to just anyone you meet, so I’d venture a guess that you already have an idea of who I am then, yes?”

“U-uh, well, more or less.“ You hesitate to say, unsure how to explain why it is you’d know so much about him before meeting.

“Meeting face-to-face like this, it’s obvious you aren’t here over some unresolved grievance with me. Yet it’s clear that you’ve planned this meeting to some degree, meaning you’ve been seeking me out.” He deduces, seeming to treat your appearance as a kind of riddle to solve himself. “The only other reason I can think of that one would seek out another in the Arena if for an alliance of some kind. You’re here to recruit me, aren’t you?”

“…You certainly pick up a lot from one question.” You nervously chuckle, feeling like you’re the one being propositioned in this conversation.

“Wasn’t just the question. The context of a situation tells a much more intricate story than what you can normally see on the surface. Comes in handy when you’ve only got yourself watching your back out here.” He explains. “You don’t seem to pay context much mind. Suppose that means you’re with a group… This is an interview, then.”

“Interview?” You repeat.

“No other word to call it.” He shrugs, shifting the bat within his arms. “You belong to a group, but you’re here on your own. You know more about me than I do you, and you just so happen to be asking about a talent I just so happen to specialize in. All signs point to the fact that you’ve got a position in your crew that you’re looking to fill. Not only that, but you’ve been doing some selective scouting, looking for someone in particular to fill the role. I suppose me, or at the very least someone like me, fits the bill. So you come out here to interview me with a few questions, to see if I’m actually the man for the job.”

“Y-yeah, I guess it kind of is like a job interview.” You nod, reflexively agreeing with the Heir’s reasoning.

“Okay then, sure. Let’s say, hypothetically of course, that I could do something like what you’re looking for. Lets say that I could convince a fish to take a stroll through a desert on the hottest day of summer. Hypothetically, what would a strange person who asks strange questions want with someone like me?” He moseys around the temple, tapping the bat against his shoulder, only glancing at you every now and then to put emphasis on his words.

“Well, I-…” Your throat’s feeling pretty dry all of a sudden, and you strain to not choke on your own words. “Ah- I’ll just cut right to it. I’m trying to… escape.” He looks at you with a confused sneer.

“Well in that case, where do I sign?!” He sarcastically mocks.

“It’s not-… look, I’ll be honest, I’m not the best at this.” You admit, realizing you might be doing more harm than good.

“Oh, I noticed.” He remarks.

“B-but that ’s what I need you for!” You stammer. He raises an eyebrow at you. “I’ve got a way out of the Arena, for all of my team. One without any fighting, or pointless bloodshed. But for it to work, I’ll need help from a lot of people. No… not just help. I need teamwork. And as you probably know already, not everyone in the Arena is the agreeable type. My group needs a mouthpiece, someone to get the less agreeable types on board with our plan.” He pauses a moment, tapping his bat on his shoulder a little more rapidly.

“So.” He finally says, breaking the silence. “You’ve got some secret back door outta this place, but you suck at getting people to follow you. And you what? Want me to be your… what, your recruiter?”

“Yes, exactly!” You exclaim, shaking a fist in excitement. “Someone who specializes in getting large groups of people to join a cause they wouldn’t normally partake in. I need someone who can get people to say ‘yes’.” He nods to himself, as if thinking this whole thing over.

“Alright, what’s in it for me?” He asks in a sly voice.

“Well, for starters, you’d get out of this whole thing alive.” You say, the faintest bit of pride lining your voice.

“Hmm.” He pretends to consider. “I could get that by being the last man standing here. What else you got?” He’s got a smug grin on his face, with both arms draped over the bat as it rests on his shoulders.

“No offense, but… no you can’t.” You inform him, prompting him to scoff.

“What, don’t think I’ve got the chops?” He sneers.

“I’m sure you’re more than capable in a strife, but there’s some serious competition running around out there. I’m not sure any of the passive classes can win this.” You explain, trying not to offend him. Although at the end of the day, facts are facts. And nothing short of the strongest and most aggressive player in the Arena is going to come out of this ordeal alive.

“Passive?” He asks, as if trying to figure out if that was an insult or not.

“Yeah. Heir is the Passive Manipulation class.” You guess not everyone spent a week feverishly sifting through all the Compendiums for the different players, but it’s a little strange he wouldn’t know about his own Mythological Role.

“Passively manipulate? Sounds like an oxymoron.” He says, brushing off the majority of your statement as a whole. “How the hell would you even passively manipulate something?” Oh boy. It’s sounding more and more like he’s still unrealized. You’re not liking the odds of his powers developing properly.

“Ya’know, like… suggestions.” You do your best to summarize the long of it. “Slow changes, hands-off guiding your aspect. That sort of thing, that’s a Heir’s bread and butter. That and the fact that you’re your aspect’s favorite.”

“What’d you mean by that?” He queries.

“You’re a Heir, so your Aspect is gonna have a soft spot for you. You’re like the favorite child of the family. Protected by the Big Ones and all that. You’re a Mind player, so you’d inherit thoughts, logic, choices, that sort of stuff. Actually, that’s probably what that danger-sense you mentioned is, just the Mind aspect keeping you safe, sending you the right thoughts at the right time.” You explain, a little excited that someone asked about something you’re actually knowledgeable on.

“Wait, wouldn’t that imply that the Aspects are cognitive beings.” He notes, immediately veering the conversation beyond what you’re knowledgeable about.

“…I feel like we’re getting off topic here.” You say, getting back on track to why you’re actually here. “You were asking what else you’d get for helping?”

“Yeah…?”

“Well beyond being alive, which I feel is a pretty good deal on its own,” You mutter to yourself. “you’d earn a spot on the ship we’re going to be escaping on. That comes with your own personal room as well as provisionals for the trip. Also, since our group is still pretty small right now, you’d have a lot of say about where we go afterwards by default, since you’d be one of the first people to join the cause.” You think it’s a fair offer, even under normal circumstances, let alone during a reality-scale deathmatch, but this guy seems to know how valuable a skill-set like his is. Hopefully survival alone will be incentive enough to sell this deal.

“That it?” He asks, unimpressed. Shit! It’s not incentive enough!

“Uh… at the moment, yeah.” You half laugh, trying not to let your despair show.

“Hmm.” He hums. “I suppose I can’t expect you to offer an actual salary expected of typical employment, given our situation. And a ride out of here doesn’t sound too bad… Yeah, alright.”

“Huh?” You perk back up.

“I’ll be your mouthpiece or however you wanna put it.” He agrees, swinging his bat around while moving to the entrance you came from. “Besides, I was thinking of buddying up with a group sooner or later, anyways. Saves me the trouble of finding one myself. So, where we going first?”

“Wait, seriously?” You ask, gobsmacked, running to catch up to him.

“What can I say? You drive a hard bargain, Boss.” He heartily scoffs. Boss? That sounds… familiar. Why does that sound familiar? “Anyway, since we’re gonna be working together, you can call me Creed.”

“Hey, hold up a second-“ Before you can ask if you’ve met him somewhere before, Creed stops stiff. His bat slowly lowers as his shoulders drop.

“Hold on.” You nearly walk into him, he stops so suddenly. You’re about to ask what’s wrong when you see the hairs on his forearms all rise. “We’ve gotta get outta here.” He declares in a chilled voice.

“What? Why? What’s wrong?”

“I-I don’t know, I-… I’ve just got this horrible feeling all of a sudden. Something bad is about to happen” He stammers, quickly moving towards the exit. Before he can reach it, Dallra appears in the threshold, panting like she just ran a mile.

“Jason.” She calls to you.

“Whoa!” Creed says, stopping in his tracks and pointing his bat level with Dallra’s head. “She with yous?”

“Easy, yeah she’s fine.” You assure him, pushing down his bat. “Dallra, what’s up? I thought you all were gonna wait down there.”

“Something is headed our way.” She says with a petrified look.

“What is it?” You ask, moving up to the threshold with Creed.

“I’m not sure.” She answers, looking back outside anxiously.

“Alright, well… describe it then.” You tell her. “What does it look like?”

“No, I mean I can’t see it.” She clarifies, sounding a bit more frantic. “There’s this… black void moving through my vision. I wasn’t focused on our location and whatever it is managed to sneak up on me.”

“What…” You feel your blood run cold trying to process what she’s saying.

“Hey, Boss?” Creed steps in front of you. “Whatever that void thing is, it’s bad news. We should clear house before it gets here.” He tells you.

“It’s too close and moving too fast.” Dallra says, shaking her head. “There’s no way we can get out of here in time.”

“Shit…” You mumble to yourself, trying to think your way out of this. “Okay let’s all take a step back. Just because we don’t know what it is doesn’t mean it’s bad. I-it could just be a lost Void player climbing up the pyramids. We’ll just go out there and see who or what it is, alright?” With a half-assed assurance, you walk outside, trying to keep your composure. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t scared shitless.

“This is a terrible idea.” Creed says, following after you.

“I agree, new guy. Unfortunately terrible ideas seem to be par for the course with this team.” Dallra says, supporting your decision, sort of? You reach the edge of the stairs and see everyone facing outward, anticipating what’s about to appear from beyond the mist. Esspin has her enormous gun in her hands, standing guard in front of Mia, who timidly waits behind her. Sara and Amvinn are waiting beside one another, keeping Gretel and that purple chameleon back. Frank is stood around, notably unalarmed by the situation.

“Hey!” Amvinn yells up when he notices you all. “What’s going on? You said something was coming, but what the hell is-” Before he has a chance to finish, an enormous glowing green tendril shoots up from over the edge he’s standing at, impaling him from the back through to the chest. “…It?”

“Holy shit…” You mutter to yourself as the owner of that tendril rises up to face you all. Floating before you all, held up by the four green tendrils sprouted from his back, is an enraged Prince of Life, his God tier soaked Dark Blue. ‘Just another Snag’ You think to yourself.

 

Jason, deal with this Snag.

Chapter 25: > The Green Meters

Everything seems to slow down, to the point you thought your Time Dilation had somehow activated by mistake. The look on Amvinn's face is more confused than anything, wondering what this thing sticking out of his chest is. Before anyone can move, he’s lifted off his feet and flung off the pyramid like a rag doll, disappearing past the edge the Prince of Life emerged from.

“Orrick!” Esspin screams, breaking the silence that had rushed over you all after Amvinn was impaled. The Prince lets out a menacing chuckle, standing tall on his four tendril-like constructs.

“You Bastaaaaard!” Sara erupts, summoning in hand her bladed fans as she leaps forth into Strife like a valkyrie on a whirlwind of sheer force.

She makes a slash at the Prince’s neck, but is slapped out of the air by one of his tendrils, slamming her back down the ground. Using the momentum of the throw, she breaks into a roll, flipping over herself and landing on her hands and knees. In an instant, she’s charging again, still half prone and pouncing forward like a jaguar. This time she barely leaves the ground before she’s swat away. And just like the previous attack, she’s up within a second and ready to throw herself at him again. She’s ferocious, but there’s no way she can take on a powerhouse like the Prince of Life.

Your first instinct is to move, to get out there and to help your friend before she gets herself killed, but you don’t. You can’t. Something in the core of your being is telling you to just sit still, sit still and pray you aren’t spotted because if you are, you’ll be dead before you can blink. A sinister chill passes over you, leaving your blood cold as ice, yet you feel like you’re drenched in sweat. The beating of your heart is a drum pounding in your ears and your stomach’s turned inside out, leaving you feeble, like you’d be sick at the drop of a hat. Oh god, oh fuck, oh god, oh fu-

“Boss!” Creed says, grabbing you by the shoulder and shaking you out of your freeze. “What’s the play here?”

“W-, I d-… we, ah…” You stumble over your thoughts, reeling in shock from the sight of someone impaled through the stomach being tossed off a fucking cliff. “W-w-we strife!” You finally declare.

“… You serious?” He asks, taken aback by the uncertain ineptitude of your decision.

“You heard the human.” Dallra affirms, with a rock already reeled back in her sling. She lets it fly, slamming directly against the Prince’s temple, grabbing his attention to your small trio. “You’ve got that weird looking cuebat, don’t you? Let’s see if you can use it.” The Prince sends a tendril hurtling towards you three, retaliating against Dallra’s attack. Creed sidesteps in front of you, bat wound back, and cracks the tendril with a thunderous parry, sending it flying away like a popfly.

“It’s just called a bat, and I can use it perfectly fine.” Creed sneers, grinding his palms against his grip on the sports-club. “Do we have an actual plan for this guy or were we planning on going into this blind?” Good question. You frantically survey your Strife Roster, trying to get a feel for your chances at winning this fight. Amvinn might’ve been a Seer, but he was one of your team’s main frontline fighters. With him gone and Mia still out of commission, you’re down a huge amount of muscle. Esspin looks spellbound, a lost expression plastering her face as she silently fires her rifle at the Prince, ripping the bolt back with each roar she invokes. Distraught, but still fighting, although she doesn’t appear close to flipping her top like back on the Forge, so there’s no counting on that to secure the win. Sara, on the other hand, is well off the deep end, going full Murder Mode, feverishly throwing herself at the Prince blade-first again and again. Unfortunately, despite her speed, the Prince seems more than able to keep her at bay with little effort, batting her away with those enormous tendrils as if she were a pesky insect. Frank is… well, you aren’t sure what Frank is, but you doubt he’s a fighter. Up until now, he’s hung towards the back at the stairs, huddled besides the consorts. With yourself, Dallra and Creed included, you have five total fighters. Two ranged, three melee. Against the Death Tank who was able to keep Mia at bay while she was still at her peak.

“We aren’t strong enough to overwhelm him.” You finally declare to the group.

“So we run?” Dallra asks, launching another shot from her sling.

“Better late than never.” Creed jeeringly adds.

“We retreat.” You clarify, hoping you sound like less of a punk. “The only problem-“

“The bulgemunch is mobile enough on those tentacles to keep up wherever we go.” Dallra finishes for you, ripping a handful of stone out of the wall with her robo-arm to load into her sling. “Watching him through my sight, he must’ve scaled twenty levels in a minute. He’ll be all over us if we ran, we wouldn’t stand a chance absconding all at once.”

“Then we’ll split up.” Creed suggests. “Scatter, make it hard for him to focus on all of us at once. After that, break off into pairs, funnel down through the connecting temples, lay low until he wanders off.” He continues, pointing out the various exits on the rampart to you both.

“Prick’s gonna go after one of us once we all go different ways, though.” You shake your head, becoming more and more nervous with the situation. “We can’t handle this guy as a group, one of us alone would get ripped to shreds.”

“So we don’t let him choose who he goes after.” Creed says, confident and emboldened by his budding plan. “One of us stays back, keeps his attention and buys some time while the rest puts some distance between them and here. Once everyone’s in the clear, patsy gives him the slip, and takes one of the narrower passages too small for those tails of his to fit down. Easy as pie.”

“Creed… that’s anything but easy.” You say, equipping Bane of All Mountains. “But that’s about the best gameplan we’ve got at the moment. Question is; who’s the best person to keep him busy, then?” They both look at you for the briefest of moments until it dawns on you. The person is you. “Fuck, really?”

“You do have those fancy time powers, right?” Dallra notes, giving you a nervous half smile. “They could probably keep him still for a little while. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Gaaaah, god dammit.” You mumble to yourself. “Fine, alright. Dallra, keep his attention on you with your slingshot. Creed, be her shield and keep the Prince’s tendrils at bay. I’ll let everyone in on the plan and… keep him busy, I guess.”

“Good luck, Boss.” Creed says, slapping you on the back.

“Gee, thanks.” You grumble before making a break down the stairs, tearing down the steps towards the others. Your sudden movement momentarily brings the Prince’s attention to you, until one of Dallra’s shots hits him square between the eyes, snatching his focus to her.

“Mr Jason!” Gretel cries, practically jumping into your arms after meeting you halfway down the stairs. “This guy is a jerk!”

“He’s a lot more than a jerk, sweetie.” You say, grabbing hold of your daughter to try and stop your hands from shaking. You reach the bottom of the stairs and are about to find your way over to Esspin when you’re pulled back by the nape of your shirt. Just as you register that you’ve been stopped, you’re nearly flattened by one of the Prince’s tendrils slamming into the ground directly in front of you. Jeez, this is no place for a kid-lizard.

“Hey.” Frank says, still gripping the back of your hood as the tendril slithers out of the trench it left in the ground. That purple chameleon consort is peeking out from behind his legs, staring up at you with those beady eyes. “Sara seems really mad. I’m new to this whole multiple friends thing, so do we do something about that?”

“Not at the moment, we don’t.” You answer, passing Gretel into his arms. “Listen, Frank? I need you to take Gretel here and…” You grab hold of the other kid-lizard behind Frank by his nape and place him on the Blood player's head like a coonskin hat. “Whatever this one’s name is, and get these two to safety. Can you handle that?”

“Sure can!” He exclaims before trotting off the way you came with the two consorts, not saying another word. Huh… guess he follows instructions well…

“Mr Jason, please stay safe!” Gretel shouts to you, perched on Frank’s shoulder while grabbing the hair on the side of his head for support. Aww. That’s almost sweet enough for you to forget that you’re about to 1v1 the Living Incarnation of Death before you.

“Where’s he off to?” Esspin calls over from the other side of the rampart. She divides her attention between you and the Prince, only ever taking her eye off him to look at you when loading her next shot into the chamber of her elephant-hunter, leaving her glancing back and forth.

“He’s getting the consorts out of here.” You holler over to her. “We’re retreating.” The Prince seems to have devoted one of his tendrils to specifically blocking Esspin’s gunfire, constantly readjusting the green tree trunk to catch the oncoming bullets. He’s brutal, but cognitive, not out of his mind like the Heir of Rage was. What did Mia say happened to this guy again? Something about a Heart player fucking with his empathy? So he’s just a sociopath, then. Not an insane berserker. Perhaps he can be talked down?

“No way in hell!” Sara shouts, wiping the blood off her lip. She’s looking rather battered since the last time you checked on her, barely able to stay upright on two feet as enormous welts and bruises have decorated her fair skin and a nasty looking scrape’s appeared along her left side, running from the bottom of her palm to the mid of her tricep. Just how many times has she thrown herself at this guy? “We end this fucker right here, right now!” You don’t get it, what’s got her so riled u-… shit, that’s right, Mia had mentioned it when telling you about the Prince, that he was the one to kill Greg. No wonder she’s off the deep end seeing him all of a sudden.

“There’s no way we can deal with this guy with who we have right now.” You try to reason with her. She snarls at you.

“We handled that Thief just fine! We can handle this chump!” Sara barks back, flicking the slack out of her fans.

“You know how that fight ended, Sara! We barely walked away from the Forge!” You remind her, causing her scowl to harden more than it already was. “Besides, this guy’s on a completely different level than Medeas!”  

“So we just turn-tail and let this asshole go around killing whoever he wants?!” Although she has a point, it’s not like you can really do anything about this guy right now. The only one on your team who could’ve possibly gone head-to-head with the Prince was Mia, but with her strength still tapped, she’s all but useless in a Strife. With no one who could access the Prince’s emotional spectrum, pacifying his murder-boner is likely off the table as well.

“I don’t like it either, but- Shit, Look Out!“ Capitalizing on her preoccupation with your bickering, the Prince springs one of his tendrils stabbing at Sara’s midsection. You reach a hand out to her, activating Time Dilation on base instinct and tear your way towards your Sylph. With (17 sec. your time =1 sec. local time) you reach her in the split of a second. You raise your guard and activate a Full Time Stop on the striking tendril, freezing it in its localized chronology. With the amount of force behind the attack, it takes an exorbitant amount of energy to hold the green vector still. Not to mention you already exerted yourself moving in a Time Dilation as far as you did. Pulling a move like that always winded you before, but between that and keeping the Prince in place, you feel your body’s temporal energies bottom out, and as you blow past your natural limiters, your spell begins to power itself off your physical vitality. Agony finds life in your stomach, tearing your insides apart and blurring your vision at its edges. “Sara…” You gasp. “we need… to-“ She’s already launched forward for another attack, deaf to your appeals.

Flying forward along the frozen tendril, Sara drags the point of a collapsed fan against its length. As she approaches the Prince’s main body, she reels back for a slash with an open fan. However, before she can follow through, the Prince grabs hold of her wrist, stopping the attack dead in its tracks. With his free hand he grasps her by the throat and begins to strangle her.

“Very few can escape the Green Meters, muzhik.” A sickly smile cuts across the Prince’s face as he bodefully boasts, reeling a tendril over his shoulder to level before Sara, aimed for her eye. “And you are not one of-.” Jerking forwards, all the air seems to escape from the Prince, and his braggadocious prattling juts short

“You said that same thing to my friend.” Sara rasps through the Prince’s grip. “You can take those Green Meters and shove it!” Her free hands rips outward, evoking a torrent of red to rush after it. In her hand, a collapsed fan, daggered-point cloaked crimson.

The newly stabbed Prince flexes his grip on Sara, nearly crushing her throat before throwing her to the ground like a tantruming toddler. You only just manage to catch her before she can crash into the stone floor, though the force of her entire weight slamming into you nearly knocks you clean out.

“GraaaAA! Measly Insect!” The Prince roars, grasping the wound in his side, trying to stop the bleeding. Before he can continue his assault, Dallra lands another hit on him, striking the knuckle of the hand covering his wound. “Fuck! Troll bitch!” In retaliation, the Prince releases a barrage of whipping attacks at the Seer. Creed takes her vanguard, swinging his bat like a mad man to keep the Prince’s bombardment at bay. He cracks the tendrils away with ease, but he can only ward off an onslaught like that for so long. You make a mad dash to Esspin with the opening they bought you.

“first… greg…” Sara rasps through a broken windpipe. “now… amvinn… why… why couldn’t I…” Tears begin to well up in her eyes before she shuts them closed, slipping into an exhausted sleep. As soon as she’s out, the air becomes remarkably harder to breathe in. Shit. You really hope she doesn’t die.

“Ess!” You exclaim, practically falling into her when handing Sara off. “Get her and Mia out of here. Doesn’t matter where, just as long as it’s safe. Dallra will find you when everything settles.”

“What of you?” Esspin asks, accepting Sara from your grasp. You look back at the four tailed demon relentlessly setting upon your team like a feral dog, knowing very well that you’ll soon have to face him on your own.

“Well… someone’s gotta keep that guy’s attention while you all get away…” You laugh, trying to swallow your petrifying fear. Esspin frowns at you, a knowing look of worry across her face.

“Jason.” Mia says, stepping forward. “Y-you can’t.”

“Don’t sweat it, I’ll be fine.” You try to assure her. It doesn’t seem to work. “Now get going.” Esspin turns and heads into the nearest threshold, Sara in arm, but Mia dawdles a moment, staring you down as unspoken and disapproving words of protests cloud her thoughts, lacking the strength to say them aloud. Eventually, she turns and follows your collective troll friend, disappearing down the hallway after her.

With them gone, you turn your attention back to the Prince. He hasn’t let up on his assault against Dallra and Creed, and you doubt he will any time soon. You shake your fatigue off the best you can before getting a running start towards him. As soon as you’re in range, you whip Bane of All Mountains as hard as you can flying through the air towards him. It slams against the side of his temple, causing the tendrils he’s standing with to buckle slightly at the sudden offense. It appears your attack landed with the blunt top of your pickaxe, doing little other than bringing his attention to yourself and royally pissing him off. With an exacerbated curse beneath your breath, you swoop in below the Prince’s green stilts, catching Bane and preparing for his counter attack. Looking up, though, you see the Prince gripping his head in labored agony, eyes wired shut. Guess he was more stunned than you first through.

“Boss, are we good?” Creed yells down to you, waving his bat to get your attention.

“Yeah, get the hell outta here!” You yell back. Without hesitation, they retreat into the temple outlet behind them, and you’re left alone with a pissed off Prince of Life. You immediately regret every life choice leading up to this situation.

As the Prince shakes off his stupor, he’s infuriated to find his quarries have all vanished from his reach. Scouring the area from his vantage point on his tendrils, the psycho seems to grow even more feral when he can’t find anything.

“Down here, jackass!” You shout, slamming Bane’s pick into one of his stilts. With an angry grunt, he flicks you back with noticeable ease, shoving you ass-first into the stairs leading up behind you. Getting back to your feet, you hold your position, guard ready and prepared to meet his next attack. None comes, however. The Prince simply glares down at you a moment, before lowering himself to the ground with an unexpected elegance. He stands before you, silently watching. “…Uh…“

“You stay while others abscond.” He finally says, still holding onto the stab wound Sara gave him. “Why is that?”

“…” You’re speechless at how cordial he’s suddenly become.

“Well?” He asks, flicking and swishing his Green Meters impatiently, as if they were a collection of gargantuan cat tails.

“Sorry, I just-… are you not going to kill me?” You ask, keeping Bane at your front between you and him.

“Oh ho ho, how optimistic. Make no mistake, you are about to die.” He clarifies. “But you’ve piqued my curiosity with this… solo act. Did your compatriots abandon you? Or do you intend to nobly sacrifice yourself while they escape? Perhaps you’ve a death wish to your name? I always do get a kick when you people throw something new my way, even if it's your woefully incompetent corpses.” There isn’t the slightest spark of reasonable emotion on his face. Completely mute. Freaks you the fuck out.

“Second one, but without the sacrifice bit.” You tell him, cautious that he might break back into strife with his question answered. Yet he remains still. “… Name’s Jason.”

“I don’t remember asking.”

“R-right… how about your name, then?”

“None of your concern.”

“Jeez, you’re a real ray of sunshine.” You sarcastically jab, not thinking if it’d offend him or not. He doesn’t seem to care.

“Ha! How callow. How quaint!!” He says, an air of arrogance riding smugly on his voice. “Unfortunately, your sheeply opinions mean little to a lion, like myself.”

“Jesus, that Witch did a number on your head.” The Prince’s eye twitches ever so slightly at your comments.

“You know of me, then? I thought those peons of yours looked familiar.” He scoffs, glancing over your shoulder. “So persistent, so annoying. Like a brood of roaches.”

“I-I can fix this. Fix you.” His brow jumps in an unimpressed amusement, mockingly entertained by what you’re saying. “There are plenty of other Heart players who could undo what the Witch did. A-and I can help you find them!” You tell him, feeling a little wind in your sail from him actually talking with you. Maybe you can even move towards negotiation. “Y-you just gotta let me help you first.” His mouth contorts to a disgusting smile.

“And, praytell, why would I do that?” He asks in a chilled tone. The glow of his tendrils flair up, basking the area in an uncharacteristically ominous green light. He lets his head fall limp to the side as he looks at you, mimicking the facets of a discarded puppet.

“Ah come on man, you’re not giving me a lot to work with here.” You complain, holding an open hand out to him, desperately trying to force a negotiation with the Life player.

“I don’t need your help, you simpleton.” He finally tells you. “There’s only one thing I want now, and the only measure of value you have left to offer is your measly spark of life.”

“I-… I know it might seem hopeless, and that we don’t have any other choice but to kill each other, but please… please believe me when I tell you that there is another way.” You tell him, doing your best to lay the foundation for an alliance. He might be a bastard, but he’s a powerful bastard. If you could recruit him, make him a sort of guard dog for your team, getting around the arena would be a nonissue. No one in their right mind would get within a mile of you with him by your side. “You don’t have to be the last one standing, we can find a way to undoom ourselves.”

“Undooming? Feh. Paltry matters of survival no longer interest me. What I want is beyond you. It is… elegant, divine.” He explains. “My only goal now is to slaughter as many sheep as I can before the end. Only then will I be perfect. Only then will I be clean.” Well, there goes your plans of using this guy. Might as well get the show on the road.

“I see…” You mutter, fully grasping how fucked in the head this guy is. “I guess that’s the end of our conversation.”

“It seems so.” The Prince agrees.

“Before you kill me…” He tilts his chin to better show off his devilish smirk, clearly pleased that you’ve accepted the fate he has made for you. “Could I ask you one question?”

“Hm. I don’t see the harm in humoring a meal, so why no-“ You slam Bane of All Mountains into the Prince’s upper lip just below his nose, and make a break for it. “Gah!” The Prince exclaims with a hearty amount of blood pouring from his face.

“How’d that taste, shithead?!” You shout back at him, struggling to take in breath as you race up the stone steps, headed up for the temple you met Creed at while he’s staggered. If you can make it there before he catches up, you can use the explosive powder in those storage barrels to demolish this place along with your opponent, just like back at the Forge.

“Very few… can escape the Green Meters!” He yells, giving chase now fully recovered. You can feel those tendrils slamming against the stairs just as you step off them, getting closer to their target with each strike. “And you are not one of them!”

Reaching the top of the stairs, you dive into the temple, scraping against the stone ground as you roll. Behind you, the Prince’s Green Meters shred through the temple walls like paper, hurling huge chunks of rock throughout the room as the foundations are blown out. You crawl away prone, getting a safe distance out of his range before standing upright again.

“Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit!” You repeat your rattled mantra to yourself, frantically sprinting down the hallway. Unlike the other pyramids, this temple is laid out rather intuitively, so you won’t be able to lose him in here. Fortunately though, this place is a god damn powder keg, all you have to do is drop a match and the roof will come down on top of this prick.

“You are not one of them!” The Prince roars, chasing after you. His Green Meters trail behind him, too big to spread out in the narrow hallway.

“Yeah, keep talking…” You mutter to yourself, glancing back at the Prince while hidden behind the corner of an intersection, waiting for him to catch up. As he rounds the corner, you take a swing for his head. He ducks and places a fist firmly into your stomach, followed up by an uppercut to your chin.

“Facing your death head on, are you?” He crows. You stagger away from the brute, feeling dazed. Life players sure pack a mean punch. “Or are you simply out of places to run?”

“You see a wall to my back?” You try to say as confidently as possible, still reeling from those two simple hits. You readjust your footing, and regrip your pickaxe. “Come on!” With Bane in your hands, you raise your guard, ready for him.

The Prince’s tendrils fold over themselves, shifting directions to aim their spikes at you. The hallway is too narrow to swing in, so he’s adopted a jabbing technique, shooting his tendrils one after another at you like darting snakes. You dodge left and right, scraping yourself up as you slam into the stone walls of the corridor, too focused on avoiding his attacks to spare yourself the hurt.

You’re tattered and bloody before an opportunity shows itself. On a particularly close strike, you manage to activate a Full Time Stop on the tendril, anchoring it in place. The Prince launches another tendril forward as soon as he realizes he can’t retract the other. Managing to capitalize on your streak of good luck, you catch the second tendril in another Time Stop, disabling the use of his bottom two limbs. With half of his armaments frozen in time, the Prince finally seems to realize what you’re doing, holding his last two tendrils back, waiting for you to make your move before he pounces again. You lurch forward, faking a charge in an attempt to bait them out. They reflex at your bluff, but hold back still, trained on you in waiting anticipation.

Seeing that he’s biding his time until you make your move, you say ‘fuck it’ and rush the Prince. On cue, the two remaining Green Meters come barreling down the hallway at you. You roll left, taking cover beneath one of the frozen tendrils while the other two start to frantically flail. The enormous tree-trunk-like weapons smash about the place, turning the ceiling, walls and floor of the corridor into rubble as they try to crush you under their weight. You twist and duck and dodge out of the way of these beasts the best you can, but he’s doing major damage to the structural integrity of the temple. You can’t let him keep thrashing like this unless you want the entire pyramid to come crumbling down on top of you.

You leap out into the middle of the hallway, giving the Prince a clear target to aim for now. As expected, the tendrils start to fold over themselves, maneuvering their pike-like tips as they search for an angle to impale you upon. Prepared for this, you Dilate the time around you just as the tendrils spring forward. (5 sec. your time =1 sec. local time) is more than enough time to handle the Prince’s attacks. As the two tendrils thrust forward in slow-motion, you glide between them with ease, and they bury their prongs in the stone, allowing you to place Full Time Stops on the both of them without difficulty. With all his precious Green Meters stuck in time, you turn back to the Prince, finding him flustered with befuddled anger at how easily you bamboozled him.

Tightening your grip on Bane, you assure yourself that you’ve got the Prince on the ropes, and make a charge for your trapped opponent. He tries to pull back, but his frozen tails keep him stuck in place. As you rush the Prince, you spot a look of bolstered certainty in his eyes, as he seems to realize he’s backed into a corner and has no other choice but to resort to his fists. The moment of truth comes, you enter melee range with your opponent. The two of you face and the Prince reaches forward, aiming to get a grip on your throat, snatching much faster than you could’ve ever anticipated for. Even a fraction of a second slower and he would’ve had you, but be it skill or luck, you somehow manage to trap him in a Time Knot just in the nick of time, halting his claim on your gullet. Still in motion from charging, you spin to the left so as not to run directly into the Prince, tumbling past and eventually falling to the ground, the faintest bit dizzier from it.

“Oh fuck…” You mumble to yourself, staring in awe at the statued form of the Prince of Life, stunned you were able to best him in Strife. “Goh, Fuck!” You exclaim much louder, finally feeling the physical backlash of having so many Temporal Abilities active all at once. You feel ill from the exertion, and you doubt you can keep it all up for much longer. Thankfully, with the Prince himself in a Time Knot, you’re able to release all the Full Time Stops you placed on his Green Miles. As you do, they fall limply to the floor, rendered powerless without a user, and a wave of relief flows over you like you just set down something heavy. “A-… alright! Fucking aced it…!”

You stagger back to your feet, using what remains of the wall in the corridor for support, hobbling along into the nearest room. You’ve only bought yourself a few minutes with that Time Knot, so there’s no time to waste. You carefully turn a barrel full of explosive powder over onto its side and roll it out to the hallway, pushing it up against the Prince’s frozen form. You quickly return and roll three more out, positioning them all in a square formation around him. While you aren’t an expert on explosives, you’re fairly certain this amount of blackpowder should be strong enough to blow through the nearby walls, starting a chain reaction with the rest of the stockpiles in the temple. All you need now is a way to safely set it off…

Looking around the area, you spot a few sizable pieces of destroyed wall the Prince’s flailing created. You pick up two fist-sized rocks, striking them against one another, evoking a burst of sparks to jump from the rubble chunks. This’ll do just fine. Setting off an explosion this big is gonna be risky, but Sara was right about this guy after all. You can’t just let him go wondering about the Arena, free to kill whoever he comes across. Action has to be taken!

You break the top off of one of the barrels and raise the rocks to strike, only finding pause when you realize what you’re about to do. Christ, you really weren’t thinking on that one. Even with your time dilation, there’s no way you can escape an explosion from this close. You’ll have to make a fuse of some sort. Maybe you could fashion one from the sleeve of your god tiers? No, that won’t work. God tiers are flame retardant… for the most part. Damn magic pajamas! You frantically scour for something flammable in your inventory when it hits you. The liquid in those pots!

You return to the room you got the barrels from and check inside the pots. Its contents are thick and oil-like. You pour a small puddle of it onto the floor and strike your rocks above it. The sparks fall and the liquid catches fire. Perfect!

You stumble out of the room, awkwardly pulling the pot behind you while it drags on the ground, scuffing up the floor. Reaching the Prince, you tilt the oversized vase and begin pouring the liquid over one of the barrels, soaking it in the slick substance. Once it’s good and marinated you start pulling the pot away in a bear-hug, careful not to drop it as you lead a trail of oil down the hall, out towards the exit. You’re just about out of liquid once you reach the eastern entrance, abandoning the pot now confident you’re far enough from the blast radius to safely trigger the explosion. You ready your spark-rocks, just one strike and-

“Jason?” You hear from down the hall. Your blood runs cold. “Jason, where are you?” They call for you again. There’s no mistaking that fear-stricken voice.

“Mia?!” You shout back. You drop the spark-rocks and round the corner, grabbing onto the wall to avoid completely falling over. Standing there, awkwardly hugging her polearm in her arms with a brave, teary face, peaking around the Prince to see you is your friend Mia.

“A-are you alright?” She meekly asks, seeing the frantic expression on your face.

“Mia…” Your shoulders slump seeing her, stripping the wind from your sails. Why isn’t she with the others? What is she doing here? What the hell is she thinking?! “Wha-wha what are you…?”

“W-when you told us to leave without you, I-I-I got worried, a-and you were gone for so long, I-I thought you were in trouble.” Her grasp on her polearm starts to wobble. “I-I thought you needed help!” She exclaims, trying to re-grip her weapon.

“Oh jesus christ.” Mia being here has your mind racing a mile a minute. Why the hell would she come back? Even if you were in trouble, what could she do in the state she’s in? Can you still set off the barrel explosives with her here? It’ll only take maybe ten or so seconds for the flames to burn through the barrel once the oil leads them there. If you want to be out of the blast radius when this goes off, you’ll have to be down at least two levels beforehand. Can she run that fast? If she can’t, will you be able to carry her? Shit, no time to think, that Time Knot only has a minute left in it, minute-thirty tops. “Mia, follow me, we’ve gotta get out of here. Hurry!”

“O-okay.” She nods, cautiously stepping over the Prince’s tendrils to meet you. You’re already halfway to the exit when your met with the next problem in this never-ending nightmare funhouse. “Aaah!” Mia screeches at the top of her lungs, nearly giving you a heart attack. Your head snaps back around at the sound of her cry and you see one of the Green Meters has wrapped itself around her leg like a coiling snake. What?! The Prince is still in the middle of your snare, how the hell is he able to move?!

“Hold on, I’m coming!” You shout, vaulting past the frozen Prince to get to the trapped girl. Reaching her, you slam your pickaxe into the tendril that’s snaked itself around her, causing it to recoil off. The dreadful thing slithers upright, reeling back to pounce on the new entity in its proximity. You push Mia behind your guard, ready to deflect the attack. “Mia, go now! I’ll-“ You’re cut short as another of the Green Meters wraps around both Mia and yourself, constricting you as if you were trapped prey. “Shit! Hold onto me!”

You wrap your wingspan around Mia, clutching onto her while doing your best to shield her as the two of you are smashed through several of the temple walls, the tendril whipping you around like a petulant child swinging their toys. You feel something break around your left arm region. Hard to tell what, though.

“Gah-ha!” You cry out as you’re sent through another wall. With teeth grit tighter than a vice, you manage to pry your eyes open, getting a bearing on your surroundings as you wince through the pain. Through the ruin remains of the temple, you spot the Prince of Life standing in stasis, still trapped within your Time Knot. How the hell is this bastard still able to move? There’s no way a Life player should be able to circumvent a temporal snare. Unless… there’s no way. Are those damn Green Meters an extension of his life force?! That’s the only way they’d be able to act autonomously with the Prince still impeded. More importantly, it means these things can keep you trapped here until the Prince frees himself from your snare! Think! You gotta get out of here, fast!

Before you have a chance to think your way out of the tentacle trap you find yourself, the tendril loosens its grasp and lets you go on its own. You ponder what could’ve possibly caused your sudden emancipation when you realize that there isn’t solid ground beneath you. Ah, that would explain it. You’ve been smashed through the outer wall of the temple and flung off the side.

… Fuck.

“Ahhhh!” Mia screams as the two of you free fall down the side of the monolithic pyramid structure. You look upwards, which at the angle you’re falling at, is actually downwards, and see the stone of the pyramid quickly approaching. As dread runs rampant through your head, a single thought rises to the forefront of your mind, sending a chill through you; Mia can't Survive the Fall.

You look down at your friend in her fragile state, still held protectively in your arms, and time seems to roll back before your very eyes. Almost like a slideshow playing before you, you recall all that you’ve been through together. Your first day in Sburb, your last day as neighbors, standing up for her at school, trying to calm her down when her powers first manifested. You see it all, and when you look at her again, before you is that shy girl your dad wanted to introduce you to, poking out from behind her mother’s legs to mutter her hellos to you. In this moment, your body feels weightless and a single Instruction is left to echo in your head;

Save Her!

In this split second decision, you twist your hips, angling yourself to be beneath Mia and wince in cringing anticipation, readying yourself for the landing. The two of you smack against the side of the stone pyramids, the air in your lungs being catapulted out of your body on impact. Pain surges up and down your spine, and the spasming in your chest muscles makes it impossible to gasp for breath. It feels like you were just struck by a train. Needless to say, you were not ready.

You cling onto Mia tightly, doing your best to shield her from any damage as you continue to roll, slide, skid and skip off the unforgiving exterior of the pyramid. You keep your eyes slammed shut trying to endure the pain, but manage to get a peek every now and then of where you are on the enormous structure, and how much further you have to go until the bottom. From what you see, you’ve just broken through the cloud line and are on a crash course to the base of the structure. LOFAC is a lot more lush than you realized, with a small green forest ring surrounding the base of the super pyramids as well as a couple small towns out in the fields beyond them. Off in the distance, several other giant pyramid structures like the one you currently tumble upon decorate the landscape, which seem to be the primary architecture for LOFAC. This Land’s actually kind of a nice place. Shame you aren’t experiencing it from a more pedestrian point of view.

You slide off a sub-pyramid, dropping a long way before banking off the side of another rampart below and finally slamming against the ground of LOFAC at what you can only assume is terminal velocity. The full weight of Mia lands with you, or more accurately on you, emphasizing the degree of mutilation your internal organs have sustained, and you lay there basking in the agony. Not for nothing, but you think that went as well as it could’ve.

“Uhhhhhgh…” You raspily moan, trying to push the pain out of your mind. You were on the fence about it before, but after that little move the Prince pulled, this Strife is way worse than the one you had with Medeas. At least with her, you had the luxury of a head injury to numb the pain. And you didn’t even get to blow anything up this time! All in all, it feels like you were just put through a wood chipper, you can hardly breath and you aren’t 100% sure you won’t vomit up your insides the moment you stand up.

“Jason? Are you okay?” Mia asks, shifting to look at you, which sparks a whole new type of torment to flair up as she redistributes her weight on your chest.

“Gah- I… yeah, I’m fine Mia… I just need a minute…” You manage to assure her. “But please… get off of me.”

“Oh! Ah, sorry!” She quickly apologizes, doing her best to get up without hurting you.

“How about you, you alright?” You ask her, still laying flat on your back.

“A little scraped up, but I-I’m fine.” She says, rubbing her elbow. Good. Normally, Mia could brush off a fall like that with a shit eating grin on her face, but without her powers, you’re pretty sure that fall would’ve killed her. You’re barely hanging on by a thread yourself. Let’s hope that super healing kicks in soon. “You’re… o-oh god.” Her voice starts to tremble, like she’s seen something horrible.

“What, what is i-“ You follow her eyes to where she’s staring and discover a grizzly sight, realizing you’re a lot more fucked up than you first thought. Both your legs are a broken mess, being more likened to tattered accordion that’ve been twisted and stretched about than proper human limbs, and a sickeningly large gash in your lower stomach has opened up, permitting a segment of your innards to protrude out. “Oh… wow…”

“Jason!” Mia exclaims through a teary voice. Her eyes start to well up like floodgates, overwhelmed by the sight of what’s become of you.

“C-calm down.” You try to keep her under control. “We can’t panic. We need to keep level-heads about us.”

“Your legs!” She shouts, the water works finally breaking down her face.

“Mia, you gotta calm down.” You repeat a little firmer this time.

“I-I-I-I think that’s your intestine!” She says while frantically beginning to shake.

“I’ll be fine if I just-“ You try to sit up but a piercing pain erupts from your back. It dawns on you that your spine might be broken. “Oh god, okay I just need to sit still for a bit and I’ll be fine.” You lay back down and close your eyes, taking deep and labored breaths to try and calm your nerves. Panicking in a moment like this would just exacerbate things. What you need to do is stay calm and think things through. There’s a solution to this, you just have to find it. Unfortunately, the adrenaline that was coursing through your body begins to wear off around the same time Mia begins to hyperventilate, and you can’t quite focus on anything anymore, and you mind goes into a kind of static fugue. Okay, no, this is still fine, you still have the healing factor you exchanged for your immortality. Any minute now and you’ll be right as rain, any… any minute… what? What the hell?! Why aren’t you healing, you should be healing! You had healed at this point the last time you got badly banged up, so why not now?! Are your injuries too severe to heal? Boss Is there a limit on what can be healed?! Okay, okay, fuck, okay, think. There’s another way, there’s always another way. Hey, Boss. Think! There has to be something, right? Maybe Mia can find Esspin and Sara. Are you even listening? Yeah, Aspect of Hope and Title of Sylph? There has to be a powerful healing motif in that combination. O-or something that can ease up this fucking pain! You can’t even think straight! God damn it, Boss! This is getting old, for Christ’s sake! Here!

 

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What?… Creed? Yeah, who the hell else? W-where are you? I thought you left with Dallra. I-is she here too? What? Oh, right, that was- wait hold on, we’re getting off track. Look, I’m not actually with you right now, but we don't have much time, so don’t sweat the hows or whys. Huh? Then how the hell are you talking to me? I just told you not to sweat the-, okay whatever, it’s a Psychic Link, but we really- W-what? You can just do that? Like with anybody?. Forget about it, not the important part. Listen! I have a message for you; Check Your Ability Index. My ability index? Why?… Creed? Hello? Check your Ability Index? You guess you have no reason not to, you know, other than the fact that you’re dying and should probably value your last moments.

Screw it, you open up your Ability Index and scroll through the listings. Full Time Stop, Time Dilation, Time Knot, Checkpoint, Complete Close Off, Dilation Close Off, Time Restore, Damage Turn-Back, Dama- wait, Damage Turn-Back? When did… Oh shit! You’d forgotten, all the abilities you unlocked from the limit-breaker! This must be what Creed was referring to, but how did he know about your new abilities? Forget it, no time to think about that now. You manually select Damage Turn-Back in the ability index and a small Cog construct appears hovering in your hand. You aren’t really sure what you’re supposed to do with this. Normally, your future self would teach you how to properly use your powers, but you’re on your own with this one. You just sort of… reach out and grasp the construct and… turn it counter clockwise. That seems right, right?

Your intuition was correct! The further back you turn the cog, the less your injuries seem to sting. You aren’t complaining, on account of it saving your life, but this ability seems a little… unbalanced? You’ve never had something as powerful as this in your arsenal during your journey. Although, you are a god, after all. Technically speaking, at least. Between that and your limiters being removed, you guess it isn’t that unreasonable of a power to have. But if you have a skill as strong as this, you shudder to imagine the types of abilities some of the other Godtiers might be toting. Well, regardless of how useful this ability might be, you feel just about all your reserved power flow out of you, like you’ve sprung a leak in the metaphysical container that housed all your temporal energy.

“Ahhalright.” You sigh as you finish fixing yourself up the best you can. You aren’t completely healed, but at least you aren’t a mangled pile of pain anymore. You sit up just fine, you spine welded back together again, and try to ease a still hysteric Mia.

“Ja-*hic*-sooon!” She cries, throwing her hands around you, hugging you tightly. It’s a little rough on your remaining injuries, but it’s clear she needs to vent that trauma out.

“It’s alright, I’m alright.” You assure her, lightly patting her back in an awkward attempt to comfort the weeping girl. Sure, you’ve known Mia for most of your life, but you’re still not used to her hugging you so much. “It’s okay, I’m all patched up now. Now come on, we’ve gotta go find the others before-“ Your stop short, cut off by the sound of shattering stone erupting from above you. Timidly looking up, already knowing in your heart what you’ll see, a bolt of fear shoots through every inch of your being. Coming down on top of you like a galloping horse is the Prince of Life, growing a twisted smile upon seeing you.

“Very few can escape the Green Meters, Jason!” He howls, barreling down the side of the pyramid like a Pale Rider. “And you are not one of them!” Him actually saying your name kind of has you scared out of your fucking mind right now. It just lets you know that he’s coming for you, and you specifically.

“Mia, we have to run.” You tell her, not looking away from the Prince. “We have to run right now!” You nearly slip trying to get to your feet too fast, eventually getting upright and breaking out into a full sprint, running as fast as you can to the forest around the bottom of the pyramid, dragging Mia behind you by the hand. She’s eventually able to run ahead of you, your injuries slowing you down, but you can keep up well enough.

The two of you are deep into the woods when you’re brave enough to look back. You spot the Prince just as he reaches the edge of the forest, witnessing him begin to swing his tendrils like vast axes through the trees before him, completely divorcing them from their stumps and flinging them up into the air. He’s like a rampaging lumberjack, hacking at the bit just to get to you. What the hell did you do to deserve having to deal with a beast like him? At this point, you’d take the Heir of Rage over this guy!

“Jason!” Mia calls your attention to her. “Someone’s here! Out in the field!” She points forward to the forest’s end. It’s hard to make out, but there’s a shadowy form standing out in the open between the forest and the nearest village. You hope to god it’s Dallra, or Esspin, or Creed, fuck even Frank could help.

Finally reaching the end of the forest, you come upon the the mysterious figure, witnessing as the shadows around them take form into… yourself? How did… Holy Fucking Shit… It’s the Fucking Heir of Rage! Pacing around, shaking and twitching like a rabid fucking animal! He perks up, eyes trained directly on you, stopping you dead in your tracks in front of him.

“AHHHH!” You scream to the uncaring entropy of the universe in seething fury. You weren’t being fucking literal! Every god damn turn, this hell-hole has some new freshly baked shit to slam down on your plate with all the grace and disdain of a disgruntled spouse delivering divorce papers to their cheating man-whore of a husband! Every pseudos-silver lining just begging to be trudged down by the absolute middle finger to all things good and holy that is reality’s insatiable drive to murder a bunch of kids! Fuck!

“W-who is he?” Mia asks, looking back to you. Before you can answer, the Prince of Life finally catches up with you, slamming the trees at the forest’s edge down with his tendrils, crushing them to splinters.

“You aren’t one of them, Jason.” He hisses, slowly approaching behind you, seeing that you’ve cornered yourself. “You. Aren’t. One Of Them.”

“W-what do we do?” Mia asks, hectically glancing between the two juggernauts. This is too much. You can’t protect her from this…

“You’re leaving.” You order Mia, ignoring her question.

“What?” You grab her by the shoulders.

“Get the hell out of here, now!” You shout, visibly startling her. “Find somewhere safe to hide and wait for me there. Dallra will find you.”

“B-but, Ja-“

“Mia…! Go!” Her eyes dart around frantically, scanning your face for any break in demeanor. Her shocked look softens into a small and knowing frown. She doesn’t say anything, just nods before turning and running out into the field, diagonal to the fight. The Heir of Rage’s attention darts to her as she absconds and he crouches down like a pouncing jungle cat, ready to chase after her. “HEY!” You shout, slamming your pickaxe against the ground to focus him on yourself. “Your fight’s right here, asshole! So come on!” He snarls back in response, now completely focused on you. As you stare the Heir down, your own face being mimicked back at you, his stolen visage begins to contort, growing sallow and ghoulish, with flesh rotting before your eyes until he has the likeness of a long dead corpse. How pleasant.

You’re left alone again, simmering with an annoyed sense of déjà vu. Only difference is you’re completely out of energy, and there are two monsters for you to fight this time. You’d complain, but there’s really no point. You’re in the shit right now, all you can do is grit your teeth and brace yourself. You ready your pick and prepare for the worst, bouncing your attention between the two, unsure of which will strike first. It’s funny, you’d think your heart rate would be through the roof right now, but it’s not. You aren’t sure if that’s good or not. All you know is… this is probably gonna suck.

 

Jason, Stand Your Ground.

Chapter 26: > Sons of Dead Fathers

It’s the Heir of Rage who makes the first move. He rushes forward with you his target, bellowing like a mad man. You return in kind, charging for your psychotic doppelgänger, pickaxe swung over your shoulder, ready for a swing at him. You meet him head on, parrying away his first hit with Bane before stumbling past him, put off by the force of his strike. He pivots back to face you, ready to attack once more. Before he has the chance, the Prince of Life joins the fray, snatching the Heir up with his tendril and whipping him around like one of those inflatable car advertisers, slamming him into the ground with each downward fling.

After a thorough thrashing getting flung from side to side, the Heir manages to find his footing digging his feet deep into the ground. Now having the upper hand, he wraps both arms around the Green Meter, yanking the Prince forward towards him with it. The Heir knocks him directly in his jaw as he whizzes past him, stunning the ever-loving shit out of him, and sending him tumbling through the grass. He staggers up, holding his head and trying to shake off the hit.

“Rah!” The Prince shouts, re-focusing himself. “Simple Barbarian!”

With his furious attention centered on the Heir, you take the opportunity to quietly rush up behind him, slamming the heavy end of your pickaxe against the other side of his jaw that had so far gone untouched. He glares back at you, your attack not so much damaging him, rather simply reminding him that you’re still here. Before he can retaliate, you take advantage of your proximity to the Prince, hooking the curve of your pickaxe around his throat and spinning, dragging him alongside you. Mustering enough momentum, you toss the Prince like a soaring sack of potatoes, aimed like an artillery round towards the Heir. Without question, the Heir takes another overhanded slug at the Prince as he flies past, killing the momentum of the toss and sending him spinning head-over-heel midair. Using his Green Meters, the Prince catches himself before his body can hit the ground, hanging limply in his spider-like pose for a brief moment. A hearty flow of blood begins to pour from his nose as he stairs idly at the ground.

Suspended in the air, the Prince sends his tendrils flying outwards, ripping up the ground and throwing the Heir out of the way. Seeing that one opponent is thrown off, his attention whips back to you, with nothing but wrath and savagery filling his eyes.

“I’m going to enjoy what I do to you.” He growls, flexing his tendrils back into order behind him.

“Yeah?” You huff between breaths. “Then come get a piece!” You think you hear the Prince’s jawbone crack, he’s gritting his teeth so hard. He barrels forward at you, galloping upon his tendrils on a stampede of war. Just as he reaches you, the Heir of Rage flies like a bat out of hell, leaping onto the Prince’s back and putting him into a choke hold, making it clear he does not appreciate being ignored in a Strife. The sudden impairment forces the Prince to stagger past you.

The Heir and Prince grapple with one another, screaming and roaring in unison as they battle for dominance in their mid-air scrap. The Prince spins and thrashes in a desperate attempt to try and buck his rider off, while the Heir seems determined to hold tight regardless of the rough ride. You stand transfixed by the intimate displays of wrestling depicted before you, enamored by the sheer vigor and vitality of the duo, like two squirming cephalopods locked in a mating ritual. It’s around the time the Heir shoves his fist in the Prince’s mouth, trying to rip his tongue out, that you realize now would be a good time to excuse yourself from this mess of a fight. You turn tail and start running back towards the super-pyramid, more than ready to reunite with your team members. You doubt everyone’s made it down to ground level by now, so here’s hoping it doesn’t take too long to get the group back together.

Just as you’re about to reach the forest line, the Heir goes soaring past above you, slamming down before your path, blocking the way. The impact he creates upon landing burrows into the ground, erupting the earth in a fantastic display. You skid on the grass, falling on your ass as you try to stop before completely running into his shockwave.

The Heir rises up from his crater, barely even phased by the toss. With you being the thing directly in front of him, naturally his rage gravitates onto you. A gurgling snarl escapes his undead throat and he cracks his neck, evoking a sickening snap like the sound of an oak tree splitting in half. Presented before your ghoulish lookalike once again, you aren’t so much afraid of him like you were, more that you’re simply aware of the threat that he poses. Regardless, you scoot away from your opponent, too flustered to get back on your feet. He slowly advances after you with an insurmountable force behind each step in his march. As calmly and innocuously as you can manage, you prop yourself up into a squatting position, careful not to move in any way that might set the Heir off on you. Unfortunately, the Prince is still to your rear. You hear the sound of a tendril tearing through the ground behind you, undoubtedly making a B-Line for you and the Heir. Waiting as long as you can, the Prince’s gallops are just at your doorstep when you dive to the side like a springing frog, the bastard's attack just missing as he barrels past.

The sudden movement of your dodge prompts the Heir to re-engage his assault, descending upon you with wicked intent. By the time you’ve motioned through your evasive maneuver, the Heir’s already in front of you, going for a tackle. In the split second you have after landing, you spin out of the way on your tiptoes, losing your footing but evading the Heir’s grasp. You’re quick to get your balance back, fearful of what the Heir might do if he gets his claws on you at such an intimate proximity.

The Heir stops in his tracks having missed his grapple for you, skidding back around to face his opponent. Before you can completely regain your stance, he’s already struck you at least three times, once in the jaw, then the stomach and finally the side… or once in the side, then the jaw, then the stomach… or was it the stomach, then the side, then the jaw? It kind of happened too fast for you to be sure of the order. Either way, you’re sent staggering back, too blitzed to keep up with your opponent. The Heir lets out a monstrous roar, wailing at you through rotted vocal cords. You didn’t get it when the Heir first transformed to look like you back on LOPAW, but this whole Living Dead corpse-version of you he’s wearing certainly has a disconcerting aura to it. Your undead counterpart sets upon you once more, stopping short when a green tendril wraps itself around his leg, flinging him away.

“Filthy zombies must know their place.” The Prince says staring you down while he speaks, no inflection in his voice. “This sheep is my prey.”

“Don’t I feel special.” You mutter, readying your stance. Ripping up the ground beneath him, the Prince slingshots himself at you at full force. Your instinctive reaction is to trap him in a temporal snare, but when you raise your hand to try, your entire forearm cramps up, like the muscles in your arm are collapsing in on each other. Shit, still out of energy!

While you’re grasping your arm, trying to force the cramping to stop, the Prince grabs you by the face and slams you into the ground, knocking the thoughts out of your head. A few brutal coughs burst from your chest as you try to clear the gravel that had made it into your lungs, and as you’re left defenseless in your recovery, a tendril swings down slamming against your stomach, causing you to lose the small bit of endurance you’d managed to gather.

Again and again, you’re pinned to the ground with each hit of the Prince’s Green Meters, striking you in a manner akin to an angry recital performed on a shitty set of bongos. On a particularly strong slam, your body is hit hard enough to rebound into the air, to which the Prince cracks you away like a lined up tee-ball. You sail a short distance through the ether, eventually landing into a spiral, settling to the ground on your stomach.

After taking a moment to cough up an alarming amount of blood, you manage to push yourself onto your hands and knees, trying to get yourself back into the fight. Unfortunately your head’s too flustered to think of any strategy to retaliate, all your mental faculties having been thoroughly beaten out of you. Glancing back, the Prince has slowly advanced upon you, raising all four of his Green Meters up to the sky, coiling them around one another to form a massive drill out of the tendrils. The Prince tightens his fist, and the drill arks, piercing through the air, aimed for your stomach. The only thing you can think to do is to Dilate time around you, grasping for a few more seconds to think. In your depleted state, the most you can muster is (1.5 sec. your time =1 sec. local time). The strain from overuse on your body is enormous, particularly in your lower torso region, like there’s a storm of fire coursing through abs. You try to soldier through the pain, mustering enough strength to flip over, deflecting the path of the Prince’s Life Drill with the head of Bane of All Mountains, redirecting its killing blow off to the side. The victory is short lived, as the drill slams into the ground and violently unravels, one tendril slamming into the side of your head as the attack unfurls. Before you realize, both your arms are restrained by the Prince’s Green Meters, and your feet are lassoed together, leaving one last tendril hovering just above you, maliciously hanging in the air ready to plunge. You struggle to get free, but the Prince’s grasp has you kept firmly in place.

“You are not one of them.” The Prince hisses like a mechanical monstrosity letting off a torrent of steam. His last tendril stabs down, aimed square for your chest. The dreaded point is halted, barely missing your torso as the Prince is staggered, the Heir leaping back into the Strife and tackling him away at subsonic speeds. The destruction is great enough to weaken the tendril’s grasp on you, and you squirm free from its clutches. “Insolent Barbaric Pest! Vagrant Zombie Dog!”

“RAAAAAH!” The Heir screams in response, latching onto the Prince's back once more, trying to rip his head off. The Prince momentarily breaks the Heir’s hold on him with an upward elbow to his temple, squirming free enough to drive the back of his head into the Heir’s nose. It’s a solid hit, sounding like a watermelon splitting as the Heir’s nose erupts with blood, painting his mimicked face of yours crimson, but the Heir doesn’t so much as flinch, if anything bolstering his aggression in their grapple, regaining his grip on the Prince’s head.

Seeing he’s unable to writhe his way away from the Heir, the Prince springs up high into the air with his tendrils. As he reaches his zenith in the heavens and begins to fall, he flourishes the four Meters like a jellyfish, accelerating his descent to a blinding speed and crashing to the ground like a shooting star, landing Heir-first. The impact of the crash kicks up a huge wave of dust that envelops the area. You stand back in awe as the air clears, admittedly impressed at the tenacity of the Prince. That’s a Life player for you, a lot easier to appreciate when you’re not the one on the receiving end of their endless vigor. Impressed as you might be though, you aren’t sure how you’re gonna get out of this place going up against people like these two.

Suddenly, a form comes flying out of the dust cloud, crashing into you and firmly knocking you to the ground. Sitting back up in a daze, you find yourself face to face with your necrotic visage, the Heir of Rage, his stolen face only a few inches away from its original. He lurches for you, hands seizing at your throat to throttle you. You’re barely able to bring your guard up in time, exchanging your windpipe in his hands with the shaft of your pickaxe. He clamps down on your weapon, shaking it, and you by proxy, like a eager dog with a chew-toy, eventually tossing you away once he realizes he can’t asphyxiate a mining utensil.

You glide through the short distance you were thrown, rolling off the momentum and back onto your feet. Before you have a chance to celebrate such a cool looking acrobatic maneuver, the Heir collides directly into your midsection, tackling you once again. Christ, this guy won’t give it a rest! What is he, a fucking dynamo? You grip Bane at its top, slamming the weighted head of the pick into the Heir’s skull. He takes it without a flinch, only pulling away from you so he can start throwing haymakers, forcing you to pull back to avoid the hits. The wind pressure from his punches alone could probably knock you on your ass, let alone if he actually hit you dead-on, bastard could probably take your head off. As you continue to dodge to his stride, a kind of rhythm consumes you, and you begin to move to the beat of the strife. He throws a punch, you juke back. You swing your pick, he stomps forward. Swing, juke, strike, stomp. One-one two three, One-one two three. Swing, perry, swing, counter. One-two, One-two. This is amazing! You’re somehow keeping up with one of the strongest Rage players in the arena. And you’re doing it in style!

The little bout of confidence you’re experiencing is cut short when the Heir manages to catch your pickaxe mid-swing, his attacks having gained remarkable speed with each missed strike. You try in vain to pull it free from his grasp, but the hulk’s grip stays true, asserting his claim upon your armaments. Slow and methodically, the Heir pulls you close with your pick before raising his foot, pressing it into your stomach. With a swift extension of his leg, your opponent pries the pickaxe away from you, kicking you flying back in the process. You tumble over yourself once you hit the ground, sent half a stadium’s length away from the attack. The psycho charges for you before you can stagger back to your feet, Bane of All Mountains still in his possession. Suppose that saves you the trouble of having to get it later, at least.

Barely able to brace yourself before the Heir reaches you, you muster a defensive stance, searching for an opening to snatch your pickaxe back from him. As he throws a crude swing at you, with your own weapon no less, you jut back, letting the pick go wide. As the Heir’s attack is in its down-swing, you latch onto Bane’s shaft and try to jerk it away from him. Again his grip stays true, so you continue with your pull, falling backwards and bringing the two of you to the ground. Tucking your legs in during the fall, you position yourself so that your feet press into the Heir’s stomach this time, and roll up and onto your upper back. Kicking outward mid-roll, you push the Heir off of you, breaking his claim on your weapon and sending him off into the field behind you. As you do, the Prince slashes his tendril through the still billowing cloud of dust, clearing the area and reasserting his presence in the strife.

“Filth!“ The Prince snarls at the Heir as he lands beneath him. Pushing himself up onto one knee, the Heir snarls back at the Prince, just with less words. With a look of disgust, the Prince reels a tendril up and sends it piercing down at him. In a seemingly effortless maneuver, the Heir leaps into the air from down on one knee, dodging over the impaling attack and using the tendril as a prop to vault himself even higher. As he arks through the air, the Heir backflips into an axe-kick, landing the strike directly against the Prince’s temple. You’re feeling a little outclassed right now, seeing all these flashy moves.

As the Prince reels from the attack, trying to register what just hit him, the Heir continues on with his assault, grabbing hold of the nearest tendril on his descent as he kicks himself into a spin, twisting the Green Meter into a corkscrew. As the Heir lands, bringing the tendril down with him, he quickly stomps on the green construct at the thinnest point in its twist, pinning it to the ground. The Prince seems to feel this, as a look of shock appears on his face when the Meter is pinched, and he violently tries to shake the tendril free from the hold, succumbing to the primal instinct of struggle when something important is about to be broken. All that thrashing does, however, is prompt the Heir to tighten his foothold to the tendril, keeping it locked in place. Readjusting his grip into a bear hug, the Heir makes it clear he’s putting his entire strength into his next move, and in a show of pure power, he rips the segmented length of the tendril off of its foundation, leaving it at about half its original wingspan. The sound evoked from the Prince is guttural and hair clenching. You feel it in your throat, like a cacophony of rusty knives slicing open the forever-stomach of a horrorterror. In his fit of agonized rage, the Prince slams his injured tendril down, leaving a crater where the Heir used to be.

“I grow tired… of these GAMES!” The Prince roars in a trembling anger, clearly shaken up by the impromptu amputation. “Now the roaches die!” Plunging his two spare tendrils into the ground, the Prince unearths up an enormous chunk of the ground, arching it back a moment before swinging it down, full momentum like a meteor hellbent on extinction.

The Heir rises from his ditch like the dead rising from the crypt, a psychotic look of glee plastered on his stolen face, exhilarated by the challenge presented to him. With a hulking flex of his forearm, a raging inferno erupts from the Heir’s knuckles, engulfing both his arms in a scorching hurricane of power. With a mere twitch of the muscles in his legs, the Heir leaps flying towards the mountain-shard, fist reeled back to plunge into the enormous rock before it can crush you both. Like cracking thunder, the piece of earth is shattered by the Heir, sending a storm of rock and flame raining down on you like shooting stars.

You start sprinting, doing your best to avoid the chaos as it falls from the sky, praying you can get to safety before you’re crushed and/or burned to death. Right when you’re just about out of Pandæmonium's splash zone, one of the larger remains of the unearthing attack comes crashing down behind you, causing the ground under your feet to fall away. Unbeknownst to you, the area surrounding the crater the Prince created had begun to collapse into a wider sinkhole, sucking everything in reach in. With no proper footing, you go tumbling backwards, tipping off into the gaping hole in the ground. The world turns into a blur as you flip around like a lifeless rag, falling further into the crater. Just as you reach the bottom, the ground beneath you vanishes, and you fall into the void.

You feel your heart skip a beat as you enter the free fall, and you plummet for what has to be several dozen feet into darkness before you hit ground once again, slamming down flat on your back. The fall winds you, but its far from the worst hit you’ve taken today. Looking up, trying to orientate yourself in this new abyss, you find you’ve fallen into a subterranean complex, laden with stone bricks and pillars. A single ray of light shines down upon you through the rift in the ceiling like a beacon from heaven. Peering through it, you get one last glimpse of the strife above as it rages on without you, before the opening is suffocated by falling debris collecting at the bottom of the crater, leaving you in the pitch black. It seems you’ve been entombed.

“Fuck…” You mutter to yourself in the dark, letting what the fuck just happened sink in. You survived a 3x strife with a Prince of Life and a Heir of Rage. If you told that to yourself even an hour ago, you’d have said you were a con artist of the highest degree. “Yeah!”

Laying in the decrepit grave you’ve found yourself in, still riding the high of surviving a battle between two leviathan of war, you feel your confidence skyrocket from the feat, sending your Independation Meter off the charts! The affair is so momentous of an occasion, you leap up two whole God Tier Rungs, completely blowing past the rank of Auguring Keeper of the Abating Flame and settling comfortably amidst the level, Turning Tails; Consecrated Dynamo. One fat Booncase slaps down into your lap before fading out of reality into your metaphysical bank account. You aren’t really sure if that reward was supposed to be backhanded or not. Boondollars stopped being relevant a while ago…

 

***

 

You ran. As fast and as far as you could, just like he told you to do. It hurts to breathe now, like the air itself is prickly like a thorn. You aren’t really sure where you ran to. Direction wasn’t really a major concern when Jason told you to leave. Maybe your memory is getting worse, but you don’t remember him being so frightening when he gets serious about things.

The area you ran to looks like a small village of small Japanese-style pagoda houses. Citizens of the town consist of little Snake consorts slithering around the place, quietly hissing about. It seems safe enough here. Jason told you to find some place to hide out for a while until he could find you, so you should probably get inside somewhere. You’re not too sure of his tracking abilities, but that Dallra girl could probably find you without breaking a sweat. Still… maybe you should choose somewhere a little obvious just in case it’s only him looking? There’s plenty of pagoda buildings to hide out in, but you think the particularly large one at the center of the village would do well for a conspicuous enough hideaway. You’d like to say that’s the first place Jason would look, but you’re not so sure. He can be so rattlebrained sometimes.

“You’ve got sssssome blue on you.” One of the snake consorts hisses as you walk past him.

“Sorry, what was that?” You ask. When you look back you find the serpent has already moved on. Blue on you…? You glance down and see that your lovely white god tiers have been stained blue?! Eeew… What is this stuff? It feels… sort of slick, kind of like oil. Realizing how grimy you’ve gotten really makes you want to get washed up, but for now you should probably focus on finding where you can hide yourself away to wait.

Upon entering the structure at the center of the village, the building’s interior appears to be a lot more modern than the traditional Japanese exterior would suggest. It looks like a banquet lodge, or some sort of community meeting place like one you’d find in a college dorm. The inside is a darker oak rather than the red-stained lumber on the outside, with a few big rooms containing tables and benches to sit and eat at. There’s even a little lounge area with a tv playing, a handful of consorts gathered ‘round to listen. The current channel is tuned into a kind of news network, covering recent controversial events that took place on the Land of Conflict and Repose. The Snake correspondent has some very… colorful words to say about the Mongoose consorts there. You aren’t too familiar with the politics of the Lands in the Arena, so you can’t rightly say if the talking heads on S.N.N. are giving a fair shake to the Consorts of LOCAR, but either way, this place keeps getting stranger and stranger. You like the serpent news anchor’s funny little suit, though. Hehehe, his tie has scales on it.

Getting more familiar with your new hidey-hole, you take a peek about the place, going halfway up the squeaky wooden stairs to peer at the next level up. You spot a few snakes slithering about their business, but there isn’t much to see beyond that. One piece of furnishing in this place has caught your eye, though. There’s a small gateway portal nestled between the two sides of the staircase landings. Jason said that portal colors are associated with the aspect of the Land you’re going to, but this one is pure white. You aren’t sure what aspect white is, so there’s no telling where this would go. You should probably stay away from this thing. Wouldn’t want to end up going somewhere far away from everyone else!

Upon completion of this thought, you suddenly get tossed up into the air in near comedic timing. The sudden unauthorized movement of your person has you in quite the mid-air tizzy, and in the flying folly, you end up landing directly in the gateway’s portal. In a flash, you disappear off somewhere far, far away from the rest of your group. Oh how ironically tragic.

What could have caused such a serendipitous event to transpire, you find yourself wondering? Unbeknownst to you, there just so happens to be a Prince somewhere, who fancied himself quite the high-ticket item, and he’s just about reached his limit for the bullshit Life has been throwing at him. Poor guy… all he wants to do is slaughter the innocents with his bare tentacles, and everything is getting in the way of him achieving his goal. In response, he’s just decided to flatten the entire area and be done with the matter entirely. As you can expect from someone dropping something considerably large on a nearby area, a quake-like tremor overtook your person, sending you spiraling into your current predicament.

Wherever shall this new series of unfortunate events lead you this time, young Maid of Rage? Unfortunately for you, there are much more pressing people to be at the moment, so you’ll have to wait until current affairs resolve themselves or until their plotlines become too tedious and boring to read. As such, you can’t imagine you’ll be waiting long.

 

***

 

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dark, but you’re eventually able to determine that you’re in a tunnel of some sorts. Like you saw before, the walls are made of rough stone, with a few patches here and there that’ve broken off and fallen to the floor, and large support pillars spaced every few feet keeping the place standing. Is this a part of the pyramid monoliths? Color you surprised, you never would have expected a structure as big as the one above you to have subterranean levels as well. If you’re lucky enough, you just might stumble upon a few juicy sequestered pieces of lore as you find your way out of this place.

Speaking of getting out, you seem to have run into a bit of an obstacle in this regard, as sitting up from the floor is posing to be quite the formidable challenge for you. It’s not that you can’t get up, it’s just that you’re rather comfortable where you are. Decompressing in the aftermath of your strife, you find that you’ve nearly rocked yourself to sleep from the moment of respite, exhausted from the seeming never-ending events of the day. Not to mention the cool, damp air of the underground feels like heaven on your aching injuries, reminding you of the dog-days of summers when you were just a kid. Back then, you’d plant yourself in front of the fridge, staring idly at the sweating sodas-cans and veggies sitting in the crisper as the cold air cooled you off, so overheated from the neighborhood play outside you could do little more than pant like a dog. It’s a nostalgic feeling, but… you can’t help but let a tear escape your half opened eyes as you reminisce on the memories. You wonder why that is…

You spend a few minutes here, lying in your fallen pose, stuck in a near-fugue state as you bounce between full-awake and half-sleep, the only thing keeping you concise being that nagging feeling at the back of your mind that you still have matters left to take care of. That, and the muffled thrashings of battle permeating from the earthen roof above you. Seems like the Prince and the Heir are still going at it up on the surface. Even all the way down here, the sounds of war still grace you. On a less hectic day, you would let their skirmishes be your lullaby, but unfortunately there are more than a few problems that demand your attending to them. And so nevertheless, you tough through it, and rise from your grave.

Getting up, you take a glance at the nearby wall, searching for a lore fix. Nothing. A barren sea of course and grey, the stacked bricks forming a trickled maze with nary a blemish of information to stimulate your hazed mind. In short, no wall scribbles. Booooring… although, after what just happened, maybe boring isn’t so bad. Regardless, you’ve got places to find and people to go. You glance from one end of the tunnel to the other, unsure which way leads to an exit. You flip a coin in your head and head to your right. Not much else to go off of besides a shot-in-the-dark guess, so right it is. And in the world’s strangest series of events, you find yourself traversing yet another mother fucking hallway. Ain’t life just full of wonders?

As you drift down the corridor, you can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt walking away from the Strife the way you did, especially after being so gung-ho about taking out the Prince. Sure, in his state, the Heir should be more than capable of finishing the puff-pantsed prick off, but something about it still doesn’t sit right with you. Like you’re walking away from a serious responsibility when the job is only half finished. Dad had a saying about things like this, that there was no shame in shirking responsibilities saddled onto you without your say-so, but to abandon a task that you had taken upon yourself of your own freewill was the most disgrace a man could bring upon himself. You think he phrased it; ‘Tantamount to treason against the self, a sullying of the spirit from a lack of will’. He was eccentric like that. You never got all his talk about the ‘indomitable human spirit’ but it certainly made it easy to explain to him why you skipped class all the time. Oh, the oppressive education system set upon you with their unrealistic expectation of achievement and overly-rigid scheduling comparable to prison sentences. He ate that stuff up like caviar. Anyway, that’s probably why you feel like you just left the house with the stove on. That, or you’re dreading when you’ll inevitably have to tell Sara you let her friend’s murderer get away… eh, you’re sure you can smooth it over.

Just when it seems like this traversing-of-corridors is never going to end, a sudden light flashes you in your eye, piercing through the void like a beacon in the night. Finally, a way out! You rush ahead and eventually come to a heavenly staircase leading up. You trot up those stone-cut steps without any regard for prior warnings, entering into a temple room just like the one higher up in the super pyramid. It looks like your intuition was right, the super-structures on this Land all have connecting subterranean levels beneath them. It’s gonna be a bitch-and-a-half to find your way out of this place. There’s about a million other thresholds and pathways in this room alone! Damn… you guess straight forward is a good bet?

Going straight ahead leads to a dead end. You back track a few passages and go left. Dead end. ==>How about right? Three way pass, you go right. ==>Dead End. God Damn it! Fuck this god damn labyrinth! Where the hell is Esspin when you need her?! How the hell do the natives navigate here?! Come to think of it, you haven’t seen a single consorts from this Land on this entire pyramid, even on the upper levels. Maybe it’s like… scared ground or something? You haven’t seen any tombs or crypts or anything, but maybe they were built into the actual structure. People did that back in the day, didn’t they? ==>Left, Right, Left, Dead End. Fuck! They burry builders in the Great Wall of China, didn’t they? Was that an actual respect thing or more of a convince thing? ==>Right, Straight, Left, Right, Straight, Dead End. Fuuuuck! Like ‘oh no, this random peasant died, let’s entomb him forever in his own work as an act of respect to honor him’ or was it ‘oh, this peasant died… oh well, let’s keep it moving, people’ ==>Left, Left, Straight, Right, Straight, Straight, Dead End. You’re close to popping a blood vessel. You guess this place could be like a site for prayer or meditation or something. Creed was meditating here, and he seems… you wouldn’t say zen, but zen-ish? ==>Right, Straight, Left, Straight, Dead End. This is where you live now, you guess. Or maybe it’s reserved for holidays and events. Like a sort of day of the dead carnival plot for weird lizard people. Hell, maybe it’s a ceremonial ground for resurrecting their dead, and all the lost little lizard souls have to navigate their way through this god forsaken maze if they want to come back to the land of the living. Heart player Lands are weird like that. ==>Left, Left, Left. Dead End. You really wish Dallra was here right now…

The idea of just taking your pickaxe and breaking your way out of this stonehell is unbelievably appealing at the moment, but as you continue to traverse hallways and staircases with no real bearing, you’re finding that the longer you continue on, the harder it is to not drag your feet. It turns out that little cat-nap you had down in the catacombs opened up the floodgates of sleepiness in your brain. Your eyes are beginning to flutter and the muscles keeping you going fatigue more and more. You feel weak and sluggish, and you can’t help but swing your arms down by your side. You’ve been running on adrenaline alone for nearly the entire past hour, and since nothing is directly trying to kill you at the moment, you’ve started to shut down, running out of steam. Hopefully you can find everyone before you-

--YAWN--

Shit. That’s not a good sign. Alright, time to streamline the exodus efforts. ==>Right, Straight, Right, Left, Right, Right, Straight, Left, Ramp? There’s a ramp before you, light shining down from the passage above. You ascend, taking every step on the smooth incline cautiously. One can never be too careful when ascending gradients of any kind, zig-zagged or not. You reach the top and… Finally! An exit!

Finding your way out of the god damn purgatory that is the layout of this structure, you emerge out to the base of the super pyramid once again. You look off into the distance, out at where the strife took place down the path in the forest the Prince cut. You don’t see anything from where you are, and it’s quiet now. Does that mean one of them won? God you hope so. The Arena could use with one less psycho stomping around out there. Christ what a shit show this entire operation has been. You started the day only looking for a negotiator, now your ribs are broken, your team’s down a member and everyone’s scattered all up and down Fuck-Off Mountain! You’re starting to miss that grass bed you built on LOSAD… In fact, you’re starting to miss any kind of bed you’ve had in the past. You’re fucking exhausted. Between taking a mile-high swan dive into concrete, pissing away all you’re temporal energy, and juggling two fucking titans in a fist fight, you’re feel like you’re on the verge of collapsing. No go, though. You’ve still got to find everyone.

You look up to the super pyramid. It took you around half a minute to fall from top to bottom of this thing, so you can’t imagine that the other’s are anywhere lower than halfway down the structure overall. Do you go climbing up after them? No. There’s a good chance you’d just get lost on the ascent. Dallra's probably already locked onto you with her sight omnifold anyways. You’d just gum things up if you went looking for her. Although, the Prince had that shield of darkness around him in her vision, hiding him from her sight. A peculiar ability for a Life player, but you’re not too concerned about that though. From this distance, you’re pretty sure you’re far enough away from the Prince and/or what’s left of him that you’d be outside the radius of his void bubble, meaning Dallra should be able to find you no problem… Wait! You were with the Prince all through that fight! So that means Dallra didn’t see any of that! So that means-… hold on, what does that mean…? Why are you so concerned about Dallra seeing you fight? It’s not like she needed to see you in the Strife to know where you ended up. What, are you trying to show off or som-

Too preoccupied with your own ramblings to yourself as you behold the monolith above, you neglect to see the obstacle in your direct path, and you trip, planting face down into the dirt. The exhaustion keeps you down for a few seconds, reveling in the joy that is laying on your stomach, tripped or not. But responsibilities remain evercalling. You sit back up, rubbing your face and checking to see what it was that wanted to embarrass you so badly. It’s… it’s Amvinn… well, his body anyway. He’s lying strewn about in a puddle of his own mossy blood. He’s all sorts of banged up. Broken bones, scraped up skin, major gashing all across his midsection, bent wing. The hole in his chest is hidden by his shirt, as soaked green as it is. It seems his god tiers have already sowed themselves up. That’s weird, you didn’t know they repaired themselves after death. You suppose at the very least, you get to keep your dignity in death.

“Shit, Am… I’m… I’m so sorry, man…” You say to him, scooting yourself off of his corpse. Seeing his body seems to have shaken up some thoughts you’d forgotten about up until now. Everything started happening so fast, it seems so long ago that he told you the Prince of Doom was dead, and you still haven’t thought of anyone who can replace him. Without him, your plan’s practically dead in the water, patiently waiting for the flaming arrow to complete its viking funeral. Without him, everything is over.

In the middle of mourning your late teammate, a deplorable realization dawns on you like the rising of a wicked sun. Amvinn was the only one besides yourself who knew that the plan’s key member was dead… Amvinn was the only one who knew that you couldn’t undoom yourselves. With him gone… your secret is safe. With him gone, the team will continue on still thinking there’s hope to save themselves. You look back down at the dead troll kid, a heavy shame weighing on you as the sight lets you breathe easy knowing he can’t tell the other your plan had failed. You look down at your dead friend, and all you feel is relief.

You crawl over to the base of the pyramid and sit so that it’s stone wall is at your back, resting against the hard surface as all the wind in your sails seems to have finally run out. It’s funny. Half an hour ago, you were feeling on top of the world after surviving your strife, like you were finally starting to win in this damn arena… but now, as you gaze upon the discarded corpse of your teammate, you realize truly how defeated you are. Amvinn was killed, Sara’s wounded, your team’s been scattered in unknown territory, you were thrown off a fucking mountain, you have no idea if Creed has the sort of powers you’re looking for, and worse yet; you find out that your ace in the hole, the one person who you thought could save you all had been dead this entire time. And the only solace that you can take out of this is that the only person who knew is dead too. Just about everything that could’ve gone wrong today did. You think… you think you’re gonna rest your eyes for a little while. You’re just… so… ti…

 

***

 

“Hey!” You yell, seeing them all gathered at the top of the stairs. “What’s going on? You said something was coming, but what the hell is-” A sudden pressure appearing in your upper midsection catches your attention and stops your words short. You look down and see some strange green worm protruding from your chest. What the hell is this thing? And why is it coming out of you? “…It?” You look around to the others to ask what they might think this strange protrusion is, but they all look to you with expressions of shock or horror. Before you can ask them what’s got them so shaken up, you’re lifted off your feet into the air. The hell? What’s going on?

The pressure in your chest starts to tighten and feel more sharp, and suddenly you’re facing the sky with the wind blowing past you. Your head feels foggy all of a sudden, like there’s sopor swishing around in your thinkpan.

“Orrick!” You hear Esspin call, her voice getting further and further away. Where the hell is she going? No… where the hell are you going? You feel weightless. Are you… are you falling right now?

As you’re pondering the possibility that you’ve somehow slipped off the temple’s edge without realizing it, your entire side erupts in pain as you smack against something hard, tearing into your shoulder. The sudden force sends you spiraling to the side, slamming your head against that same hard something, plunging your entire Feel-System into a scrambled shock. You’re overcome with this awful contradictive feeling of shooting pain and blinding numbness all throughout your body.

Again and again, your person skips off the side of that same hard and unforgiving surface, scrapping and tearing you up even further. You feel a few teeth get knocked free, embedding themselves into the walls of your cheek or flying out of your proteinfold entirely. It’s hard to tell in your state what’s broken and what’s not. On one particularly bad angle, you skip off the surface on the edge of your horn stumps, sending a sickening shock jolting down your posturepole, making it feel like your nutrition sack is gonna explode. You timidly pull your arms up to cover the sides of your head the best you can, fighting against the momentum pulling them outward, and tuck your knees up against your chest, trying to minimize the damage. You continue on, flying through the air like a trapeze orchid on a failed stunt, slamming and scraping and breaking as you plummet into the unknown.

You don’t feel much when you hit the ground, which probably isn’t too good of a sign for your current physical state. All you feel is an abrupt halting of momentum. You try pushing yourself up, but the strain feels like electricity shooting to every nerve in your system. The best you can do is flip yourself onto your back and face upward. It appears you’ve fallen off the temple. What a surprise.

Through clenched fangs, you breath heavy and gasping breaths, trying to grit your way through the immeasurable pain you’re in right now. It feels terrible now, but you survived. That’s the important part. All you gotta do now is just continue to survive. All you gotta do now is endure. No big deal, you were born a survivor. You’ve done it all your life. When the Indigos came for you, you survived. When you lost your Lusus, you survived. Even when every highblood on the hiveblock was after your hide, you endured it. Even when meteors came and turned your world to pulp, you took that shit in stride. Even when… even when the Derse King killed Massiq and Felzah. Even when Haugrr died and left you all alone is this fucking hellhole. You survived. You. This? This is fucking nothing.

You take a few quick and sharp breaths to amp yourself up, before forcing yourself to sit forward. It’s excruciating, beyond anything that you’ve ever felt before, but it’s progress. Your sightglobes are slammed shut, trying to block out the pan-numbing pain as you push yourself onto your feet. Fuck! This really fucking hurts! What was that thing Haugrr would say about pain? Something like… ’It’s just another emotion’.

“Feh.” You scoff, feeling your insides ignite at the slightest movement. “W-when the hell have emotions ever stopped me?” You do your best to block out the searing sensation of your broken bones moving beneath your skin, shambled fragments scattered and lost about the flesh. Each step feels like the entire world is crashing down on top of you. You aren’t sure where you should go. You aren’t sure what you should do. All you’re focused on right now is putting one foot in front of the other, you can worry about the details later.

Each step is lumbering and weighted. It feels like your entire body is water-logged. Man, that fall sure took the life out of you. But so long as you can hold out for the others to get to you, Sara will have you fixed up before you can say- you have a hole in your chest… There was a pounding pain radiating from your center. When probing around it to see what it was, you found that where you should’ve touched skin, your hand passed through right into your chest cavity. The shock causes your knees to buckle, and you tumble back down to the ground with an extravagant pain mere words couldn’t even dream of describing.

You lie on your back now, twitching every so often. Struggling to look down, you manage to angle your neck enough to see your torso. Shakily, from both injury and trembling fear, you grip the neck of your tunic and lift up to peer down your shirt. Through the maroon glow of light passing through the fabric you see it, a gaping hole dead center in your upper torso. Okay, it’s not looking too good for you. But maybe… b-but maybe… J-Jason! He’ll think of something! He told you, he’d think of something. And… a-a-and you told him you believed him! You do believe him! He’ll think of something… you just have to give him a little time to think. All you have to do is wait… and Jason… will think… of… some…thing…

 

***

 

It feels like a lot of time has passed. You aren’t sure how long, but it was long enough for that terrible pain to go away. Your eyes open up and you see that you’re still in the same place, down at the base of that temple. Huh, guess you just needed to sleep off that fall.

You look around and see that Jason is next to you, passed out while pushed up against the temple’s side. Did he figure out some way to fix you up? You knew he would. He’s always got something up his sleeve. You… sort of feel like an ass, seeing him right now like this. You’ve been giving him a bit of a hard time lately about his leadership, but he’s been taking this whole situation in stride. Better than you could’ve done in that position. He’s… he’s a good guy. You’ll have to thank him once he wakes up.

There’s a sudden sound that comes from off in the forest, grabbing your attention to the strange path carved through the tree lining. Someone is coming towards the two of you! They’re veiled in the afternoon shadows of the Land, but it looks like they’re wearing… puffy pants? A Prince’s outfit, and they’ve got something protruding out of their back. You jump up and ready yourself for whoever’s approaching. You’re nervous, but you think you’re ready for this. Normally your bloodpusher would start racing before a strife, but right now, you seem fine. You can barely even hear your heartbeat at all. You’re calm.

Closer and closer, the hidden figure approaches. Whoever this asshole is has another thing coming if they think they can just walk up and start shit! They have to be starting shit, don’t they? They should be able to see you by now, and yet they’re still approaching. No way anyone would just walk up to you unprovoked without wanting to start shit in the Arena. The figure emerges from the forest’s edge into the light and… Haugrr?

“Yo! Amvinn! I finally caught up to you guys!” He laughs, waving at you as he approaches, his wings fluttering rapidly behind him.

“H-… Haug?” You stutter, taken aback by his sudden appearance. “H-how are you here?”

“Walked here, numb nubs. How else?” He jokes, finally reaching you. You stare at him in utter bewilderment, completely gobsmacked by his casualness.

“Jason said all the souls were supposed to be mindlessly walking around the Arena.” You tell him. “What is…?” His face lights up, clearly wanting to tell you something, and his emotional spectrum shifts from a general joviality into a scintillating excitement.

“Did Greg tell you about that too?” He asks with a quizzical surprise. “I don’t know what got into him, but one minute he’s lurking around his sleeping moirail like a creep, next he’s spazzing out about preparing for the coming De-Sentienting or whatever the fuck he calls it. Dude wouldn’t stop badgering me about taking him to the neighboring planet, the Land of uh… something or other.”

“Wha…?” You gawk at his babblings.

“I don’t remember the name. Anyway,” He continues on without missing a beat “I figure; fuck it. If it’ll shut you up about it for a minute, sure, we can go on your little field trip. So in the middle of the night, he takes me to this place in the middle of nowhere on this Land and tells me ‘you gotta tie me up’ and then I’m thinking ‘did this human really take me a planet and a half away just to make a pass at me?’. So I go with the flow a bit, but it turns out no, he’s not looking to knock buckets, this is just the place he wants to be when this De-Sentienting thing comes and he doesn’t want to go wandering off. So I tie him up with some ghost magic and ask him what now, and he’s just like ‘nothing, go back to the others’. This fucking guy, I’ve got no idea what he’s playin’ at but I figure whatever, if you want to get tied up in a random field somewhere, that’s your purgative.”

“Haugrr, what does this-“ You start.

“No no, wait, this is the interesting part.” He interrupts. “I’m on my way back then suddenly this massive migraine hits me, feels like my pan is about to split, but I shake it off. Then when I get back to camp, everyone is already gone, but there’s a dead Godtier lingering about. So I go up to them, ask if they’ve seen anyone around lately. But the fucker straight ignored me, all Shadow Dropper like. Wouldn’t respond to anything I did, just kept shambling ahead, like he didn’t have a care in the world!”

“I get it Haugrr, but what about you-” You manage to only partly interject.

“A-jush.” Haugrr shushes you. ”I’m getting to that, just listen. So I see this soul stumbling around all catatonic like, I thought ‘eh, fuck it, lets see if they’re going somewhere interestin’. Gotta tell you, not worth it. Fucker just wandered around, going nowhere for hours. But as I was tailing them, this enormous pillar of light comes thundering down from the sky like the freakin’ Hammer of Dawn. There's absolutely no way I'm ignoring that, so I find my way over to where it looked like the beam hit and I spot this elf in a bright orange dress, using one of those diggy tools the Time Page has, and I shit you not, she’s fighting a dragon. Big scaly bastard, larger than a hive, and she’s going nub-to-nub with this thing, summoning meteors from the sky, evoking volcanic eruptions from out of thin air. It was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen, but this dragon is a powerhouse, eating everything she has to give. They’re going back and forth when finally the dragon gets the better of her. You see, she’s had this little spinny roulette wheel on her dig-tool and it lands on a zero, and all of a sudden she loses her footing and the dragon incinerates her. Just incinerates her, just like that.” He snaps. “As soon as she’s dead, this dragon fucker starts to morph, turning into this smoke dude in rage pajamas and just… wanders off. Now I’m left with this elf girl's soul and I don't want to be rude, so we just shoot the shit about how much of a bulge-munch smoke dude was and then out of nowhere, she goes catatonic. Blank, non-responsive, just wanders away. And so I figure... Greg was right, about the De-Sentienting, it just takes a few minutes to take effect for the freshly dead. After that, I figured I should catch-up with you guys before you got yourself killed without me. But… well, you can see how that turned out. Weirdly enough though, the smoke dude was headed this way as well. Wonder why, right?”

“Domark. Was that entire waste-of-time story necessary?” You ask. He dumbly shrugs as an answer and you grip the bridge of your nose. “Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving? And why aren’t you catatonic like the rest of the dead Godtiers?”

“You were sleeping.” He half chuckles, a soft and uncharacteristically friendly smile coming across his lips. The aura around his soul changes into a sad hue. What the hell? “As for why I’ve still got my mind, well… who knows? Maybe I’m just something special…”

“…Pah.” You puff a breath of smoke out, still somehow taken aback by this guy after knowing him all these sweeps. “Jeez, man. You scared me, leaving without a word like that.” You scold him, a smug smirk plastering itself on his face at your worry. “I thought you caught the brain-ache too, wandered off somewhere I couldn’t find you.”

“Aww, Amvinn. I didn’t know you waxed that way for me!” He mocks, trying not to burst out laughing.

“Shut up, dude.” You try to say seriously, barely able to keep yourself from laughing with him. “… hey, Haug I-… I’m sorry I didn’t fight the King with you guys.”

“King? There was a King?” He asks, seeming to have been caught off guard by the sudden change in mood.

“Y-yeah, the Derse King back in our session.” You clarify. His goofy smile slowly fades. “I thought-… I thought without any special powers, I would just get in the way, but- when you came back alone, I knew I had made a mistake. I regret… not joining you on the Battlefield back then. Even if it was just a little, I wish I had helped… Maybe we wouldn’t be here if I had.”

“Aw come on man, don’t go getting all soft on me at the end here.” He huffs, walking up and placing his hands on your shoulders. That’s… weird. “Listen up, you nub-horned asshole. I don’t blame you for not showing up to fight a fucking demon on my behalf. And I know for a fact that Felz and Massiq would tell you the same damn thing if they were here.” He moves to your side, hooking his arm around the back of your neck in a tight embrace “You and me? Ain’t nothing we could’ve done to keep us from ending up here. You got that? It ain’t your fault.” He pokes you in your chest with every word. How are you… able to feel him? “Okay?”

“Y-yeah.” You say, slowly wrapping your arm around his shoulder in return. He feels… corporeal. You’ve never been able to feel souls before… How…?

“Good. Now I’m gonna go possess your body, so you take care big guy.” He tells you, letting you loose from the embrace. You pull back, giving him a confused look.

“What? My body?” You scoff at the statement, unsure if he’s trying to set up a joke of some kind.

“If you don’t mind.” He tacks on, still not making any sense. Holy shit, he’s serious. What?

“I- hah“ You huff, reflexively laughing at his absurd request. “I’m still kinda using it, Haug. Sorry…”

“Really? Cause from here, it doesn’t look like it.” He notes, looking past you, off to the side by where Jason was sleeping.

“What?” You turn to where he’s looking and freeze. Laying sprawled out on the ground just next to Jason is… you. All bloodied and battered. “W-w-wha…”

“You didn’t realize? Shit, man, sorry. Welcome to Purgatory.” Haugrr says about as unsympathetically as a person can get about a person dying.

“W-what… how did this happen?!” You ask no one, slowly approaching your own corpse. Your head begins to cloud, overwhelmed by the frightful revelation as all cohesion in reality begins to slip away, almost like you’re dreaming. This can’t be real… No, this can’t be real!

“Looks like you were pierced through your bloodpusher. Shame.” The Honeyblood explains, walking ahead of you towards you. “What’s even more of a shame is you’ve got about oooh… a couple of seconds left before you catch the mind-ache… Aaaanyways, Imma go hop in your body real quick. Enjoy the afterlife, buddy.”

“What?!” You shout, jolting ahead to cut him off, holding your arms out to block him. “Fuck you! You can’t have my bo-!”

 

***

 

Without warning, you’re suddenly kicked out of the current person you were being and are sent back to your imaginary character select screen. You remember, the one with the [?] Boxes. It appears the character you were in has been made unavailable due to a lack of cognitive space for your POV to occupy. Quite unfortunate, you rather liked being him. Due to the abrupt nature of your un-personing, you accidentally select the nearest character closest to your last one, defaulting the narrative to them. You are now Haugrr Domark.

Your best[Last] friend, Amvinn, was about to say you couldn’t have his body, but he never finished. Halfway through his protest, he stopped short and his arms fell back to his sides, limply. That blank expression on his face made it loud and clear. He’s not here anymore… and since he didn’t get the words out in time, he technically never told you that you couldn’t have his body. Sooooo Yoink!

You duck past him and are about to make a grab for that factory new corpse, but you hesitate. Jest as you might, Amvinn was… well, he was your friend. Your pal, your Moirail, your favorite hat-rack! You look back at him, standing there like a dumbass. Like some forest hoofbeast stuck in the headlights of an oncoming scuttlebuggy. You walk back over to him, coming round to his front to face him again.

“Hey, Am, I-…” You pause, feeling like a bit of a tool, talking to a blank minded soul the way you are. “Sorry, man. I’ll make sure to hunt your soul down when the end comes…. However it may come. Even if your friend’s stupid plan fails, I-… I’ll come find you.” You’re about to turn back when a thought crosses your mind. It’s just you, him and a couple of corpses out here. No one to stop you from doing something… embarrassing……… You reach out to Amvinn’s zombified soul and hesitantly plant a kiss on his cheek. Mossy bastard never let you do that, he would always squirm away before your lips could land. You figured you’re violating a shit ton of moral decencies already, what’s kissing your pan-rusted best friend on top of that? “Promise…” Alright, no more fucking about. Can’t let that body just rot, can you?

 

Haugrr, go possess that Mortal Vessel.

Chapter 27: > Hermit Crabs

The world comes back into being, including every ache and pain that plague your mortal vessel. Just about every inch of you feels sore, that sort of soreness that comes after a long sleep following a physically exhausting day. The last thing you remember was… you were fighting someone. That Prince, right? And the Heir was there, too. And they both kicked your ass, simultaneously!

“Oi.” Someone says, repeatedly slapping your face with a dainty gentleness. “Common, I know you’re awake, ya bone muncher. Open your eyes already!” You cringe at the mystery person’s orders, scrunching your eyes closed even tighter as you long for a few more minutes of sleep. Inevitably, and begrudgingly, you concede to their demands and peer through squinted eyelids at whoever it is pestering you, overtly annoyed at their constant badgering.

To your utter shock, Amvinn stands before you, fully revivified and hovering two or three inches from your face. Despite the flagrant violation of your personal space, the first thing that strikes you about him is his eyes. There’s something about them that sets your nerves immediately on edge. They look much more darker of a green than you remember them being, and a slight glow radiates from them in an almost hypnotic manner. What the hell happened to him? Before you passed out, his body was absolutely destroyed. How is he still alive, let alone walking?

“What… what’s going on?” You question through a raspy voice. He jumps back from you, giving you a little breathing room. For the first time since meeting him, Amvinn has his god tier’s hood down, and you see peeking out from atop his head two dark orange looking stumps, barely managing to breath through the messy nest of black hair he sports. Guess those are the horns he’s so sensitive about?

“Nothin’ much! What’s going on with you?” He asks, throwing out a hand to help you up. You hesitantly take it, and he pulls you up with seeming ease for someone who has a hole in their fucking chest.

“Hey, Amvinn… are you feeling alright?” You ask him, concerned about his oddly nonchalant attitude.

“Amvi- oh-…, okay, yeah, duh! Now- now I feel dumb. Sorry.” He starts to chuckle, like he’s realized something. “Yeah, I’m not Amvinn, buddy.” His statement catches you off guard.

“Pardon?” You feel your face scrunch up, skeptically doubting what he just told you.

“Yeah, no, I’m not Amvinn. I’m just in his body right now.” He explains, still not making any sense. “Amvinn died a couple hours ago.”

“I-I’m a little lost here. So you died, but… you’re still alive? And you’re inside your dead body…? That’s supposed to mean what exactly?” You ask him, trying to straighten the strange narrative he’s trying to spin. “Did you get a concussion on your way down or something?”

“No, shit-lips. I already told you, I’m. Not. Amvinn. I’m just in Amvinn’s body. You can be in someone’s body without being them. What, you’ve never heard of a possession before, ya fuckin’ idiot?” He berates you in a more profound way than you’ve ever heard from him. Shit-Lips? You think you’ve only ever heard Mia call someone that before. Wait, did he say…

“… possession?” You repeat, the situation fully dawning on you now. A dreadful chill folds over you as you realize you’re face-to-face with a complete stranger. “You’re not…?”

“Bingo, genius.” He passive-aggressively insults you. Hearing the smug, overly familiar tone in his voice turn your hands to fists, and on an impulse, you lurch forward. In an uncharacteristically bold show of bravery or perhaps foolishness, you snatch the body-snatcher by the collar, man-handling him partly down to his knees.

“Give it back, fucker!” You holler at the living corpse, uncaring of how dangerous an unknown quantity like him could potentially be.

“Gah!” He yelps, grabbing hold of your wrists to try and take control of the grapple. “Give what back?”

“His body!” You throttle him harder. “What else?!”

“Oh, yeah, what a brilliant idea! I’ll just let him hop back into his own body, that’s definitely how it works when you die!” He spouts in an overly mocking voice. “What are you, stupid? Possession is my special power, slow-one. You think just anyone could inhabit a vessel like me? We’re in a death game, most of us are supposed to stay dead.” You give pause to your thrashing to think through the corpse-stealer’s reasoning. You hate to admit it, but the dude’s got a point. If the entire Arena could just reclaim their body after death, it’d be a never ending nightmare in this dump. Seeing you’ve simmered down, not-Amvinn takes the opportunity to break your hold on him. “Get the fuck off me.” You back up, giving him space to get back to his feet again.

“W-well… where is Amvinn now, then?!” You ask him, still feeling angry but unsure where to direct it towards. He shrugs.

“Don’t know.” He huffs, brushing the wrinkles of his shirt out with an annoyed attitude. “His soul wandered off somewhere. Didn’t see the point in following him after the mind-ache set in.” So he’s really gone then. You had thought Amvinn’s status as a Heart player might’ve given him some kind of protection against effects aimed against the soul, but it looks like that wasn’t the case.

“Wait a minute, if you’re possessing this body, that must mean you’re dead too, right?” You ask him, realizing that his soul shouldn’t have any autonomy as well.

“I’d say that’s up for debate.” He lazily raises his eyebrow at you.

“Alright smartass, you know what I meant.” You grumble at him. “Do you still have a living body your soul is anchored to?”

“Ah. Nope.” He clicks his tongue. “That got killed off a while ago.”

“Then how are you not…? Ya know!” You bring your hands around the side of your head and strain your fingers, trying to indicate the mind-blank in a rather clunky manner.

“What do you think? Another special power, numb-nook. You think a Possession power kit wouldn’t come with an abrasive, reality-resistant soul? What the hell would be the point of a power if you couldn’t use it?” He asks as if what he’s saying is the most intuitive shit he’s ever had to explain.

“I guess. B-but still you-… you can’t just go take someone’s body like that!” You try to reason. He rolls his eyes.

“Alright, look at it like this. Bodies are like… are like shells!” He tells you, wagging a finger for emphasis. “And souls are like your weird human hermit crabs. When one crab leaves their shell, it opens up for another crab to occupy. It’s not like one crab is taking the shell from another crab, it’s just the shell getting a new owner. No need for hurt feelings! It’s not like I forced Amvinn to leave his shell, so it’s no big deal if I occupy it, given he can’t anymore, right?” You don’t think you agree with that reasoning.

“Normally both hermit crabs get a new shell when one leaves an empty one…” You mutter, not really sure how to argue with this guy.

“Oh whatever, that’s just semantics!” He waves you off. “Point is, no one’s using this body at the current moment. So it either gets put to use by me, or it lies around pointlessly decomposing and stinking up the place. If you’re really going to make such a fuss about it, fair enough. I can go find a different body to occupy, but at the end of the day, Amvinn’s still dead, possessed or not. The only difference being he can still actually serve a purpose with his body in my charge. What’s it gonna be, human?”

“Tch.” You scoff, already feeling exhausted with this conversation. “Fine, commit all the atrocities against nature you like, just keep it the fuck away from my ‘shell’.”

“You can pout like a wriggler if you want, but we all do what we need to survive.” He tries to reassure you of his actions. “So… when’s everyone else gonna show up?”

“…What?”

“I’m going stir crazy just waitin’ around for everybody to find their way down from the mega-zag. Feels like I’m cooking my thinkpan twiddling my grabbers like this, holding out for someone to show up already. Although, that could just be the thoughtsponge in this body literally cooking in it’s own corpse gasses. Hard to say, though.” He says, rocking back and forth on the balls of his heels. “You think they’re getting close yet?”

“Wait, you’re… not just gonna run off with your new body or something?” You ask, a little surprised the corpse-stealer has even stuck around this long. Your first assessment of the entity was that he was some covetous little weirdo thirsting for the next convenient cadaver to come his way, but from the sounds of it, this wraith is sticking around in hopes of being able to join your group. Damn, you were hoping he’d scuttle away once he got a new host-form. Be a lot easier if you didn’t have to explain why you let some vagabond claim Amvinn’s body like this.

“Oh yeah, I was thinkin’ since Amvinn’s gone, you guys are down a member. Figured I’d play substitute for him on your team. Got the uniform and everything.” He chuckles.

“What, like you’d pretend to be him?” You ask, a little disturbed by the prospect of someone else secretly taking Amvinn’s role in the group, pretending as if he never died.

“Ech, god no! I’m not that fucked in the head.” He scoffs, just as disgusted. “I just meant I’d help you keep your group’s numbers up, not try and steal my dead friend’s identity.”

“Good, I don’t think I-“ You pause, realizing what he just told you. “…you were Amvinn’s friend?” You ask him, a sudden suspense hanging over what you thought was a trivial interaction.

“Huh?” He looks at you, put off by your sudden shift in demeanor. “Oh, well yeah, we were from the same session. Why?”

“Haugrr? The Prince of Doom?” You ask him with baited expectations, the anticipation practically choking you.

“Uuuh… yeah…? Did Am talk about me or something?” You feel your neck go limp and your head falls back, leaving you staring up at the sky. An unbelievable wave of tranquility washes over you. The Prince of Doom… is alive! You could cope as much as you’d like, but the harsh reality of your situation made it clear your plans were deep-sixed without his aid. But now… now there is still Hope! Your plan is still alive! “Hey. You okay?” Haugrr asks, snapping in your field of view. “Hello?”

“Yeah, I just… I need a minute.” You whisper, still looking up into the air, trying not to jump for fucking joy right now. “Hey, Haugrr?”

“Aaah… present?” He hesitantly responds.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Suuure?” He answers even more hesitantly.

“Would you be willing… to un-doom my team?” The question hangs in the air for what feels like an eternity. Energy courses through your entire being as you wait in bitter anticipation. Everything comes down to this one question, of whether or not this one Prince can pull you all up from the pits of hell and deliver you to salvation.

“Do what?” …shit.

 

***

 

A quiet echo rings out through the stone halls after each footfall you take forward, giving a heartbeat to the megastructure. It feels rather nice on your neurons, its sound keeping your senses sharp. Like a small drip, creating tiny waves as it disturbs the body it’s fallen into. This Land is such a serene place, probably why you were so attracted to this temple to start with. You tap your bat against your shoulder, matching it to the beat of your step.

“Run it by me again, one more time.” You request of the strange alien girl following behind you. “You’ve got sight on literally everything in this place, but you somehow lost track of where he went?”

“For the millionth time, the Prince had a field of concealment obscuring him and everything near him.” She protests, annoyed she has to defend her shortcomings. “When that field overcame our location, I was left in the dark. And when the Prince left, Jason wasn’t there. I never saw him leave the blind spot, so I didn’t have the chance to track where went after.”

“Then he’s still with the Prince.” You declare, glancing back at her. She’s looking down at her hands as she nervously presses her fingers together. That mechanical arm she’s got looks pretty complex. The exterior plating is fashioned in a way that even the smallest twitch has an outlet to express itself. You can only imagine how intricate the internal mechanisms might be for a device like that. Whoever made that thing certainly knew what they were doing.

“It’s possible. But judging by how quickly that blind spot suddenly dropped, it’s also possible they both fell to the bottom of the structure.” She informs you.

“Then we rendezvous with him there.” You say, trying to figure out the fastest way down. It had taken you a little over half a day to find your way up to your mediation spot, but you guess this girl has some sort of enhanced sight or something of the kind. Perhaps she’d be useful in assisting your descent. Although, you’ve been with her for a few hours now, and she hasn’t displayed any notable behavior suggesting any sort of sight-beyond-sight she supposedly has.

“No, I mean…it’s a long way down. If someone were to fall the entire distance the way the blind spot suggested, Jason might not be in the best of conditions!” She clarifies what she’s saying.

“So Boss is roughed up a little. You said he hasn’t left your blind spot yet, right? Then he’s likely keeping pace with his opponent.” You reason.

“Do you really think he could keep pace with a demon like that?” She notes. A fair point. “He was practically wiping the floor with our entire group, and he’s supposed to handle that on his own?”

“Only one person engaged with the Prince head on, while the rest of us ran harassment-tactics. A head on strife is a different story entirely.” You explain to her. It’s strange. Before the Prince arrived, it felt like your entire nervous system was going into shock trying to get you to leave this place. Though, now that the dust has settled, it seems like your sixth sense was blowing things out of proportion. Personally speaking, you turned out unscathed from the incident, but you never engaged with the threat directly. It’s possible that the instinct to retreat was only catered to yourself without a group dynamic in mind. Perhaps if you were alone, the way you reacted would’ve been warranted, meaning that Prince is quite the lethal combatant in one-on-one encounters. Which means Boss is… “Have you seen a body yet?”

“Well… no…” She begrudgingly admits. “But what if he was captured? Or what if that freak took his corpse as a trophy?!” Hmm. You think your first impression of this girl was wrong, something you’re not often to admit. At first, you thought she was just unreasonably stubborn, like every other troll you’ve met, but her reasoning is sound and her concerns are valid. That’s on you for stereotyping. Although, you don’t have any particularly alarming feelings about the situation at hand, and you’ve never once been led astray by your intuition. So you aren’t pulling teeth worrying about the Boss. If she hasn’t seen his body yet, then he must be holding his own.

“Alright, how about we go over the possibilities of what’s going on then.” You suggest, trying to ease her concerns. “For one reason or another, Boss couldn’t give Wiggles the slip. It’s possible he’s still trying to sneak his way away from him, but more than likely, he’s caught up in a strife. Where is your blind spot now?”

“On the other side of the forest at the base of the structure.” She informs you. “The Prince has been moving around a lot, but hasn’t left the area.” Moving around a lot, huh?

“Put your worries to rest then.” You tell her, halting your stride and turning back to face her. “If he's moving around erratically while remaining in the same general location, that probably indicates he’s caught up in a fight. Likely meaning the Boss is, as well.”

“Then what do we do?” She asks, looking for guidance. Rather disillusioning, you thought Seers were supposed to be the guides in this whole Hero-dynamic. Suppose that’s why she’s in the Arena. You blow a heavy breath out, wrapping your mind around the situation.

“I guess we’ve really only got one option, don’t we.” You say, tapping your bat against your shoulder. “Let’s get down there and kick that fuckin’ Prince’s teeth in.”

 

***

 

“Hey, wait up, you globechurner!” You shout after the human as he marches up another flight of zig-zag inclines. God damn, he’s moving. What the hell’s his problem anyway? He asked you if you could un-doom or whatever, then he starts marching away when you don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about? What the fuck is ‘un-doom’ even supposed to mean? And why’d he go and get in such a damn twist all of a sudden?

“Fuck off!” He shouts back at you. Okay, dick. Is it such a crime for you to want to know what the fuck is going on? These fucking humans, man! Assholes, the lot of them. “If you can’t fucking help, then piss off!”

“Help with what?!” You ask, scampering to keep up with him. You ascend another level after the little wriggler, but once you reach the top, he’s gone, disappeared down the many paths of this place. “Come on, dude! I’m in the dark on all this! Just talk to me!”

“I’m done talking!” He shouts from your left. You trot down the path his voice is coming from. “Un-dooming was our only way out of this mess! The plan is fucked without it!”

“Guh-, Un-dooming! What the hell is that?” You ask, trying to keep him talking long enough to get your hands on the slimy bastard. “Tell me about it!”

“If you could help, you’d already know what it was!” He shouts back, this time from the right.

“Oh, yeah, because your terminology for things is universal for everyone! How unbecoming of me to not realize this, oh Arbiter of Vocabulary. How the fuck am I supposed to know what you’re talking about if you don’t tell me!” You dispute with him. From what little time you spent watching this guy when you were still bodiless, you could tell he was a dullard, but interacting with him is a whole other behemoth. How the fuck did Amvinn stand this guy?

“You’re the Destroyer of Doom, dumbass! Figure it the fuck out! Un. Doom. Undoing Doom. Pretty fucking obvious what that is.” He more-or-less half-explains. You’re getting sick of playing hide-and-go-echolocate with this prick. Why the fuck can’t the uppity little bulgesponge just sit still?

“I’m the Destroyer of destruction?” You never really got into your quest back in your session. You knew your title was Prince, but you didn’t know that translated to Destroyer. That might’ve been cool if it weren’t for the fact that you destroy Destruction. That just means you can just fix things, right? “That’s fucking lame!”

“No, you’re not the Destroyer of Destruction, that’s a fucking oxymoron!” What the-? What an asshole!

“You’re a moron! “ You shout back at him.

“Jesus christ.” You hear him say to himself. “That’s not what oxymoron means! And Doom isn’t destruction, not entirely, at least. !t’s Law and Obligation. Finality, Sacrifice, all that sort of shit! You’d know that if you were worth a damn as a Doom player! But apparently, you’re just as fucking defective as everyone else in this place!” Defective? Who the hell does this kid think he is, telling you what your own Aspect means? You’re the Doom Titled here, not him! Doom can mean whatever the hell you want!

“Alright then, ya fuckin’ know-it-all, if I’m such a sorry excuse for a Doom thingy, why don’t you teach me what a fucking Un-dooming is? Okay? You said something about it like a fucking week ago, but that was it! Just talk to me!” Who knows, maybe you actually can do what he’s asking, but he’s got his head crammed so far up his nook, he’s hearing his lunch digest.

“I already told you, Un-doom. Undo our Doom. Destroy our Doom. If the Destroyer of Doom can’t destroy our Doom, we’re up a fucking creek!“ He snaps back, his voice coming from above this time. Fuck, he’s gone up another level. You rush around the floor you’re on, looking for the closest flight of zigzags, but have no luck finding any. Fuck, this place is needlessly complex.

In a scramble to find a way after the guy, you reach a hallway at the edge of the temple with a window spanning the entire side you’re on. Fuck it, that’s the best bet of going up you’ve got. Slowly, you slither out of the window, careful not to fall back. You doubt this body can take another tumble down this fucking stone purgatory. With a hefty backswing, you plunge your fingers into the side of the temple. Huh, that went in a lot deeper than you thought it would. You knew ol’ Moss blood has some beefy slitherbeasts under his sleeves, but this is kinda ridiculous. You wonder if that’s a byproduct of possession, or if his grabbers are just unbelievably strong.

“Then explain the mechanics or something!” You shout up to him while scaling up the building. “I’m sure we could figure it out!” There’s another wide window just above you. With one last grab, you hoist yourself up and barrel back into the temple, landing directly on your back with your feet awkwardly thrown up against the wall. Time Boy is there, looking startled by your sudden entrance. “Together!” He pauses for a moment, looking at you with disappointed distain, before throwing out a hand to help you up.

“A power like Un-dooming isn’t something you can just figure out.” He tells you, helping you back to your feet. “Power matures in tandem with a player’s progress on their journey, a physical representation of their development. If you didn’t develop in a certain way, you won’t have the right power kit. And based on the fact that possession seems to be the primary ability, your powers seem more Death-oriented, which is located in the End branch of a Doom Player’s Development Tree. Unfortunately, fate and doomed status are abilities located in the Law branch.”

“Well, I’ll just have to develop into the Law branch, then. Problem solved!” You slap him on his shoulder. He sighs, seemingly depressed by your enthusiasm.

“That might have actually been a good plan…” He says, stepping past you, continuing down the hallway. “If you weren’t already done developing.”

“Come on, I’m sure I could develop that power, no sweat.” You assure him, hurrying your pace to catch up. “I’ve got tons of develop-potential. In fact, I think I’m developing right now!”

“You’re a Godtier. That’s the end of the progression-road.” He says, shooting you down. “No more development, no more new powers. If you don’t got it, you don’t got it.”

“… sounds like musclebeast shit.” You grumble as you trail behind him.

“Yeah? Well that’s life. A huge pile of… musclebeast shit.” He grumbles back, sounding defeated. “God, what a fucking waste of time.”

“I don’t buy it. There’s always room to grow.” You say, sounding a bit like a tool.

“That’s just your Life player showing.” He informs you, oh so matter-a-factly.

“Huh? But… I’m Titled under the banner of Doom.”

“Yeah, as a player that mimics personality traits of a Life player.” He explains. “All Princes mirror their aspect’s opposite attributes. In your case, the opposite of Doom is Life. And I’ve gotta be honest, kinda fucking annoying right now.”

“Maaan, you are just unpleasant.” You tell him in an intentionally blunt way. “Just an unpleasant… angry little human.”

“Tch.” He puffs out air off his tastemuscle, as if to say he couldn’t give a fuck what you think.

“So what now? Where are you going?” You ask, trying to keep him talking. You’ve eavesdropped on a few of his conversations before, and he seems to have a habit of getting stuck in his head a lot, going silent for long periods of time.

“To tell the others the mission is a bust and to…” He pauses, looking down to the ground as he walks. “I don’t know, tell 'em to go find somewhere to hide, I guess.”

“And what? Wait to die?”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Well that’s what’s gonna happen.“ You point out to him. He takes two of his grabber prongs and starts rubbing the side of his head with them, sighing.

“Yeah… I know.” He agrees. You rush up beside him, matching his speed to keep pace. He doesn’t look at you.

“And you’re fine with that?” You ask, causing his brow to furrow.

“Of course I’m not!” He snaps, still not looking at you. You jump in front of him and start walking backwards, forcing him to look at you face-to-face.

“Then fuuckin’ taalk to me!” You plead. “You said I was the one thing deciding if the plan worked or not, right? Well here I am! Let’s hash this out.” He glares at you skeptically.

“Why the hell do you care so much?” He pessimistically asks, prompting you to stop. He stops as well, with you in the way. “With that power of yours, all you’d need to do is wait for the competition to kill themselves off and steal the winner’s body.”

“It’s what Amvinn would’ve wanted me to do.” You tell him, feeling some strange tingle in your airshoot. He never seemed all too thrilled to be a part of this group on the outside, but you knew the hat-rack best. He really cared about these guys. Enough that he died for them, apparently. It’s the least you could do, using his body and all.

“You fucking prick, don’t try to guilt-trip me!” He groans.

“Wha- He was my friend! Oh what, I’m not allowed to mourn my friends?” You protest. He moves past you, shoving his hands into his god tier’s pocke- wait, these things have pockets? Holy shit, they have pockets! While you’re in awe of your newly found carrying space, the dude’s already strolled away. “Hey, wait! I’m serious, ya fuckhead! Let’s work through this! Your escape plan needs a specific power only I could have, but I don’t. And you say I can’t develop any new powers, yeah?”

“That about sums it up.” He says, back to not looking at you again. The two of you reach another flight of zig-zag inclines. You ascend and are let out to an exterior walkway on the structure. Seems you’ve reached the top of one pyramid, and are now at the base of another.

“Then the answer’s obvious!” You tell him, finally grabbing his interests. He stops, glancing back at you with a curious intrigue. “We just get someone to give me the power!” His expression drops again, and he rolls his sightglobes before going back to walking. “No, wait, just listen!”

“Oh yeah, Paradox Space is totally gonna let you walk away from their games, no strings attached.” He mutters to himself. “God, I’m a fucking idiot!”

“Listen!” You say, finally grabbing him and holding him in place. He stares at your grip, in bewilderment of your strength. “You’ve got a lot of info about aspects and classes and all that shit. Tell me I’m wrong that outta all the freaks and weirdos stuck here, at least one of them can’t give me a new power.” He pauses, staring off into space, deep in thought. He doesn’t say anything for a while, just glances around with an occupied gaze. “Is there really no way?”

“I don’t know.” He finally says.

“So it isn’t certain?” You asks, a grin moving across your facefold. “Well shit, then, human! Let’s throw everything at the wall and see what sticks!” He slams his grabbers on his face, slowly pulling them down and stretching out his sustenanceholders like they’re rubber. Human anatomy continues to baffle you. “All we gotta do is keep trying. What more do you have to lose?”

“A lot actually.” He frowns. “My dignity is a big one.”

“Oh, come on, we both know that went out the window a while ago.” You laugh. He does not laugh. “Fine, if you’re actually embarrassed to fight for your own survival and are just gonna drag your feet on this, go right ahead. I’ll do all the heavy surviving for the both of us. Alright? That fair? Buuuuut… in exchange for me doing everything, you gotta be my consultant!” He raises a brow at you.

“A consultant?” He asks, unimpressed.

“Not a consultant. My consultant!” You exclaim, holding your grabber poles out for emphasis. Now free from your grip, he turns around, and starts walking towards the pyramid again. “Okay, hey, whoa whoa, hold on.” You chase after him again. “Fine, fine, you’re group leader, I get it. I can respect it… kinda. Not really, but whatever. So, how about you lead me, then?”

“I’m not my group’s leader.” He tells you. “We don’t have a leader. We just have a plan.”

“But you were the one who made the plan, right? And you’re the one who tells everyone how to enact the plan, as well?” You ask. He glares at you. “Ight, fine. You’re not the leader. You’re just the guy who makes all the plans and tells everyone what to do. Totally not the leader.”

“Fine, I’ll be your… consultant.” He finally concedes.

“Great! So, Mr Consultant! I want to learn a new power, but the thing is, I’ve already peaked!” You explain to him as condescendingly as possible. It looks like he’s dying inside. “Who would you suggest I go see about this?” He huffs, placing his grabber prongs on the bridge of his scentreceptacle.

“Powers are supposed to be catered to a player’s personality so they’ll have a better control over them. Like custom battle equipment for a specific fighting style.” He explains, his voice dragging as he works through the problem himself. “If you’re trying to circumvent that fundamental law of progression, your best bet would probably be with a Hope player.”

“OooOooh, Hope players. Why’s that?”

“Hope players have the closest ties to reality. Their potential is just about limitless provided they believe they can accomplish the task at hand. The only problem is that even properly developed Hope players can’t outright break the rules of reality, let alone the cavalcade of fuckups we have at our disposal.” He goes to sit down on one of the zigzags, resting with his face propped up against his fists. “I seriously doubt any of them could gift an entirely new power, let alone artificially create one as potent as an Undooming ability.” There’s a tone of defeat in his voice. Is he really out of ideas? Seeing him frustrated with his task, you find yourself at a loss for words to motivate him. Doing your best to try and mend the situation, you go and sit down next to him on the zigzags.

“… I-” You begin to say, trying to pull something out of your nook to cheer him up. Come on, you might not be Titled under Heart, but you’re in the body of an individual Titled under Heart. That’s close enough! There’s gotta be a way to reach out and forcibly change his emotions or something. Gah, this body doesn’t have any physical abilities! Damn it, Amvinn! Your power kit is useless! There’s gotta be something!…… wait, what if… “You remember when you and Amvinn were talking a few nights ago?” He perks up, looking at you. “Just before the Seer of Space reached out to you?”

“Y-yeah. What about it?” He asks, seemingly realizing you were there for that conversation.

“You said you met someone. Back when you first entered the Arena. Didn’t you?”

“Yeah, uh… Finlus.” He tells you. “The Bard of Blood.”

“What exactly did he tell you?” You ask, prompting a few mental wheels to start turning in that human thinkpan of his. “About the Un-dooming.”

“He told me…” He pauses, staring off at the ground as he remembers. “He told me that all the players in the Arena brought something within them. When we die, we leave that something behind, and they’d get pieced together to make the Un-dooming the Arena offers to the winner. I’m not sure on the details, but I’m pretty sure the thing we bring is more of a metaphysical sort of deal. I’m not sure if we can extract it if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not. But you said we didn’t need the Arena’s Un-dooming because one player could undoom us.“

“Yeah, and that was supposed to be you.” He quietly says. “Sure, there would be people like Dallra and Creed we need for miscellaneous tasks, but you were always the make-it or break-it for this whole plan.”

“What if… we just do it with more than one person?” You ask. “Since we’re all such fuck-up godtiers, why don’t we just get others to make up for our shortcomings.” There’s a moment of silence, and you’re pretty sure you can see the loading screen in his thoughtsponge. Suddenly he sits up, a flash of realization crossing his face.

“Hope players might only be able to push the envelope of the rules, but… the Destroyer of Doom might be able to be the final straw that bursts it.” There’s an ever rising gusto in his voice. “D-d-do me a favor.” He says, tapping you while looking straight ahead. “Check your Ability Index. Tell me if you see anything interesting.”

“Consider it done, Not-Leader!” You burst in excitement that he’s actually not being a tool. You bring up the index, but something’s wrong. “What the…”

“What is it?” He asks, peering over at you.

“Necro… what?” Necrovoyance(Passive), Soul Sight(Passive), True Sight, Soul Intention, Presence Detect, Innermost Gaze, Radiate, Empathy Sight, Copycat’s Sight, Known Quantity, Anima's Path. The more you scroll through the powers listed, the more confused you get. “Theses aren’t my powers… what- Oh, right. Different body.”

“Really?” Your human non-leader raises his browfur at you.

“Yeah, yeah, just a minute.” You say, brushing off his unimpressed looks. Amvinn’s corpse drops to the ground as you stop possessing him. Time guy stares down at it, still looking just as unimpressed. You open up your own Ability Index this time and scroll through the listings. There’s… a lot more than you remember.

Persistence(Passive), Possession, Phantom Summons, Phantom Familiar, Disorderly Action, Unlawful Action, Unlawful Slam, Duchess of Hazard, Princess of Havoc, Eruption Disruption, Seismic Disruption, Obligational Shrug, Obligational Shirk, Disorderly Aura, Outlaw’s Aura, Outlaw’s Detonation… Rule Breaker? That sounds interesting. You repossess Amvinn’s body again, feeling the weight of corporeal existence hit you. The position he fell in left a sore feeling in your neck. You’ll have to sit down the next time you do that.

“Well?”

“What do you think the power ‘Rule Breaker’ can do?” You ask him. A sly smile cuts across his face, telling you everything. “That good, huh?”

“We’ll have to run it through a few tests first, but… if that’s what I think it is, then maybe-“

“Hey!” You hear someone call out from above you. You look up and see that weird deformed treebeast surfing down the side of the pyramid above you, sliding on the soles of his shoe in an almost upright stance. He carries with him the two consorts, slung under his arm and clung to his face. Riding the stone for as long as he can, the urchin continues to slide until he glides right down to the walkway in front of you, taking a few steps to slow his momentum. He’s surprisingly graceful for a fleshbag held together by a couple of stitches.

“Frank, good to see you’re alright.” Not-Leader says as stitchjob approaches. He kneels down as the grey scalebeast rushes up to him, leaping into his arms.

“I missed you! Did you miss me, Mr Jason?” Jason! That was his name. You had forgotten and were too embarrassed to ask.

“Does a fish miss the water?” Jason asks, before pinching its cheek, causing the critter to giggle like a wriggler. Hmm…?

“Hey, uh, Frank-thing.” You ask over to the other human[?]. He turns to you, still holding the other consort.

“Ah, Amvinn! Good to see you’re in one piece.” Ironic for him to say. “None too worse for the wear, I hope.”

“Uh, yeah sure. Hey, what’s with their relationship? Why are they so affectionate with one another?” You ask, pointing over to the two. Jason was acting like the world’s biggest fuckhead only a few minutes ago, and even if his plan is getting a second wind, the sudden one-eighty in attitude feels like whiplash for you.

“Them? I believe he’s her Father.” He informs you. Father?… Isn’t that what humans call one of their genetic donors? So that means that’s his offspring. Did… did he…? With a Consort? What the fuck?

“Humans are… compatible with consorts?” You ask him, unsure if you really want to know the answer.

“I think anyone’s compatible so long as they’ve got a strong enough bond.” He smiles at you a little too friendly-like. You have immediate regrets about associating yourself with these people.

“Sooo.“ You say, talking a noticeable step away from the weirder of the two aliens. “Are we doing this?” Jason stands upright to face you, his unholy progeny up on his shoulder. He looks up at her for a moment, likely weighing his options with her in mind.

“I can’t guarantee we’ll be successful.” He admits, glancing over to Frank and then to you. “It was your power alone that was supposed to be our ticket outta here. With a little help, we still have our foot in the door, but if we can’t cook you up a new power… it’s back to square none for all of us.”

“Well, all of us except me.” You note, a faint hint of smugness in your voice.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure I could find a Heart player that’d be more than happy to send your soul into oblivion.” Jason nonchalantly tells you. “Ya know, so you wouldn’t have to live with the guilt of being the sole survivor, of course.”

“Feh.” You scoff. “How kind.”

“That doesn’t seem very kind...” Frank mutters, passively partaking in the conversation. This fucking kid. As oblivious as a winged rodentbeast, you swear.

“Is mutually assured destruction a common thing with this group, or am I just a special case?” You ask, prompting Jason to heavily exhale in enjoyment.

“Quite being a smartass and you’ll have nothing to worry about.” He informs you with a smirk.

“Oooh! He was being sarcastic.” Frank tells Jason, as if that was some sort of revelation. You’re at your wits end with these humans.

“Fine, I won’t use my possession as a trap door for your plan.” You concede, knowing full well that you totally would still do that regardless. “Does that please his highness?”

“It does.” He says in a way that simply infuriates you. This bitch.

“So, where do we go from here?” You ask him, folding your arms in frustration. “You said Hope players were our best bet, right? Don’t we have a Hope player on our team?”

“Yeah, Esspin.” Jason nods. “But I don’t think she’s who we need. Mages understand their aspect better than anyone else, but they don’t tend to have many powers at their disposal.”

“Still. Don’t you think it’s worth a shot? I’d save us the time of tracking down another player if she can pull it off.” You suggest. Jason’s browfur raises as he considers the idea.

“I’ll ask her about it.” He agrees. “But even if she could just manifest a power like that, there’s no way she could hand it off to you. Not to mention, she isn’t developed properly as a Hope player, so there’s no guaranteeing the outcome.”

“Even if she can’t gift it to me, having someone who can actually make the power right off the bat would give us some wriggle room.” You tell him, trying to keep him focused on the prize. “Doesn’t have to be all one person doing this, remember?”

“Your wing is bent.” The other human says, pointing to the tattered remains of Amvinn’s moss green fairy wings. Your attention snaps to him, fully expecting him to continue on with that statement to relate back to what you were talking about, but he just… stares at you. Satisfied with his contribution to the conversation, completely oblivious to the fact that he derailed the entire talk. You look on at him, gobsmacked at how astounding his lack of awareness is as he looks back, clueless as to how off topic what he just said was.

“Look, let’s not get too comfortable out in the open here.” Jason finally says, breaking your little stare off. “We’ve still gotta catch up with Dallra and the others. Mia and I got separated and I don’t want her out on her own too long.”

“Right.” You agree, still half glaring at the dreg. He doesn’t notice.

Jason turns back to the zig-zag inclines and begins his ascent, weird consort-child on his back. Following in tow if the weird stitch-child, Frank, trotting up after him in an almost skipping fashion. He’s still holding on to the purple scalebeast like it’s his favorite plushmate. It doesn’t seem to care. It actually looks to be sleeping. That or it’s just dead. You don’t particularly care either way.

“Hey.” You call up to the humans. “I forgot to ask, but how did you know that I had new powers? I thought new powers were a big no-no?”

“Every player in the arena received a power boost along with the limit breaker Paradox Space imposed on us.” He explains, glancing back at you. “New and uncontrollable powers to let all the godtiers go wild on each other. It was just a hunch, but it seems we might’ve lucked out with the ones you got.”

“Well how the hell did you know I didn’t get that Un-dooming power back when you were throwing your hissy fit?”

“Because that’d be ridiculous. The boost in power was meant to make the godtier population too volatile to cooperate with one another, paranoid of each other’s strength to the point we’d kill anyone we came across just to be on the safe side rather than see if anything could be worked out together. For all intents and purposes, it’s a rather safe bet that we’d all be killed off before figuring a way out ourselves, but still, Paradox Space likely anticipates some level of teamwork taking place in the Arena, at least in the beginning of the Undooming. So there’s no way it’d just hand a player an ability that could undermine our entire incentive to kill in the first place.” He points out, making you feel a tad foolish for asking.

”I guess that makes sense.” You mumble. “Hey, how do you know about this power boosting, anyway? You got a guy or something?”

“A giant three headed psychic fish monster who astral-summoned my soul to an ocean of foam told me about it.” He flatly says. Okay, he’s back to being a prick again.

“Fine, don’t tell me then.” You sarcastically brush off his teasing.

“You serious?” He glances back at you. “We’re all a bunch of pajama-clad, nigh immortal demi gods partaking in reality’s biggest cockfight on a string of orbitless planetoids. How the hell are sea monsters off the table?” You guess he’s got a point… again. Damn it, this guy is pissing you off in the worst ways.

“Were.” Frank blurts out.

“Huh?”

“We were nigh immortal.” He clarifies. “At the moment, we’re just plain mortal.”

“Whatever.” Jason groans. “Point is, sea monsters aren’t that far fetched.”

“Says you.” You mutter.

“Yeah, says me.” He bitingly agrees. “And I’m right.”

“Oh I’m sure. You’re a regular mythbeast communicado aficionado, and your totally real friends in made-up places keeps you up-to-date about all the groundbreaking changes reality likes to make.” You say, rolling your sight globes.

“Exactly!” He says with a mocking relief, pretending to be glad you understand. “Is that so hard to comprehend, Haugrr?”

“Haugrr?” Frank looks between the two of you. “Is that your last name?” He asks, staring at you with an uncomfortable intensity. “I’m not allowed to say my last name.”

“She isn’t here, Frank, you can say it all you want.” Jason assures him.

“Oh, okay! It’s Victoria.” He happily chimes.

“I don’t care.” You tell him. It doesn’t seem to affect his smile in the slightest.

“Oh, and Frank? He’s not Amvinn.” Jason informs the jovial weirdo. He looks back at you, puzzled.

“He isn’t? Wow, he looks close enough to be his twin then!” Frank notes, apparently having no quarrels with what was just told to him. He seems to accept it almost immediately. “So then where is Amvinn?”

“It’s still Amvinn’s body, but Haugrr’s just using it for the meantime.” Jason explains.

“Using it?”

“Yeah, because… haa, there’s no good way to say it. Amvinn's is… well, he’s dead.”

“He died?!” He asks, sounding more surprised than he probably should.

“He had a hole in his chest, Frank.” Jason reminds him.

“Man… I guess trolls aren’t that durable. Not like us, huh, Jason?” You’d argue with that, but it looks like the kid has been through a drone-shredder. Maybe humans actually are naturally tough creatures.

“I guess not. Anyway, Haugrr didn’t want Amvinn’s body to rot, so he’s occupying it with his soul to preserve it for the time being.” Jason explains.

“Ah, like a hermit crab.” He nods.

“See, he gets it!” You burst, a little too eagerly. They both look at you like you’re the weird one here. Being around these humans has already been an enormous tax on your mental state. Maybe you should just be someone who can handle humans better than yourself. In a meta sense, not a literal sense. Possessing someone who can handle humans wouldn’t do anything for your own inability to be around these aliens.

 

Haugrr, be someone more tolerant of Humans.

Chapter 28: > A Tunnel at Night

At Haugrr’s request, you are sent to your phantasmal Character Select Screen. Since you’re here, you might as well take a census on your character’s current conditions. Most of them are either beaten or demoralized. Just how you like ‘em.

Pyramid Level 94;
-Esspin (Status: Nominal, Morale: Poor)
-Sara (Status: Very Poor, Morale: Defeated)
Pyramid Level 56;
-Dallra (Status: Better than Usual, Surprisingly, Morale: Nominal)
-Creed (Status: Worn Out, Morale: Distressed, but Handling it)
Pyramid Level 12;
-Jason (Status: Well Rested, Morale: Been through the Ringer)
-Frank (Status: Superior, Morale: Oblivious)
-Haugrr (Status: [Undisclosed], Morale: Fed up with Aliens)
-Gretel (Status: Nominal, Morale: Refreshed and Happy)
-George (Status: Resting, Morale: Dreaming of Fine Art)
-Amvinn (Status: Dead, Morale: He’s dead)
Pyramid Level -32;
[?] (Status: Lurking, Morale: Fathomless )
[?] (Status: Observing, Morale: Dubious)

???;
-Mia (Status: Unknown, Morale: Scared, probably)

Hmm… none of these options are looking too good in regards to you being them. If you had to be one, though, you guess you’d be Dallra. She appears to be in the best condition out of all of them.

Selecting the Troll girl’s character page, you’re overcome with an overwhelming sense of being, a being that just so happens to be Dallra Heimda. Trippy, I know. And just like Haugrr had wanted, you’re feeling much more tolerant of these human characters you’ve been seeing so much of.

“You still in the dark?” Creed asks as you make your way out to the exterior of the section of temple you’re on. You’ve just made it down below the cloudline and can finally get a good look at the scene below that had previously been hidden from your sight.

“I am.” You tell him with a bit of a huff. It’s frustrating, having such abrupt restrictions placed on your ability to use your powers like this. It’s few and far between that a creature can conceal itself from your sight, and it leaves you all the more worried when they possess the composure to get the jump on you as well. You didn’t even notice the gap the Prince left in your vision until he was practically on top of you, there’s no telling what other sorts of uncanny talents he has up his sleeve that he could use to get the upper hand against the group. This whole fiasco puts you on edge. “See that area.” You point out to the recently carved out path in the forest surrounding the structure’s base. “That area’s still blocked out for me. Just past the cut through the forest, it’s the epicenter of my blindspot.”

“Hmm.” He hums, working through the scenario. “I don’t see anyone down there.”

“We’re still a ways up.” You remind him. “It’s possible they could be hidden by the tree tops.”

“… What do you suppose that is?” He asks, referencing the large pile of rocks and rubble out at the edge of the forest.

“It could be anything, really.” You say, trying to get a better look past the trees. “I don’t remember seeing it before, but I didn’t pay much attention to the bottom of the temple when we were coming here. Looks like it could be a crater or sinkhole of some kind.”

“We gotta get down there.” He declares, peering over the edge of the walkway you’re on like he’s scanning for something. “Ah, here.” He repositions himself a few feet over on the walkway, waving you to join him. “Come on, we’re going over.”

“Pardon?” You almost laugh. “Going over where?”

“The edge.” He clarifies, saddling onto the guardrail like he’s mounting a musclebeast. “Walking down is taking too long. Trust me, this’ll be much quicker.”

“Oh, well if you think it’ll speed things up, but the thing is… no.” You suggest. He turns back with a confused look on his dumb face.

“What?”

“I’m not doing that.”

“Why not?” He asks in a manner that'd make one think he didn’t just tell you to jump off a thousand foot megastructure.

“I don’t like heights!” You explain as if your objection needed defending. He rolls his sightglobes.

“You can’t be serious. You of all people don’t like heights?” He asks in rhetorical disbelief.

“Why is that hard to believe?” You ask in literal disbelief.

“Is your sight not all encompassing?” He cries, turning on the guardrail to face you now. “How many lightyears of space can you see all at once and you’re afraid of a few vertical feet?”

“Do I appear a dullard, sir?” You ask him, putting your fists on your hips.

“…......” You don’t like that pause. “I’m still sort of new with trolls. It’s difficult to judge any kind of aptitude with you people.” Your gaze at him narrows into a glare.

“I know the difference between what I can see with my God's Eye and a tangible threats in front of me.” You explain your justifiable fear to him yet again. “Do you fear being burned alive every time you look at a star through a telescope?”

“You might have a point, except one;” He sticks out his approval prong. “I don’t have a phobia of stars, and b;” He sticks out a grabber prong this time, making a check [✓] symbol with his grabber. “I’m not constantly looking at stars through telescopes. Pure exposure should’ve kicked those acrophobic fears straight out of your psyche a week after getting those powers. What, do you just not use ‘em?”

“That’s not important.” You dodge the question. “What is important is that I’m not about to go hurling my torso off the side of a gigalith just to save on a little walking time.”

“Look, you’re afraid. Irrationally so. Phobias and all, I get it, it’s more than reasonable… Actually it isn’t, by definition, but that’s semantics.” He says, poorly attempting to extend a saltfruit stick. ”But, if we drag our feet trying to get to the others, there’s no telling what sort of trouble they could get into without us. What if the Boss needs us? Weren’t you chewing your claws dull thinking about him fighting alone a few hours ago?”

“Yes, but…” You feel yourself getting restless, being talked closer and closer to the edge.

“Okay. How about this.” He says with a shrug. “We either both go down this thing together, or I go down alone, and you can continue bumbling through the maze inside. Okay? Okay.” Without another word, he flips backwards, off the edge of the structure.

“Aah!” You rush to the edge of the guardrail fearing the worst for your teammate, only to find the Heir safely sliding down the exterior of the structure on a light incline, landing on another outcropping seven stories down. He looks back up at you.

“You coming?” He shouts.

“Gah, Creed! You sook!” You shout to deaf ears. Okay, it seems the human has issued an ultimatum. Jump off the side of this enormously large praisehive, or get left in the dust inside of it. You can feel your tolerance of these human-folk decreasing by the minute.

Begrudgingly, you cautiously approach the guardrail. You can feel the joints in your prosthetic locking up in response. Funny, it’s been a while since this hunk of metal started acting up. Maybe you’ll have to take a look at it again, make sure the mechanisms aren’t rusting.

“Well?” Creed shouts up to you again, making you realize you’ve been hovering at the edge of the temple for quite some time.

“I’m coming!” You shout back at him. This is hard enough to do of your own free will, you don’t need to be rushed as you do it! Hesitantly, you sling a stepprong over the guardrail, your nerves just about getting the best of you as you clutch onto the stone railing. Just one more step and… damn it! This is no time to be a wuss about things! You take the plunge, nearly falling into an undignified fumble as the top of your shoe almost gets stuck on the rail, and you slide faster and faster down the slitherbeast basilica, your entire body rattling against the temple’s crude exterior. Oh jeez, you think you’re going to be sick! “UuuUuuuUuUUu” You grumble as the thrashing vibrates your airsacks. The impact of the landing causes you to tumble, only being stopped by the guardrail on the level you slid to. “Ooof!”

“Oh, you made it.” Creed notes, already prepared to go over the next ledge. You push your battered form upright up and try to compose yourself. “See, just like I said. Faster, right?” Your claws dig into the stone at his comment.

“Let’s just… get this over with…” You growl through grit teeth. You can feel your human tolerance plummeting to record lows dealing with this hoofmenace. Maybe you should try being someone else for now. Someone you haven’t been in a while? Yeah, that sounds nice right about now.

Being Dallra didn’t work out too well, but you think you’ll stick with Human-friendly Trolls for the time being. At the moment, Esspin seems to be the next best choice in this regard. Let’s see how she’s doing, shall we?

 

***

 

A silence radiates through the ever-winding halls of the grand temple fate has led you to. If not for the current state of affairs, you’d be in awe of the structure’s breathtaking majesty, the sheer magnitude of the holy sight demanding reverence through it’s very nature. However a heavy burden clouds your thinkpan, drawing your attention from such things. Sara is still unconscious, and you’ve begun to worry for her wellbeing. Her bloodpusher is still beating, you can feel it with her chest pressed against your back the way it is. The rhythmic strikes give you faith that she is still alive. She has to be…! And yet still, doubts seep their way into your thoughtsponge. Awful doubts, wretched doubts, all of which reminding you that you know nothing of a human’s medical needs, all of which leaving you timorously uncertain. Uncertain of where to go. Uncertain of what to do. Uncertain of whether humans possess some form of post-mortem palpitation, and that beating you feel against your back is just a death throw leading you astray. Uncertain of if Sara’s kind requires a particular position to be carried in to keep from causing grievous bodily harm to their unconscious forms. Uncertain of… well, of anything that one could be uncertain about. Uncertain of the unknown, or of what you know all too well, but refuse to accept… No… no, no you mustn’t think like that. She’s going to be okay. You’ve already decided it. Though her biology may be alien to you, one fact remains. The beating in her chest has not given out, has not surrendered. She is alive. You’re sure of it. And so you press on.

It’s been some time since the Prince of Life reared his disgraceful crown and scattered your merry band to the wind. Sara’s condition has your pan swirling as is, but at the very least you have her at your side to monitor. Everyone else, you’ve nary a clue what condition they might be in. No idea whether they live or not, whether they’ve escaped in good health or’ve found themselves gravely injured. It’s the not knowing that drives you mad, that leaves your imagination to wander untamed! The last you saw of Amvinn… Moss bloods are tougher than most, but a fall like that with a hole punched clean through his torso? That’s too heavy of a burden to bear, even for someone as stalwart as he. You can’t help but to fear the worst. On top of it all, Jason had planned to challenge the Prince unaccompanied, in the hope of buying your friends the precious time they needed to escape from your assailant. A demon like the Prince is not one to be trifled with, and you have no idea what Jason might’ve been plotting going against him alone. Without a doubt, though, the worst outcome to result from this entire kerfuffle by far would be how you had simply *lost* the compatriot who had been so trustingly placed in your direct care! Last you had insured, Mia was at your hip, following in step just as you had instructed to her, and yet when you turned to find her, all you found was an empty hallway! The girl simply vanished, spirited away from you by a dread phantom or some other wrathful specter! Oooh, what a Wretched custodian you’ve made for your poor ward! Gods, this amount of stress can’t be good for your soul…

“Uhhh, ah…” Sara groans from atop your back, breaking you out of your self pitying trance. Thank goodness, it seems she’s finally coming to. “Wha… wha happen…”

“Easy, my friend, you’re still injured. Try not to put too much strain on your speechmuscle.” You enjoin of her. Her grip on you tightens as she fights her way into consciousness. “Get your rest while you can.”

“where…” She quietly rasps in your ear. “where are we…?”

“The temple on Lofac still.” You tell her as you enter into one of the pyramid’s crowning bethels. It’s strange, despite having carried her for several hours now, your footfalls begin to feel lighter with each stride, a more bountiful spring in your step. Perhaps it’s a symptom of some intrinsic boon of Sara’s, reawakening alongside her. “And before you ask, the other’s are safe as well… I hope, at the very least.”

“You hope?” She asks in a tone of disbelief. “You don’t know?”

“The strife’s over, and the Prince of Life is nowhere to be seen.” You point out, trying to ease her distress. “Either he was defeated, or left of his own volition.”

“Or he’s already murdered the rest of our friends… just like he did with Amvinn… just like he did with Greg…” Her breath is shallow, and she struggles to take in air. Hopefully she finds her second wind soon. As you worry over the girl, a distinct coolness creeps upon your neck, as Sara dampens the nape of your god tiers, burying her face into your hood to softly weep. “And all there’s left to do is find the massacre he’s left behind!”

“That won’t happen.” You declare, readjusting your grip on her legs, causing her to wheeze slightly.

“why not…” She lazily asks, sounding like she’s drifting to sleep again. You carefully descend a series of steep zig zags, trying to shake her as little as you possibly can.

“Jason’s handling him.” You cringe slightly once the words leave your lips, knowing full well how she’ll take it.

“He’s What?!” She shouts before breaking into a coughing fit. Her grip on you tightens with every heave. You glance back at her, seeing her struggle to get a hold of herself.

“He said he’d keep the Prince distracted while everyone found their way to safety, then spirit himself away once he was able to.” Saying it now, it does sound like a horribly reckless idea, but, and it burns you to think this, truly it does, there isn’t much to do about it now.

“How could y- *cough* *cough* you let him *cough* do that?” She tries to scorn you, disheartening falling short in her delicate state. The strain on her voice plucks at your heartstrings, knowing full well that you’ve nothing that could aid her in her pain. Gods, you feel pathetic! “He’ll be *huff* torn to ribbons.”

“I have faith in him…” While it feels uncertain when you say it aloud, it’s true, you believe wholeheartedly in your friend’s abilities. Nevertheless, there’s no telling what that Prince has up his sleeve. Those Meter protrusions were his go to weapon, but there always remains the possibility that he’s something more lethal in his wheelhouse for whenever his patience is tested. Some perilous technique he’s mastered for single combat strife, or a great and terrible weapon he only resorts to when all else fails. There are simply too many factors to be sure of Jason’s plan. You suppose that’s why faith is so pivotal in an hour such as this one.

“………” It’s quiet for much longer than you’re comfortable with. “……where are we… now? and…where are we going?” Your girl finally says. You hadn’t given much thought as of what your destination would be when you first absconded, your only real objective at the time was getting away from the Prince. The most important goal now is reuniting with your other compatriots, although you’ve no idea where they could’ve possibly gone off to. Your natural affinity for labyrinths has helped you navigate the various levels proficient enough, yet you can tell by the sheer size and complexity of the temple’s layout that one could get lost in here for days, if not weeks. Jason assured you that Dallra would be more than capable of locating you regardless of where you went, however there’s no telling when that might be. Aside from sitting in place and hoping you aren’t happened upon by some ill-intent vagabond while waiting for rescue, the next best idea you have is descending to the bottom of the temple in hopes the others will do the same.

“I’d say right now, we’re perhaps a few levels below the portal landing we first arrived at when entering Lofac.” You inform her. “I’m unsure of where everyone else in our group has ended up, so reuniting with them is beyond our power at the present moment. For now, I believe our efforts are best spent focused on reaching the bottom of the praisecolony. Jason hadn’t mentioned anywhere specific to rendezvous, but downward is the path of least resistance. Chances are the others will wind up there, one way or another.”

“Good a place… as any… I‘suppose…” Sara puffs, resting her head on your shoulder. A soft, shuttery wheeze echoes from her voicemuscle every so often, as if she’s trembling with every other breath. The strange symptom is worrying, but her breathing is consistent. Rhythmic even.

“How are you feeling?” The question evokes a slight cough from her that turns into a chuckle.

“Just between you and me? Like hot garbage.” She mumbles through her pained laughter. Humans are a real chin-up sort of species, you’ve begun to find.

“Where does it hurt the worst?” While you can’t do anything to physically relieve your human of her pain, simply displaying your concerns over her will likely keep your friend in a receptive mood. You can attest firsthand how important attitude is while in recovery. Some of your most dire injuries collected during your time in your Brood you were able to bounce back from with just an upbeat spirit alone. The question may be basic, but it lets your friend know she is doted and cared for.

“Throat, probably. Although… there’s a pounding in my head coming in close second. Other than that, it’s just a vague soreness all around.” From the way she’s describing her injuries, she should be well enough to make the trip down the pyramid. Although she might need rest for a while after everything’s settled.

“Just… hang in there. I know right now everything seems grim, but the sun’s radiation is always most damaging before dusk.” You continue trying to cheer her up.

“Huh…?”

“Ah, right, humans are daywalkers. Umm… ah! It’s always darkest before dawn.” Her quiet ‘ah’ lets you know she seems to understand this idiom better. “We just need to keep moving forward, and there’s no doubt in my pan we’ll find the light at the end of the tunnel.” You do your best to string together some inspiration for your alien friend. Now might not seem appropriate for overly optimistic sentimentality, but it’s all you have to offer in ways of keeping her alive, even if it is only moral support.

“I guess I see your point… but wait, is it night or are we in a tunnel?” She asks, perking up a bit on your back.

“Pardon?” You glance back at the girl.

“You said that it’s darkest before dawn, but… also that we’ll find the light at the end of the tunnel.”

“A-and?”

“So is the darkness because it’s night or is it dark because we’re in a tunnel?” Hopefully she’s just feeling a little delirious from the altitude and this isn’t the symptoms of a thoughtsponge injury. Normal human biology is a mystery to you on it’s own, but critical humanorgan trauma is likely an entire enigma unto itself.

“Well, I guess… I… I guess we’re in a tunnel at night!” You say, bringing the metaphor full circle.

“A tunnel at night?” She sarcastically asks, pretending to be impressed. “That’s pretty dark.”

“That it is.” You jokingly nod. At least she’s seeming more lively now.

“……We’re going kinda slow, no?” Sara notes, looking out over the edge. “I’m not that heavy, am I?”

“Not at all.” You assure her, so as not to make her feel a burden. “In fact, you’re quite light for your frame. Which is saying something, with how small you are.”

“Hmm… this rate, it’ll be maybe a couple hours before we get there.” She notes. The praisecolony is a rather tall structure, you suppose.

“It’s unideal, I admit.” You say with a sigh. “However, the Prince could be around any corner, on the hunt for us like the prowling, lowly fangbeast he is. Erring on the side of caution is the safer bet for these types of situations, even if it’s a slower labor.”

“Take us over to the corner of the pyramid there.” Sara requests, pointing to a temple outlook. You happily oblige. The least you could do is let her lead your shared expedition while she’s incapacitated.

“Wow…” Looking out off the edge of the outlook, all you see is white fluffy vapor formations. This structure is gargantuan. Even with as many levels you’ve descended, there’s still no sign of the world below.

“We’re at one of the pyramid’s corners, so it should be a blind spot for a majority of the rest of this place.” Sara explains. “If we jump down from here, we’ll be safely out of sight as we descend.”

“Uh, Sara? I’m flattered you have such confidence in my ability to survive a fall such as this, truly I am. Though I’m not certain I can agree with-“

“gaaaAAHhh!” She cuts you off with a yawn. “Funny… but no. I’ve got a passive ability… Slows me and whoever I’m in contact with when we fall.”

“Really…?” Curious of Sara’s testimony, you test her assertion and hop in place, rising a ways into the air. Sure enough, you float softly back to the ground, as if looked after by the gentlest of zephyrs. “Exceptional!”

“Thanks…” Sara bashfully expresses. “So what do you think? You okay drifting down the side like this?”

“O-… Of course! I just need to… need to…” Even with the aforementioned knowledge of Sara’s safeguard against fatal plummets to assure you, the idea of taking a leap of faith off something this large has you approaching the temple’s edge one inch at a time. There’s simply something disconcerting about knowing there are safety measures put in place for something dangerous that always makes you ponder the scenario in which they all simultaneously fail. Some morbid fixation you have on the improbable scenario where all forms of catastrophic misfire occur at once, as if causality would bend itself to ensure your downfall. A Divine Mandate of Failure, if you will. Regardless of the irrational nature of this fear, your nerves nevertheless remain indignant about stepping off solid ground into a thousand foot free-fall. “Okay, and a-AaaAah, o-oh my!” With one last step, you’re off the edge and are drifting down ever so slowly. Needless to say, it’s a rather distressing and plunging sensation, like you’re a purr-beast being lowered into an ablution trap.

“Don’t tense up so much.” Sara advises, her hold on you tightening ever so slightly, letting you know she’s still with you. You can’t help but blush. “It doesn’t help you steer like you think it does and we’ll be falling for a while, so don’t go fatiguing yourself for no reason.”

“Right.” You nod, looking at the seemingly endless descent you’re sinking into. “It’s just a bit nerve racking.”

“Relax. You’ll be fine as long as I’ve got you.” She tells you. It’s… assuring, to say the least. While you like to present yourself as the confident sort, you’d be a fool to pretend that nothing can daunt you. Maybe you were like that at one point, but after your time in the Arena, you can’t help but feel your credence has waned, having bore witness to such radically unthinkable events one after another, some of which having shaken you to your core. The journey has been a harsh one, there’s no denying, however you’ve come to find a silver lining through your hardships. While you’ve been left uncertain about a great many things, you’ve found a new faith through this ordeal. A faith in your friends. Trusting your peers is still a little new for you, but your team isn’t like the Brood. They’re people you can believe in. “Let me know if it’s getting to be a bit too much for you. We can take a break whenever you need.” She adds on in that caring, soothful voice she has.

“I’ll be fine!” Just when your bloodpusher was starting to slow down, she goes and gets it racing again. “I think I’ve gotten the hang of it now.” You assure her as you focus back on the path before you. The descent isn’t so bad now that you’ve been falling for a while. In fact, it’s actually kind of nice. Every so often, you drift back down into the edge of the temple due to the angle you’re falling at, and you get to kick off it, like you’re skipping down the side of the pyramid.

“Good. It’s a long way down.”

 

***

 

You’ve slid down maybe forty…ish levels of the pyramid at this point. Hard to keep track when you’re on the outside. The back of your god tiers are getting all sorts of scuffed up from sliding on the rough stone. Feels like the bottom of your shoes are getting worn down as well. Not that it really matters, they’ll fix themselves in the next few minutes. What’s actually got you worried is the gold toothed spaz fumbling about behind you, thrashing around like a beached fish while she hides her face in her hands, too scared to watch where she’s going. It’s a miracle she hasn’t skipped off the side of a rampart and gone tumbling down the rest of the pyramid.

The next landing you’re sliding to is a guard-less walkway spanning the entire edge of the pyramid you’re on. As soon as your feet hit level ground, you twist around, ready to catch Dallra before she has the chance to slide past and go flying off the edge. You brace as she collides with you, letting her momentum transfer into your shoulders and disperse without throwing you off balance. She huffs heavily, her eyes still glued shut.

“Are you okay?”

“No I’m not okay!” She snaps, shaking you off her. “You jerk!”

“Alright…” You take a step back. “Not like I just saved your life or anything.”

“It doesn’t count if you’re the reason my life needed saving in the first place.” She glares at you.

“Semantics.” Her face goes bright jade as her teeth gnash at the comment. You hold up your hands in a surrendering fashion. “Fine… I’m sorry.” She seems to settle at the apology. “…that I save us so much time…” You mutter the end to yourself.

“How much more of this do we have to get through?” She huffs in defeat, glancing over the side in obvious discomfort.

“It looks like twenty more floors, maybe…?” You estimate, looking over the edge along with her. “But actually…” Eyeballing it now, you get a gut feeling to take a different path. “Let’s walk the rest of the way.”

“Really?” She perks up in puzzled happiness. “Not that I’m complaining, but why?”

“Just got a feeling.”

“Uh-huh…?” She skeptically nods.

“Look, trust me on this.” You assure her. “I’ve got a knack for these kind of things.” As you take a step forward, a chunk of the walkway breaks under the weight of your foot. Just as you’re about to timber off the edge, you jerk short, hanging in place midair. You glance back, seeing Dallra's snatched you by the base of your ridiculously long hood with her mechanical arm. She looks unimpressed.

“Quite the knack.” She says dryly, pulling you back onto the ledge.

“Whatever.” You huff as you dust yourself off.

“Alright…” She mockingly mimics your previous tone, emphatically shrugging in an overly animated manner as she walks past you. “Not like I just saved your life or anything.”

“Fine, point taken. Thank you for saving my life, Miss Heimda.“ She glances back, still glaring at you with that unimpressed look before snapping to a bright golden smile.

“You’re quite welcome, Mr… whatever your formal name is.”

“Lederman.”

“Led-a-wha?” She crooks her head at you.

“My name. It’s Lederman.”

“Pf! Letter-man?” She snickers, looking at you cock-eyed. “What, did you deliver mail back on your planet or something?”

“Le-der-man.” You phonetically pronounce for her as she walks ahead. “And I wasn’t anything back on Earth.” Hearing this, Dallra twists around to look at you. Strange, this is the first time you’ve seen her look at someone directly while they were talking. Dallra mentioned a little while ago that you had descended down far enough that you’d entered the Prince’s deadzone, meaning she could no longer see the immediate area around you. Suppose with her extended sight obscured, she has to do her viewing the old fashioned way. Analog style.

“Oh really?” She asks while rolling her eyes “So you were just magically manifested without purpose or reason on your planet, then?”

“I was born, yes.” She laughs at your statement. Hmm… trolls like dry humor. Little by little, you’re slowly uncovering the various facets of Trollian culture, revealing more and more of their alien psychology. It might’ve only been a quick peek, but Dallra’s reaction resonated quite far. Comedy is, after all, a universal gauge for a species’s zeitgeist.

“But seriously, no job or any affairs?” She continues to probe you. You’re sure there’s some joke to be made about an alien probing you via questions and not some horrible apparatus in this situation. You’re not one to point out that joke due to it being far too crude to be funny, but you’re sure someone could potentially appreciate it at some point in Paradox Space. “Not even a herd you ran with?”

“… I did have a… group… I interacted with.” You think back to life in your old neighborhood with a bit of glum melancholy. The ‘good ol’ days’. Seems so long ago now, but in actuality, it can’t have been more than half a year now that you were hanging out with the guys at the hideout.

“A group? Like friends?” She asks.

“More like… an association.”

“An association?” She’s certainly inquisitive. “Well, which is it, a group or an association?”

“Some people might’ve called us a gang… but then again some people might’ve also gotten their legs broken.” You explain. A sudden look of realization crosses Dallra’s face.

“Ooooh! You were a subjugglator!” She exclaims.

“Uh… sure?” Strike that previous notion, your current knowledge on troll culture is still sum-total; Zero.

“How exactly did you come about associating with a group like that?” She ponders, still looking you in the face while walking backwards. The two of you are heading towards the corner of the pyramid, where the walkway takes a sharp left. You’re about to inform Dallra that she’s headed directly for the cliff when she rounds the corner, still facing you the entire time. She performed the maneuver with such steadiness, you momentarily question if she’s gotten her sight back. You quickly dismiss the idea, though. She wouldn’t still be looking directly at you if she did. Maybe she just has a good sense of direction or… perhaps some acute awareness of the physical space around her. She is a Space player, you suppose.

“Same old story, really.” You begin to explain, reminiscing about the past. “I lived in the area, so it was only a matter of time till I got involved. They needed someone… persuasive. Help them smooth over deals with some of the more problem-kids on their turf. Keep ‘em in line, or at the very least, keep ‘em docile. I had a bit of a reputation for being good with people. Making them act a certain way, and all that. So they found me and offered me a place in their group.”

“Sort of like what we did.” She laughs, pointing out how you were recruited to this shit show. Rather telling that you haven’t even been with this group for no more than half a day, and you already know its gonna be a rough ride. “Funny, right?”

“I guess you could say that.” You agree. Not surprising though, what with your services having always been a hot commodity with anyone smart enough to see their value. “Although, I don’t think too many people in the Arena are gonna be persuaded with just a bat.”

“Hmp.” She chuckles, glancing you up and down. “So you were your group’s muscle?”

“Eeeeh, sort of. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got a way with words. Could talk my way out of a jail cell, if I had to.” You inform her, trying not to sound too conceited. “But every so often, some shit head would refuse to see reason, and needed a forceful hand to remind them their place. Rough ‘em up a bit, let ‘em know they weren’t as rock-solid as they thought they were.”

“But now all those shitheads who wouldn’t see reason-“

“Are actually as rock-solid as they think they are, yes.” You finish her sentence for her.

“Man… hope you’ve kept your enforcer skills sharp.” She says with a grimace.

“I’ll manage.” You assure her. Though you might brush it off for now, the number of basket cases in this place does have you a little concerned, even more so now that you’ve just been employed to pacify the more deadlier of the lot for your new gang. You’d say you’re up to the task, but there’s honestly no telling what sort of riffraff have gotten themselves trapped here. Worse comes to worse, you use a little black magic. Toy around with their heads a little, see what happens.

While walking, you come across an entryway back into the main structure of the pyramid. You nod to your alien friend, suggesting you find your way off the exterior of the building and traverse this mother fucking hallway together. Just before the two of you get traversing, you toss a glance down off the side of the walkway. Down below, you spot that debris from before, out at the outskirts of the forest. You seem to be close enough to actually identify what it is now, and even with your closer perspective, it looks to have gotten much larger. You aren’t an expert on battlefield analysis, but just about the entire field by the forest has been pulverized into gravel, large strips of destruction tearing out from the main body in winding vectors, like some great and abstract octopus carved into the ground.

“What’s the hold up?” Dallra asks, joining you by the edge to find what you’re preoccupied with.

“What in the hell could’ve done that?” You ask back, nodding down to the scene. You knew there were some heavy hitters in the Arena, but just what kind of fervid butchers are prowling around out in this damn fish tank?

“Shot in the dark? Prince of Life.” She answers with a shrug.

“The big rubble pile? Yeah, that’s from Jason’s fight with the Prince.” Frank mentions from behind you. “It was pretty wild. The Prince threw this giant rock at him and the Heir of Rage shattered it to pieces. After that the two of them trashed the place while Jason sneaked away.”

“The Heir of Rage? What was he doing here?” Dallra asks, still looking down at the eviscerated field.

“Jason thinks he followed our scent like a rabid dog.” Frank answ- wait, when the hell did Frank get here?

“Uh-, hey…?” You stammer, turning around to see him. He’s stood between you and Dallra, looking down the side of the pyramid with you both, a sleeping purple consort held in his arms like how a little kid would hold a pet cat.

“Hello!” He smiles back at you, not really acknowledging the fact that he just appeared out of nowhere.

“Oh wow, I never realized how elusive you were.” Dallra notes, looking just as surprised as you at his sudden appearance. “With my sight blocked out, you sneak by me no problem! I can see how they didn’t notice you.”

“Yeah, no one really does!” He sort of laughs in a chipper tone, scratching the back of his head with one hand and holding the consorts in the other.

“Well… are you alright?” She asks, unsure how to handle the child. “And why do you have Sara’s little scalebeast friend?”

“I’m okay. A little tired, but that’s just from walking.” He answers, kicking at some dirt, bashful-like. “And George just happened to be with me when we scattered.”

“You said you talked with the Boss, right?” You ask, stepping in front of the kid to physically grab his attention. “Where is he now?”

“Hey, Frank! The hell’d you go? We’ve still got a lot of ground to cover.” You hear the Boss yell from down the corridor to your rear.

“Right down the hall.” Frank tells you without breaking eye contact. “I heard you guys talking, so I stepped away for a second to see what you were up to.”

“Everyone’s right down the hall and you didn’t say anything sooner?” Dallra rhetorically snips at him, hurrying past and traversing the mother fucking hallway without you. Guess she’s in a hurry… Frank watches her rush by before turning back to you, still smiling.

“Busy day, huh?” He asks you.

“You’re the weird one, right?” You ask back, eying him up and down.

“That is me, yes.” He nods. Seeing that you’re talking to what is essentially a grinning doornail, you walk past your stitched-up-friend to join the others.

“Frank? Frank?! Fra- Oh!” The Boss starts to yell before rounding the corner to see you all.

“I found some people.” Frank muses, practically skipping past him to join another Seer behind him. Dallra said that one was… Amvinn, right? Didn’t he get flung off a cliff?

“How ‘bout that.” Boss quietly exclaims, seemingly pleased with the development. “Guess that saves time on regrouping!”

“Jason! You’re looking… surprisingly still put together.” Dallra says, looking him over. “What happened with the Prince?”

“You weren’t watching the fight?” He asks. It’s faint, but you think you heard a trace of disappointment in his voice.

“Sorry, you were in the Prince’s blindspot the entire time.” She apologizes, completely oblivious to the let-down in his tone. “I couldn’t see any of it.”

“Ah… right.” He says, hum-glum like.

“Yeah, we’re actually still in the blindspot right now.” She adds.

“W-wait, really?” Boss says, his face twinging with alarm ever so slightly. He’s trying to hide it, but it looks like he’s starting to panic. “I managed to shake the Prince off my tail out by the forest, how could it still be lingering around…?”

“Maybe he came back.” Amvinn dryly states, looking horribly bored with the current situation.

“I don’t think so.” Dallra calmly shoots down. “If he was still after us, the blindspot would be moving up and down the pyramid as he searched the place, but right now, its borders are remaining in place, completely still.”

“I don’t know what you guys are talking about.” Frank bellows, strolling over to a window and sticking his head out, visibly searching for something. “It’s so bright out up here, you can see pretty much everything! Where’s the blind spot supposed to be?” Is he… is he looking for an actual blind spot?

“…So it’s something else causing the obscuration, then?” You say, refocusing the conversation.

“It has to be.” She agrees, nodding her head. “But with the whole area hidden, there’s really no telling what or where the source is. It could be just about anything.”

Something else is causing the Blindspot… Was the Prince working with someone else then? He didn’t seem like the teamwork and cooperative type, but it’s possible he could’ve taken someone with a passive obscuring ability captive. There wasn’t anyone with him when he attacked, so maybe they’re chained up somewhere? Or maybe they’re too scared of what the Prince would do to them if they disobeyed and tried running. Assuming that’s the case, then they’re likely hiding out nearby, waiting for the Prince to come and collect them, which would be why the blindspot is still lingering in the area. Not that it’d matter, though. If the source of the blindspot really is a Void player hiding in the area, there’d be no point in hunting them down just to stop him from obscuring the temple. The smart play would be just to round up everyone as fast as possible and leave while you ca-… Boss has something on the side of his throat, just under his jaw. A small patch of his skin’s been stained a strong dark blue by some slick looking liquid. What is that? You lick the pad of your thumb and go to rub it off him.

“Gah!” He recoils back at your sudden touch. “H-hey!”

“You’ve got some blue on you.” You say, trying to defend your actions, realizing how strange it was to do that. “Hold still.” You continue on with the strange action anyway. You aren’t sure why, but you’ve got this sudden fixation to clean this stain off him. Like a sort of intense OCD compulsion.

“What’re you, my mother? Back off.” He says, dodging away from you.

“Commer ya mook.” You pursue.

“Guys…?” Frank calls over to you all, still looking out the window of the hall you’re in. Based on the like… two interactions you’ve had with him, he probably wants to show you some funny looking cloud he saw.

“Quit struggling.” You tell Boss, grabbing hold of his collar.

“No means no!” He refuses, trying to duck past you. Quickly, you wrap an arm over his back and around his torso to keep him in place.

“Stop whining, you baby.” You order as he squirms in your grip.

“Get your sweaty hands off me!” He flips forward, slithering through your grip, onto the floor.

“Hey, guys.” Frank calls again. “There’s something over on the side of the pyramid.”

“It ain’t sweat, it’s just spit.” Too busy with Boss to pay attention to Frank, you drop down onto the slippery bastard to pin him before he can get away. The two of you grapple on the ground, with you getting closer and closer to the stain. The others look on at the display with unimpressed judgment.

“Humans, right?” Amvinn asks Dallra.

“…You seem different.” She says back.

“It looks like people falling, but reeeeally slowly.” Frank continues, unnoticed by a majority of your group.

“No one cares, Frank.” Amvinn yawns.

“But you guys, I think it might be-“ Frank tries to continue.

“Gotcha, ya little weasel!” You exclaim, finally rubbing the blue stain off Jason’t neck.

“Gaaahh, gross!” He whines, wiping his neck with his sleeve once you’re off him. “What the hell’s wrong with you?!”

“Oh!” Dallra exclaims, suddenly perking up. “Update everyone, the blindspot is gone.”

“Wha- really?” Boss asks, the irritation in his voice suddenly vanishing at the good news. He turns, glancing over his shoulder at her, still sitting on the floor. “You can see everything in the area again?”

“I most certainly can, and…” She looks up at the ceiling, like she can see right through it. “Ha! Esspin and Sara are right around the corner.” Both you and Boss move over to the window where Frank was looking out, spotting the two Dallra mentions slowly skipping down the corner of the pyramid.

“Ha-haa!” Boss exclaims running down the hall to the nearest outlook outside. “You’re the best, Dallra!” He calls from down the hall.

“Eh-, b-but I saw them first!” Frank calls back, yelling down the hallway to make sure the Boss could hear him.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?!” Boss responds, not giving the boy’s complaint much mind. “Hey! Over here!” He shouts, waving his hands like a mad man.

You trot after the Boss along with the rest of your group, exiting onto the observation deck he’s on to find that his flailing caught the attention of the other fraction of your team. The tall troll that you assume to be the Esspin that Dallra told you about diverts off the ridge of the temple, drifting towards your direction. She lands light as a feather, mindful of the passenger with her. On her back she carries who you believe to be Sara, and once on stable ground, the troll carefully sets her on her own two feet. The human wobbles a moment, but waves off the Boss’s attempt to help her stand.

“I’m okay.” She assures him with a weak voice. “How about you? Are you alright? Esspin said you went up against the Prince. And on your own, no less? Really, Jason, just how many times are you planning on nearly getting yourself killed this week?”

“Uh, s-sorry…?” Boss apologizes, scratching at the back of his head, embarrassed at her admonishments.

“You’d best be.” Sara continues to scorn him. Seeing he’s as apologetic as he’ll get, she moves away towards Frank, and gently takes that purple consort from his arms. “Thanks for looking after him, Franklin.”

“No problem, I like carrying things.” He laughs. “My mom says I’m a good pack mule.”

“Oh… how nice.” She smiles back. Taking a moment to look about the crowd, it seems Sara’s looking for someone in particular. “…Where’s Mia?” She finally asks.

“Ah, I almost forgot!” Boss exclaims, his face going red with embarrassment. “She was with me while I was keeping the Prince distracted.”

“What?!” Sara bursts, startling her consort awake. “Where is she now?!”

“I told her to go hide once the Heir showed up.” He explains with a kind of anxiety in his voice, clearly put off by her sudden frantic response.

“What Heir? Him?” She asks, pointing at you while taking a step closer in your direction. Embarrassingly, you do flinch at the aggressive gesture. Her voice is sounding more and more raspy the longer her question goes unanswered.

“No, no, the Heir of Rage.” Boss clarifies, shaking his head. “He was probably tailing us since Lopaw. Between him and the Prince, there was no way I could keep Mia safe, so I told her to hide out somewhere till we could come find her.”

“Jason-“ Sara says slowly, like she’s about to begin an entire tirade.

“Yeah, okay I know, it was irresponsible, and dangerous and a whole bunch of other bad things, but everything happened so fast, and squirreling her away was the best thing I could think of. It’s okay though.” He explains, turning to Dallra, hand outstretched as if to present her. “You said that… the blind spot was gone, right? You mind searching for her?”

“Of course.” Dallra agrees without a second thought, knowing she’d probably be the next verbal target of Sara’s. “Any idea where she would’ve gone?”

“I-I sent her towards a village I saw a little ways away. It’s possible she took shelter there, but I’m not sure. I-it’s a good place to start, though, right?” He answers, bouncing his attention back to Sara, hoping that’d appease her. As you watch the tense scene unfold before you, you get a strange feeling about all this, down in the pit of your stomach. You can’t quite discern what it’s trying to tell you. The closest thing you can liken it to is how certain animals can sense when a storm is coming… You don’t like this. Not one bit.

“I’ll get right on it.” She assures him before taking a seat on the ground, her back to a stone guardrail. In position, Dallra crosses her legs and pulls her hood up, tucking it tightly over her eyes, entering some sort of search-mode. Sara begins tapping her foot anxiously, watching the troll meditate with bated breath. Boss seems to notice her impatient anticipation rather quickly.

“Just give it some time. She wouldn’t have gone far.” He assures her. Sara scowls, looking off in the distance, out at the village on the horizon.

“I know.” She declares, crossing her arms. “I know that I know! But… it’s not safe when you’re alone out there, Jason. Christ, it’s not even safe in a group. We were all together and still… look what happened to Amvinn…”

“Hmm?” You pipe up, a little confused what she means. “What about Amvinn?” Boss’s eyes widen, and he very visibly tense up, as if remembering something important he had neglected up until now. It’s the same reaction people get when they remember they left the stove on at home.

“Oh, sorry, we haven’t actually met yet.” Sara says, turning her attention to you, realizing the two of you have yet to be formally introduced. “I’m Sara.“ She confirms her identity for you, giving a half hearted wave, clearly fatigued with the day.

“Creed, how’s it going.” You half wave yourself, not too interested with formalities. Dallra already got you up to date on the people in the group anyways. “You said you’re worried about your missing friend because of Amvinn?”

“O-of course! After what the Prince did-… after he-…” She doesn’t seem to be able to finish her sentence. You did see him get chucked off the Pyramid like yesterday’s garbage, but the guys seems to have rolled with the fall pretty well, all things considered.

“I know, I was there, but… I mean, it turned out alright, didn’t it?” As you ask, a look of shock flashes across the girl’s face, slowly contorting into a confound anger after the moment it takes for her to comprehend what you just said.

“And what exactly do you mean by that?” She asks in an anger-trembling voice as her fist starts to clench. Boss starts waving his hand across his neck, indicating for you to can it. Unfortunately, you seem to have already dug this bed, and now you have to be buried in it.

“Well, he’s… still walkin’, ain’t he?” You cautiously explain your reasoning, unsure as to what facet of the conversation is actually angering her.

“What?” She asks. Boss recoils, jerking his head back in an over-exaggerated ark at your apparent verbal folly.

“Uh, Sara, we need to have a talk.” Boss interjects, trying to run damage control on some unseen fire you seem to have started.

“Ho-h-hold on a second, Jason.” She waves him off, still focused directly on you. “What do you mean ‘still walking’ ? He had a hole in his chest, a-a-and plummeted who knows how many feet to the ground. And you think he’s still just… just perfectly fine?”

“No really, I think it’d be best if we-“ Boss tries to interject again.

“If you don’t believe me, take a look for yourself.” You tell her, nodding over to the entrance leading back into the pyramid.

Up until this point, Amvinn had been keeping to himself, over in the shadows of the corridor’s threshold, staying strangely quiet. You thought it was weird he didn’t greet Sara when she arrived, as Dallra had told you they were pretty close. But apparently something’s going on between them? Maybe he’s just embarrassed it looked like he got himself killed? He glances over at you all, realizing everyone’s looking his way.

“Eh… heeey.” He half heartedly acknowledges the attention.

“Ah, shit.” Boss mutters to himself.

You think you’re missing some context here. Maybe you should be someone who’s a little more informed for the time being? Sounds like it could be beneficial for all parties involved.

 

Creed, be someone who’s In the Know.

Notes:

Happy Birthday America! And I think Canada Day was a few days ago or something...? Happy Birthday to anyone reading this as well, regardless of if it's your birthday or not. Feel free to come back to this chapter when it *is* your birthday for maximum well wishes.

Chapter 29: > Cracks in the Shell

Due to Creed deciding that he’s too ignorant for you to be him right now, you’re suddenly Jason again. Feels good, getting back to ol’ reliable after so long. That is, it would be, had Creed not just thrown the situational equivalent of a hot-potato-pipebomb into your lap. Everything was happening so fast, you didn’t get the chance to ease Sara into the idea of some asshole puppeteering the corpse of her dead troll friend. Needless to say, this won’t go well.

“A-… Amvinn?” Sara asks, approaching the shadow Haugrr’s lurking in.

“Uhhh…” He mumbles, looking like a deer in headlights. Desperate for a way to navigate his current situation, Haugrr glances in your direction, hoping you might have some personal insight on how to worm your way out of dealing with another human. Funny, you didn’t take him for the type who’d care how rude he comes off in social interactions.

“I-… I-…” She lets her hands hover over her face, doing the best to hide the tremblings of her lips. Oh christ, it looks like she’s about to start tearing up.

“Sara.” Esspin calmly calls to her, stepping forward as she slowly retrieves the rifle from her back. “Sara, get away from him. That’s not-“ Before she can finish, Sara suddenly lurches forward, grabbing hold of Haugrr, forcing him into a hug. The light in his eyes flicker grey for a moment as he jolts stiff, locking up at the sudden forced contact.

“I’m so sorry!” She bellows.

“Ah, okay, wow.” He says in awkward surprise, holding his arms out in an attempt to not touch her as she wraps around his midsection. “Yeah, alright, okay, just-... easy there…!”

“Oh god, sorry! I forgot, your wound.” She apologizes, lifting up his shirt to get a look at his condition, gasping once she sees the gaping puncture the Prince left in Amvinn’s corpse. “Good Lord, Amvinn! A-are you alright?!” Thoughtlessly, Sara reaches her hand out, touching the side of Haugrr’s insides, perplexed by how he’s still moving despite the severity of his injuries. Upon contact with the death-mark, regardless of how soft or well-intentioned Sara had delivered her touch, a visible shiver goes crawling up Haugrr’s borrowed spine.

“That’s It! Too Handsy!” He snaps, violently jerking her hand away. He angrily backs up, scraping his heel on the ground to emphasize the distance he creates. With a sneer, he dusts off the front of his god tier, straightening out the wrinkles Sara created from lifting it. “Good fucking shit, ya crazy goblin! You always go around fondling random people’s wounds?!”

“Am, I-… I’m a Sylph…?” She stammers, trying to approach him again. “I can heal y-.”

“Yeah, well who the hell asked you to?!” He slams his fist against the wall in frustration, leaving a crater in the stone, before storming off deeper into the Pyramid. “Crazy bitch!” He shouts from down the hall.

There’s a guttural silence that soaks into the atmosphere, one that none of you dare break. Sara looks as if she’d just had her heart torn out. You take a step towards her, moving forward before you even have a chance to think of what to say. It’s always best to wing it in delicate situations, right? Fortunately, Esspin stops you before you can do your damage. Unfortunately, she’s got a stern anger painted all across her face. Feeling real Mia, all of a sudden.

“Care to explain what that was, Jason?” She quietly asks you, piercing you with her eye contact, the rising displeasure radiating from the Orchid of her iris.

“That… was… complicated.” You poorly explain, much to her annoyance.

“Who was that?!” She nips, shoving you back a bit to get her point across. “Because I’m rather certain that wasn’t Amvinn.”

“I was really hoping to get ahead of all this.” You mutter to yourself. “That was… Amvinn’s friend.” You finally admit. Her stern look quickly twists to confusion.

“What?”

“He was from Amvinn’s session, came here along side him when they first got invited.” You continue. “He’s the Arena’s Prince of Doom, and he can… possess bodies. So with Amvinn being dead, he thought-“

“Absolutely not.” She says without hesitation

“Look, I know it’s not ideal, but-“

“No.“ She cuts you off with yet another Mia-like authority.

“It’s not like this is a permanent situation.” You’re finally able to finish a sentence. “Haugrr’s agreed that when we find someone who can bring Amvinn back, which-which would be a priority objective the group would focus on, he’ll more than happily give his body back. Until then, he simply wants to… preserve it.”

“Preserve?” She disbelievingly questions.

“Bodies under his possession don’t decay, some kind of Doom magic or something. So long as he’s using Amvinn’s corpse as his vessel, he’ll keep the body from decomposing. Which, all things considered… isn’t that bad of an exchange. He gets a body, our friend gets preserved. It’s a win-win.” You explain to her, presenting your strongest point of reason, much to Esspin’s cold response. “I get it, I tried kicking him out as soon as I realized he wasn’t Amvinn, too, but he’s stubborn and he wouldn’t leave, but more importantly… he just wants to help, honestly. He was just as much Amvinn’s friend as we were, and he thinks it’s honoring his memory to take his place in the group. He at least wants to try…” Esspin scowls, looking off to the hallway Haugrr stormed down. Her brow lightens slightly after a moment of glaring.

“Hff…” She sighs, her hard face finally breaking. “You said his name was Haugrr?” Seems she’s coming around to the idea of a Princely Corporeal Occupation.

“Yeah.” You nod. “Apparently he was one of the first deaths in the Arena. He’s been traveling with Am from the other side ever since.”

“…” She remains silent for a moment, mulling over the information. “… Fine, the Revenant may remain.” She finally decides, letting a wave of relief washing over you. “But.” She begins again. “Only on the conditions that he’ll One; return Amvinn’s body in the scenario that we are able to revive him.” 

“Of course.” You nod.

“And Two; that he carries his own weight on the team.” She finishes, listing her ground rules.

“No problem there.” You assure her. “Honestly, having a body for him to use is a lot more useful than a Seer of-.” She puts her index finger in your face.

“Never. Say that again.“ She orders. “Especially not in earshot of Sara. That girl has been through enough and doesn’t need you praising the timely death of a friend.”

“I wasn’t-, I-I-I didn’t mean-“ You begin to protest, but the face she’s giving you lets you know to drop it. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“I would hope not. I’ll go inform Sara of this… development.” She says with a bitter taste in her mouth.

“I’ll come with. Maybe I can-“ You begin to offer, to which she puts a hand against your chest.

“No.” She stops you. “The poor girl is likely inconsolable, being lashed out at like that, and you, well… pardon the curt candor, but you lack the tact for a situation delicate as this. Go retrieve our new member before he gets himself lost.”

“Uh… right.” You agree, half heartedly. Esspin turns back and approaches Sara, placing her hands on her shoulders.

“I’ve something important to discuss. We should have words in private.” She says, leading her slowly off to the side to talk. 

You awkwardly walk past them, down the hallway after Haugrr. Probably for the best she handles that anyway. Esspin’s people skills seem far superior than your own. She’s also technically known Sara for longer than you have too. You keep forgetting that you were unconscious for a week, and while your useless torso slept, everyone was getting all buddy-buddy without you. Actually, now that you think on it, besides Mia, you’ve only known the members of your group a maximum of four or five days, tops. Yet it feels like you trust them as if you’ve known them for years. Times of crisis breeds strong bonds, you guess. Dallra’s only been in your group for about two days, and you’re already rather… fond… of her. You practically just met Creed and Haugrr for that matter as well. Although, Haugrr would’ve been traveling with your group since Amvinn joined, so would he be considered to have been a teammate longer than the newer members? Your head is starting to hurt thinking about all these acquaintance-timelines. How about you just focus on finding your new specter friend.

“Haugrr!” You call out to the body snatching jerk. No answer. You dive deeper into the pyramid, traversing these hallways in the softest manner one could possibly traverse such a three-dimensional rectanguloid. “Hey, Haugrr! The hell are you?! It’s not safe to go storming off!” Still no answer. Fuck. Where the hell’d that little rat run off to?

“Yo.” Haugrr says with a sigh from down the hall. You round the corner to see he’s leaned against the wall, gazing out the window, like he’s some somber hero who didn’t just scream at a girl mired in grief. What the hell is he doing?

“What the hell are you doing?” You exhaustedly ask, approaching the melodramatic scene.

“Thinking.” He grunts.

“About…?” He turns to look at you, an uninterested demeanor in his eyes.

“I know what you’re going to say.” He sighs, jumping ahead in the conversation, rather condescendingly. “It was an overreaction, and I shouldn’t yell like that, name calling is mean, treat others the way you want to be treated, yada yada, heard it all before. Save it.”

“Heard it all before…? Heard it all before? What, is this a common thing with you?” He rolls his eyes at your question. “Christ, are we gonna be dealing with you flipping your lid every time someone so much as looks at you wrong while you’re with us?”

“Hey, I’m not the one who went feeling around someone else’s acidtrack the first chance they got!” Haugrr wriggles his fingers at you, dramatically recreating Sara’s touch of him in wide exaggeration. “And no, it’s not a ‘common thing’ with me.” He mockingly mimics your tone before turning away to look out the window again. “Call it a recent development…”

“Oh, cut the shit. You know it was an honest mistake on Sara’s part.” You point out. “It’s not like she could’ve known you weren’t Amvinn. When she saw you, all she saw was a friend who needed help, you didn’t have to go bitting her head off for it.”

“Don’t talk to me like you know what this is like, okay?” He says, pointing to his vacuous chest with pursed fingers. “It sucks. Alright? Having a body again sucks! Especially one so sensitive and-… and broken!” He scuffs his feet on the ground with a small kick, jerking around in frustration. “Its vision comes and goes, this body’s basic motor controls are shot to shit, and Everything. Hurts! I’ve only been corporeal for half a day, I’m still getting used to it again. So I’m sure you can understand just how jarring it is to have someone shove their grubby little grabbers into my gaping torsocage! Excuse me for not being prepared for that kind of stimulus after being enveloped in the numbing embrace of death for the past month!”

“Don't be dramatic.” You quickly dismiss. His head snaps to you, an annoyed glair focused in your direction.

“I am in my dead best friend’s body, trying to cope with the injuries that killed him.” He firmly states. “And you think I’m being dramatic? Fuck. You.”

“Alright, alright, I get your point.” You sigh, conceding defeat, unsure how to counter such an emotional appeal. “But still, Sara’s not taking your little outburst well, and it’s not like it’s her fault things are the way they are. She really gravitated towards Amvinn after her own best friend died, and seeing him freak out on her really has her messed up, so… it’d be nice if you could apologize to her.”

“Ugh.” Haugrr groans. “…yeah, fine. Why not? Why not?! It’s not like she tried rooting around my insides or anything. Sure, she’s the one who deserves an apology.” He pushes off the wall with his upper back, heading back to rejoin the others. As he walks past you, he makes sure to give you a light shoulder checking before continuing down the corridor.

“Dude, I’m just trying to keep the peace.” You assure the bodysnatcher as you call down the hall after him. He doesn’t look back. “For the sake of the group, just do me this solid.”

“Whatever.” He brushes you off, storming away in a huff, acting like having to give a simple apology is some great blow to his ego. You follow after, lagging just behind the pouting toddler as the two of you find your way back to the group.

Noticing you’re returned with the husk that stole her friend’s body, Sara turns to face you a moment, appearing to debate something to herself. An anxiety begins to creep up on you as you watch the cogs in her head turn. Just what is she planning? Seeming to find her resolve, she begins walking over. This can’t be good. You pick up pace to meet her halfway.

“Looks, Sara, I know it’s not ideal, but-“ She marches right past you, heading straight for Haugrr. Stopping directly in front of him, she stares daggers at the guy.

“Oh god.” Haugrr grumbles with a roll of his eyes. “Okay, so-?” Before he even had a chance to start his apology, Sara sent her hand across his face, evoking an audible -slap- for you all to hear.

“You better remember that you’re a guest in that body, dick.” She emphasizes the ‘dick’ with a firm poke at his shoulder. Haugrr’s still looking in the direction Sara’s open-palm left him facing. “And you’ll act according to that fact so long as you’re with us!” She informs him, matter-of-factly.

Having gotten her point across, Sara marches away, down a flight of stairs to another balcony, presumably to brood about the unfortunate circumstances surrounding your group’s newcomer. Haugrr turns to you, face pulsing a sore green on his afflicted cheek, lazily glaring at you.

“Still want me to apologize?” He asks in the most condescending voice he has. “You know, for the sake of the group?” You don’t say anything. “No? Oh, well that’s too bad. I was really looking forward to it.” He turns to walk away, shoving his hands into his pockets with a huff. “Jackass.” He tacks on as he leaves.

“That could’ve gone better.” Creed says, joining you by your side. You glance at him, and he glances back with a smirk.

“True, but it could’ve been a lot worse.” You sigh, looking out at the open sky with your newly recruited group mate. “So long as the infighting caps out at a slap and some crude insults, we might actually still have a shot at functioning like a normal team.”

“Give it some time.” He assures you. “I’m sure everything’ll fall into place, eventually.”

“I hope to god you’re right about that.” You hum.

“I’m still confused what’s going on.” Frank blurts out. Apparently he’s joined you by your other side.

“Boss just screwed the pooch, don’t worry about it.” Creed answers for you.

“Oooh.” Frank nods.

“Loving the support, guys.” It feels like just about everyone on this team is giving you shit for one reason or another. Everyone except-

“Uh, Jason?” Dallra calls for you. Speak of the troll. You look over to where she’s sat, still criss crossed, lifting her hood up slightly to peak out at you. There’s a twinkling in her eyes, like starlight.

“What’s up?” You ask, walking over and crouching down to talk with her. “You find Mia?” About time you get some good news.

“About that, I…can’t find her.” She tells you with an innocent yet anxious smile, as if to ease the not-good news with a cheerful guise. You feel your breath go cold.

“…You what?” You ask, desperately praying you heard her wrong.

“I-I can’t find her?” She says again, hoping the questioning inflection will soften the blow. Oh good, you thought you were hearing things… Fuck. “I searched through the town you mentioned, but I couldn’t find any sign of her, and after that, I tried looking through the underground caverns, but still nothing. I’ve scoured up and down the neighboring pyramids, all throughout the fields, every town in a five mile radius, but… nothing.”

“I-is-… could the Prince have-…?” You find it hard to speak all of a sudden, the words getting caught up in your throat. Luckily, Dallra seems to understand what you’re getting at.

“No.” She shakes her head. “Judging by his blindspot, Duke of Fucks is still meandering down by the forest where you fought. He hasn’t so much as drifted anywhere near the direction you said Mia ran off in. There’s no way he could’ve gotten to her.”

“Okay… okay, so, where is she, then? It’s not like she just vanished, right?” Normally, Mia disappearing wouldn’t phase you in the least. You were surprised she stuck with the group long enough to get to the Forge. But with her walking around, all emotionally crippled… lets just say she won’t fair too well with some of the other basket cases roaming around the Arena.

“All things considered… eh?” She expressively shrugs.

“Eh?” You mimic, baffled by what she could possibly mean by that.

“Well, is it so far-fetched to think she came across someone Titled under Void and they just… poofed her away?” She suggests, haphazardly. Poofed? Huh… you guess if anything were to happen to Mia, being vanished seems like the simplest thing to undo. A Light or Hope player, or maybe even another Void player could undo that with a snap of the fingers.

“Are there any Void players in the area?” You ask, trying to work through this slowly compounding problem. Even if it’s just a hunch and a Void player had nothing to do with Mia’s disappearance, any nearby secret-keepers would be at least somewhat of a person of interest worth chatting up.

“Jason.” Dallra says with a soft disappointment, implying you just said something stupid. “They’re Heroes of Void. I can’t see them, that’s kind of their whole shtick.”

“All of them?” You ask, a little surprised. “Like the way you can’t see the Prince?”

“No, not exactly. The Prince is like a walking black hole in my sight.” She explains, gesturing her hand around as if conjuring with a divination orb. “Some of them are like that, but for the most part, those Titled under Void are just… not there. Like they’re invisible.”

“So you’ve never seen one in your Sight before?” She grimaces a little.

“Every now and then, one’ll pop up on my radar.” She corrects, looking like she’s deep in thought trying to remember. “Usually whenever someone Titled under the Sun Banner is nearby. At least, that’s what I’ve noticed.”

“Sun…? Ah! Light Aspect, gotcha.” You note with a nod. “Makes sense, Light inverses Void, after all. Players who bear those Aspects probably end up canceling each other’s powers out when they get too close to one another.”

“I don’t know about that.” Dallra disagrees, immediately grabbing your interest. “I don’t think every Hero of Void in the arena is going around with an ability activate on their back-burners. I think it’s more like… an aptitude, you know?”

“Not really. How do you mean?” You ask her to go on.

“Okay, so think about it like… like everyone has their own sort of niche or thing they’re naturally good at.” She elaborates messily. “I’m a Hero of Space, right? And I’ve got a good sense of direction, but I’ve always had that, so it’s not so much a power as it is an aptitude. Maybe that’s like… what places me under the Banner of Space? Like that natural inclination to know where I’m going qualifies me to be a Space Hero. Or maybe it’s the other way around, and it’s actually a kind of predetermined disposition we’re gifted by our Aspects. Say that I was always supposed to be a Hero of Space, and because of that, I’m naturally in tune with my physical surroundings. Like a kind of special boon our Aspects provide that make us more receptive to them. And maybe Heroes under Void’s Banner are given a natural veil around them, which just so happens to hide them from invasive surveillance, like my extrasensory snooping. And maybe Heroes under Light’s Banner happen to counter that effect, having their own illuminating presence gifted or natural to them.”

“I guess that makes sense…” You agree with her. You didn’t read anything about that in the Compendium books, but it’s not like you have the expertise to contradict her theory.

“Just a thought.” She shrugs, seeming like she still wants to talk about it. “It’s not like there’s anything empirical suggesting it, but what if it’s just this innate thing about us? Like it’s in our blood to be the way we are, you know? I think I’m rambling…”

“No, no, you’re fine. I’ve gotten lost in thought more times than I can count.” You assure her. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s a neat idea. We are who we are, we were always destined to be this way because it’s in… because it’s in our… blood…”

“What?… What is it?” She sounds weirded out by your odd trail-off.

“Re-… remind me again, when… when did the blackout clear from your vision?” You stumble out, trying not to lose your train of thought as you work through your new hunch.

“When? Hmm… It’s been gone for a good few minutes now, so that’d probably be when you and Creed were wrestling, I suppose.” She informs you. That’s what you thought. When Creed was trying to wipe that stain off you… the same stain the Prince of Life’s tentacles were covered in.

“But the Prince still has his own blind spot, though?” Dallra nods.

“Strange, right?” She confirms your inquiry. “The entire bottom of the pyramid was hidden from me for hours, then poof, nearly half of the blindspot vanishes out of nowhere. At first, I figured the Prince had just died, and whatever ability he had blocking out the area went with him, but a good portion of the woods are still hidden in my sight, so who knows really. I guess he could be dead, and whatever’s left of his blindspot is just a lingering effect hanging over the area. I’m not really sure what sorts of powers everyone in the Arena has, but it doesn't seem too implausible that some effects might stick around after their caster dies.”

“Right, right…” You slowly nod your head to her answer. “Another off topic question for you; when the Prince first appeared, you didn’t happen to see all that blue stuff he was covered in, did you?”

“Oh, yeah, he was pretty filthy, wasn’t he.” She gnaws on it for a moment, trying to remember. “If I had to put a name to it, I’d say it looked like troll blood.”

“Troll blood…” You repeat.

“Yeah, must’ve been a Highblood, too. Wonder who the poor Indigo was.” She ponders. Without a second thought, you bust out your Trans. Temp. Camera, cycling though to the pictures you had taken of the Void Library’s slabs. They’re all still alive. All except the Rogue of Void. One who Seizes and Redistributes the Obscuration. Seize and Redistribute… Redistribute…

…

 

Oh, God. Damnit.

 

“Alright… I think I’ve got an idea of what happened.” You say, fingers gripping your nose, as per usual response for some dumb shit happening.

“Oh?” Dallra hums. “Well don’t leave me in the dark. Spill, human!”

“Just a sec, I don’t want to explain this twelve times.” You tell her before turning out to face the others. “Hey, everyone, come on, bring it in! We’ve got news.” Slowly, like remarkably slow, everyone gathers before you. Even Haugrr comes back, albeit lingering on the outskirts of the balcony you’re on, leaning against a stone guard rail with his arms folded and a sour look on his face.

“I assume this is about Mia?” Esspin asks as she approaches. “Do we know where she’s ended up yet?”

“About that.” You huff. “We… sort of lost her.”

“Sort of?” Sara asks with an uncertainty to match your own.

“It’s complicated.” Both her and Esspin cross their arms, disappointedly expecting you to explain yourself. “The Prince, did any of you get a good look at what he was covered in?” They all look around at each other, unsure what it is you’re trying to get at with the question. “It was some kind of blue muck. Dallra thinks it might’ve been troll blood.”

“And what does that mean… exactly?” Esspin inquires, clearly confused at the information being presented to the group.

“It was the same stuff Creed wiped off my neck,” You elaborate. “right before the blindspot on the temple cleared from Dallra’s vision.”

“You suppose there’s a correlation?” Creed chimes in, already seeming to know where you’re going with this.

“It seems too coincidental to be… well, a coincidence.” You tell him. “Even if it wasn’t troll blood, whatever it was obscured Dallra’s vision. And whatever it was more than likely got onto Mia when we were trying to escape the Prince, just like it did with me.”

“So she’s…” Sara starts, pausing to ponder the implications of this news.

“She’s aimlessly running around the Arena covered in omnisight camouflage.” You say flatly, trying to rip the band aid off as fast as possible.

“Pah!” Sara jolts, as if an invisible fist had just punched her in the stomach.

“Now, I know it seems bad-“ You begin to attempt damage-control, hoping in vain that you might be able to get ahead of what’s coming.

“Bad!?” Sara snaps. “This is…! This is…!”

“An unadulterated shitstorm?” Haugrr suggests, catching Sara’s glare.

“You can keep your mouth shut over there!” She nips at him. He rolls his eyes with a bored grimace. “And you!” She turns back to you, pointing her finger your way. “How could you be so…! so…!“

“Demonstrably irresponsible?” Haugrr finishes for her again.

“What the fuck did I just say?!” She shouts again, sounding even more fumed this time. In response, Haugrr snidely trembles his hands in front of him, dramatically pretending to be scared in an attempt to mock the already pissed-off Sylph. Ignoring him, Sara turns back to you once more. “She can’t be alone, Jason! She isn’t in any state to take care of herself!”

“I know, I just-“

“What happens if she runs into people who try to hurt her?” She cuts you off, causing your mind to race through the possibilities of what could happen to Mia while she’s alone. “What happens if we can’t find her in time? What happens if she ends up dead?!” As your companion berates you, a film of countless scenarios plays within your head, and you witness again and again as Mia is meet with a terrible fate out in the wilds of the Arena, and inevitably, you come to the same conclusion as your friend; Mia likely won't last long on her own. And your stomach turns.

“L-let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Sara. Mia is-“

“Stop. Just… stop.” Sara orders. “No excuse you come up with is going to make this right, Jason. If anything happens to her, the blood’ll be on your hands! You did this. You said she could find her!” She points to Dallra, who looks more uncomfortable than you do right now. “And she can’t! You sent her to meet who know what kind of hell out there and she can’t get her back!”

“I know what I said, but things are a little more complicated than I thought, but if we-“

“How are you going to fix this?!” The words rattle through you, demanding an answer on their speaker’s behalf.

“I… we…” The words simply don’t come.

“How?”

“…”

“How?”

“W-… w-we’ll…!” Can’t lie, you’re starting to sweat buckets here. You usually have a minute or two to figure out a plan of attack, but with Sara pressing you so adamantly for answers, your thoughts are absolutely scrambled. “We’ll… look for her the old fashion way?” You more or less ask for confirmation. An agonizingly long moment passes as Sara stares daggers at you from across the observation deck, thinking God only knows what horrible things of you as she decides what to do next. Finally, she takes a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down, probably realizing that just yelling about the situation won’t change anything. In a huff, she turns around, facing the staircase to the next level down.

“Well…” She says, a shaky sort of anger quietly creeping under the calm of her voice. “I suppose we should get on that.”

“I’m not saying it’s a perfect plan, all I’m saying is-“ She begins to walk away before you can finish. Esspin soon follows after, quietly advising Sara to not move so quickly while still injured. Frank goes trotting after them as well, glancing back with an oblivious smile. “It’s all we got…” You mutter.

“You alright?” Dallra asks, joining you by your side. “That was… rough.” You don’t say anything.

“Boss.” Creed grabs your attention. “Your hands are shaking.” You look down to see that your fingers have curled into a trembling fist, straining themselves as they try to keep still. Huh… funny that. Didn’t even notice. You try to unclench them.

“Let’s get going.” You tell the two with a dry throat.

 

***

 

It’s official. You’ve been waiting for too long. You thought Jason would’ve been able to find you by now, but… unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like he’s coming. It’s been maybe eight and a half hours since you fell through that strange portal, and you haven’t mustered the courage to venture out from where you first landed. However, with rescue becoming more and more unlikely… maybe you should try and find a way back to your friends on your own?

Oh wait, you’re getting ahead of yourself. You’re Mia Kruger, the damaged Maid of Rage. You’re sorry if the transition was confusing for you. It’s just that you’ve gone a little stir crazy just sitting on this dock, doing nothing but swinging your feet back and forth all day, looking down at the sandy beach and murky waters. But now that you’re Mia, you feel much more confident to do something interesting and new!… actually, on second thought, you’re still feeling too anxious to move from the spot you’re in. Jason said that he’d have Dallra locate you, so running around without knowing where you’re going will just prolong your reunion with your friends.

Anyway, since you’ve got nothing else to do, perhaps reflecting on your surroundings will help pass the time? It appears you’re on some sort of pirate themed Land, you think at least. That, or the Mongoose consorts here just really like wearing eye patches and talking like a bunch of scalawags who end all their sentences with ARR! Heheheh… they seem kinda mean though, so you don’t really want to ask if they’re actually pirates or just pretending.

Regardless of how sincere the consorts are about their piracy here, the fact that you’re sitting on the dock of a port island, staring at a staggering amount of pirate ships seems to solidify your inference that you are, in fact, on a pirate planet. It’s actually a pretty interesting place, now that you’re taking a minute to look around. The island the dock is attached to isn’t all too big, with only a few small tavern looking buildings and a handful of palm trees, but the dock has a sort of floating village theme going on. There’s a whole bunch of wood walkways zigging and zagging all about, making a maze formation on the water that ships sit in quite snuggly. A small market place lies at the center of the dock village where all the Mongooses… Mongeese? Monguesses? Furry boys. Where all the furry boys do their haggling business. Trading formerly buried treasures and booty for food and shiny trinkets. It’s quite the bustling square.

Before you can admire your current location any further, you’re struck on the back of the head, evoking a quiet squeal out of you. Meekly, you turn your battered-head around to peek at your assaulters. Standing before you is a three foot tall Furry Boy, dressed in a fancy red coat and black tricorn captain’s hat. He’s carrying a booncache chest, which he seems to have accidentally knocked against your cranium.

“Watch yer head, las.” He grumbles, readjusting his grip on the chest.

“S-sorry, sir.” You apologize, rubbing where he hit you.

“Aren’t banged up too bad, are ye?” He asks, glancing down at the sorry scene. You quietly shake your head ‘no’. “Well… if ye say so. What’s a fine las like yourself driften’ round this grog hole fer?”

“I’m a bit lost at the moment.” You bashfully admit to the Mongoose.

“Aaah, no good! Not these parts, least.” He clutches his chest a little tighter. “Sell ya barnacles and tell ya it’s buckwheat round these parts. Can’t be gettin’ lost in parts like these, nooo, no siree.”

“O-oh…” You guess you’re in a shifty part of town, so to say? Although the entire town is a little shifty, swaying ever so slightly on the water. Haha.

“Best not be lallygagging sea-side, neither. Mighty storms a brewin’.” He nods towards the horizon where a wall of black clouds has gathered. “Should reach port in a knot or two.”

“In a knot?” You ask, causing him to roll his eyes.

“Landlubbers…” He mumbles to himself. “Twenty’ minutes. Ye got twenty’ minutes befer’ storm reaches port. Ye’d head fer cover if ye had a good head on yer shoulders.”

“ I… don’t really have anywhere to go…” You poke the tips of your fingers together, embarrassed you’ve got no go-to plan in the very plausible case of surprise-pirate-storms.

“Marooned, eh?” He inquires, to which you sulkingly nod. “Well… suppose I’ve got a spare bunk back in me barracks ye could crowd till storm’s past.”

“W-, really?!” The excitement in your voice jumps, overjoyed this random furry boy would offer you refuge in your time of need.

“Aye, lassie. Consider it payment fer giftin’ ye that lump on yer noggin.” He chuckles, readjusting the grip on his chest again. “Say, ye mind bearin’ me bounty for a spell? Arms er sore as the dickens, they are.”

“Oh! Of course!” You quickly scramble up, taking the chest from his paws, much to his relief.

“Ay! Many-a-thanks, lass.” He says, stretching out his back. “Now, onward! To the Muzzle’s Grip.”

“Huh?”

“Tis the name of me ship!” He clarifies, leading the way down the dock.

“Ah, okay.” You nod, following along. “Oh wait! Sorry I never asked, but what do I call you?”

“Me?” He glances back. “Call me Haddock.”

“Sounds good, Mr Haddock, sir!” You enthusiastically comply with his request.

The two of you continue down the wooden pathway, passing vender after vender, offering a vast collection of fish, fancy looking jewelry, and a myriad of trinkets and random ship-wear. Haddock barks madly at them as soon as they reach out to you with their offers. Seems he’s not in the mood for all these lucrative offers coming your way. Besides that, there’s something strange about this place. You hadn’t felt it when you were sitting by the beach, but as soon as you started walking through the town, it’s like someone’s been watching you. Haddock said the people here are conmen, right? Maybe that’s where this creeping feeling is coming from. Even with that in mind, you can’t seem to shake the idea that you’re being followed. Maybe you’re just sea sick…

You do your best to ignore this inexplicable feeling.

 

***

 

Unbeknownst to the damaged Maid of Rage, a certain onlooker lingers at a vender’s stall, watches her disappear down an alley with her new scroungy companion. It’s been quite some time since you’ve been a Certain Onlooker. So long, in fact, that you’ve forgotten how to be one entirely. Seems you’ll have to settle with onlooking the onlooker.

“I knew it.” The onlooker mutters. “That fucking human…”

Placing each step with the discretion of a thief, the onlooker follows the two through the back alleys of the floating town, stalking after the girl and her escort like a silent predator. Oblivious to their presence, the two proceed up to a crossroads between buildings, stopping short while the furry creature’s busy orienting itself, having gotten lost in his shortcut. Perfect. The onlooker sneaks closer, barely even breathing as they approach. One wrong step, however, creeks the board beneath their footing, drawing the attention of the Maid. Nearly diving out of the way, the onlooker disappears behind a stack of crates, struggling to hide their presence.

“Huh?” The Maid mutters as she looks over her shoulder, finding only the empty alleyway to her side.

“Wha’cha lallygaggin’ fer, las? Ships this way.” The creature waves for her to follow as he marches on, out into the village center.

“Sorry,” She apologizes, following after him, chest-in-hand. “I thought I heard something…” It appears that the onlooker has lost their opening. For now…

Silently, the onlooker peels away from the shadows of their hiding spot behind the crates, creeping forward to where the alley meets the street. The Maid sticks out like a sore thumb in the crowd, towering over the tiny consorts like a shiny white beacon in a sea of shag carpet. She and her companion break off from the mass of fuzz towards a mooring lot off at the north of the shantytown. The onlooker quickly ventures out into the marketplace, trying to keep track of the duo before they can board a ship while out of their sight. The Maid looks back again, uneasy of the intangible presence following her. Almost instantly, the onlooker dodges back into hiding, ducking down behind the till of a fish stand.

“Arr, watch it!” The fishmonger complains as the onlooker peers over his suspicious goods. It doesn’t seem like they were spotted. Cautious not to stand out too starkly to the consorts, the onlooker straightens back up, and watches as the Maid boards a docked ship bearing a black flag with a white set of fangs at its center. Perhaps the Maid is not out of reach just yet?

“A boat, huh?” The onlooker mutters, tapping their nails against the stand they lean upon. “Looks like I’ll be setting sail.”

With all the information they need, the onlooker retreats back into the shadows of their ally, looking to bide their time. There’s a storm coming. It’ll make for good cover.

 

***

 

Yeesh, it feels really weird not being someone specifically, you think. All this third personing has left you all sorts of worn out, regardless of how brief it was. You think you’ll be someone again, but who, though? Perhaps Creed knows enough now for you to be him again? Might as well give it a shot. It looks like he’s in the middle of a Consort town, on the search for the Maid with two others.

You are Creed Lederman, the Heir of Mind, and you are feeling remarkably more in the know about the current gang of thugs you’ve associated yourself with. The Boss of this little outfit is… competent, you guess? He seemed to handle that one Life player prick with enough ease to suggest he knows what he’s doing, but the hesitancy his group shows towards him implies that competence isn’t a exactly common occurrence with the guy. A fluke, then? That alien, Dallra, she’s the Lookout of the group. With that God Eyes vision, or however she phrased it, she’s got eyes on the whole Arena. Helluva lookout, you think. She’s supposed to find more members for the group, then you’re supposed to convince them to join. Or at least that’s what you gathered from the Boss and you’s recruitment chat. Lucky for him, you could see the merit in his plan, cause it was a piss poor recruiting effort on his part, you’d say.

Anyway, Dallra’s is still lookin’ for that one girl who ran off into the void. Can’t seem to find her. Which seems to be upsetting that Sara girl quite a bit. Strikes you as the caring type, seeing how the missing girl’s got her so up in a tizzy. You can’t imagine the anonymous ghoul puppeteering her dead friend’s corpse is helping much either. Something the Boss probably should’ve informed you of before you went running your mouth the way you did. Regardless, damage is done. The other alien, the tall one in the Hope getup, seems to be mitigating the situation pretty well. A real negotiator, that one. Grey horned alien after your own heart.

Overall, situation seems fucked, but what else is new. Tensions are high, but not group-dividing high. Members are missing, but none vital to the Boss’s plans. All that’s really left is for the Boss to nut up and put search-and-rescue on waylay. At least, that’s the conclusion this situation would logically come to. Seeing that the all-seeing-eye can’t dig up shit in the Arena, nothing suggests a manhunt would, and something about the Boss’s itchy demeanor is telling you there's a time sensitive aspect to this whole operation. Not so much that he’s looking to streamline things for his own convenience, more like there’s a looming deadline pressing on him and he’s starting to get anxious about. You’ve seen it before, usually in saps short on protection money when payment’s due. That and, well… crackheads, coming down from a high with nothing to pop ‘em back up again. It’s in their movements, small twitches, quaky muscles, irregular walking pattern. Minor things suggesting they’re trying to keep themselves composed against an approaching threat. Hard to tell what that might be in this case. Question is, then; who’s putting the squeeze on the Boss?

“Hey!” Speak of the Devil. “What’s up, you alright?” Boss asks, looking back to you from the rest of your marching band. It’s only you, the Boss and that walking corpse thing. Smaller search parties, Sara’s idea. She really took charge with this. Barely gave the Boss two looks before storming off with Esspin and Stitchjob. Cold as ice. It’ll be fun when the Boss has to break the news that you’ll be moving on without the lost girl, given he figures that out first.

“Just thinking, Boss.” You assure him. He nods, turning his attention forward again.

“How come that Jade doesn’t have to go rumping around some shitty slitherbeast's shanty subcluster?” The husk complains, stretching his borrowed arms behind his head.

“Dallra’s busy sifting through the neighboring planets.” He answers. “Better to have her focused on the macro while we focus on the micro.”

“I thought she couldn’t see your friend or some shit.” He complains, swinging his arms back down out of his stretch.

“That’s just a hunch.” He clarifies, sounding very… conspicuous. “We don’t actually know if Mia’s hidden or if she just hasn’t found her yet. It’s sorta like Schrödinger's cat. You see, we can’t actually be sure if she’s-”

“God, fuck, I don’t care.” He cuts him off with an overly exasperated twang. “She might be able to find her still, I get it. I don’t need to hear about your human scrot cats or whatever.” He grumbles forward, trying to get ahead of having to hear any more alien analogies. You’re about to continue on with them when you notice something. The Boss’s chest lowers, ever so slightly, like he’s letting out a sigh of relief. His shoulders shift down about a quarter of an inch, and the serous tone in his eyes soften to a more lighter expression.

“Jeez.” Boss scoffs quietly. “Wonder what’s got his feathers ruffled.”

“…” You glance at him a moment, waiting to see if he’ll say something about it. “…You’re pretty slick, Boss.”

“I am?” He feigns ignorance, glancing back at you. You flash him a knowing look, telling him you’re not buying his bullshit.

“It’s subtle, sure, but you’ve got a quick wit about you.” You complement. “Him.” You nod at the possessed corpse ahead of you both. “He started asking about what Dallra was doing, and for whatever reason, you’re avoiding the subject. So you spin a believable-enough explanation for his question, and for good measure, you start rattling on about something that’ll make him lose interest in talking entirely.”

“I think you’re giving me too much credit here.” He laughs, avoiding your accusation. “I just tend to ramble a lot.”

“If you don’t want to tell me, that’s your business, all I’m saying is that I noticed.” You explain, keeping your voice down as the two of you begin to catch back up with the corpse. “If I were to take a guess, though, I’d say you already told Dallra to begin looking for other people to recruit, instead of searching for the lost girl like Sara had wanted.”

“W-what? Tha-… that’s ridiculous.” He silently starts to panic. Called it. “I mean, I wanna find Mia just as much as anyone, but…!”

“But you realize looking for her is like looking for a needle in a planet made of hay. Yeah, I’ve been going over the stats myself and our chances of finding her are practically zip-nothing. I’ve just been waiting for you to figure that out for yourself.” You assure him, trying not to make it seem like you’re accusing him of anything. His look of fear slowly morphs into something more guilt-ridden. “What I can’t seem to figure out is why you’re so jumpy about it.”

“Jumpy?” He asks, tilting his head to the side.

“Like you’re running out of time for… something.” Looks like you’re spot on with this guess as well. As soon as the words leave your mouth, the Boss’s brow furrows.

“It’s not just me that’s running out of time. We all are.” He finally admits with a huff. “The longer we’re in the Arena, the harder it’ll be to actually escape. Between everyone going supercharge, reality putting more and more hurdles in our way, not to mention us pissing off the eldritch sea monster swimming in the clouds-“

“Wait, eldritch sea monster?” You interject, getting a little overwhelmed by the information he’s passing over like they’re minor details.

“Tell you later,” He shrugs the question off. “the important thing is that we don’t have all the time in the world. In all honesty, we probably don’t have that much time at all.”

“So naturally, this sort of aimless floundering is a direct detriment to the team’s chances of escaping.” You verbally work through it, hoping the Boss’ll fill in any blanks you’re missing. “But if you don’t make it look like you’re looking for the girl, then…?” You encourage him to continue.

“I’m not not looking…” He awkwardly corrects you. “I didn’t even tell Dallra to stop searching for her. Just to… y’know… keep a few other people in mind while she’s looking. Keep tabs on a few key players we might end up needing.” You nod along with him.

“Contingencies are always important to factor.” You validate his actions. “I’m excited to see how you’ll break this to Sara. She seems pretty ruffled by this whole ordeal.” His face sours at the thought.

“That… I have not figured out yet.” He sighs, a look of genuine sorrow in his eye. Seems he’s rather conflicted. Makes sense. If you had to tell one friend to give up searching for your mutual missing buddy, you’d likely find yourself in a similar mindset. “I’ve no idea what I’ll say to her. What even can you say in a situation like this?

“Well, I don’t advise going off the cuff.” You grunt. “Word to the wise, maybe plan out what you’ll say before you get into it with her. Think through where the conversation might lead and how to avoid the more sensitive subjects with her, or how you can respond when she inevitably brings it there.” It’s not much, but advice is advice, and he seems to give it a fair moment of consideration.

“Hmm.” He hums, unceremoniously. “Hey, we’re getting all chatty like this-… I forgot, I’ve been meaning to talk with you about something.”

“Oh yeah?” You raise your eyebrow at him. “What about?”

“We never actually got around to discussing your abilities back on the pyramid.” He nods back, gesturing to the enormous mega-structure in the landscape behind him. “We sorta got interrupted before I could ask.”

“You sniffin’ around other people’s powers again?” The corpse shouts at him from a few Pagodas away, exiting out the front door, having just searched the place.

“Didn’t your mom ever tell you it’s rude to eavesdrop?” Boss shouts back, a small laughter in his voice. The corpse flips him off in response.

“If memory serves correct, you were last asking about my talent for persuasion, yes?” You ask, thinking back to about half a day ago.

“Right.” Boss nods, keeping an eye on the corpse as he swipes open the sliding door to the next building you’ve arrived at. The very sudden and loud entrance draws the attention of all the snake consorts inside. They hiss quietly among themselves before going back to their snake-business. “You had implied that you could, but we never really got into the logistics. I’ll take you on your word that you can convince people to join for now, but with some of the people in the Arena? The people we’ve come across alone should be a testament that words on their own won’t be enough.”

“So you’re hoping for a more forceful hand.” You more or less state, confirming what you had assumed was the reason for your recruitment. That being Mental Enforcement. Keep the minds of the masses in line as your grand escape is cobbled together. While some might find themselves caught up in the ethical dilemma that naturally comes with doing inherently wrong things for subjectively good reasons, the morally-grey has never really held sway over your actions. “I think I might have something up my sleeve that fits the bill.”

“Really?” Boss asks, sounding surprised you're capable of what he recruited you for. “Do you think you could…?”

“Sure.” Getting the gist of what he’s asking for, you look around for an example. “Hey, excuse me.” You call over to one of the Snake consorts.

“Yesss?” He asks, slithering up to you. He appears to be a samurai of some sort, wearing a dark blue and white kimono with a sword on his… hip? You assume that’s where his hip would be if snakes had them.

“Do you see that young man over there?” You point over to the corpse.

“What of him?” The snake asks while looking over at the husk. Flexing your fingers loose, you subtly move an open hand behind the consort’s head while his attention is occupied, hovering your grasp an inch or two away from the back of his skull. You feel a tingling sensation at the center of your forehead, about a quarter inch diagonally up from the back of your eyes. Taking a steady breath, you tap into the reptile’s mindscape.

“Would you mind terribly if I asked you how you feel about him?” You watch as the neurons pulse within the snake’s mind, thought and lightning traveling down freshly made pathways of information, searching for what he knows about the corpse.

“I’m unfamiliar with the child. It’sss improper to form an opinion about a ssstranger.” He answers as his thoughts come to their logical conclusion. Neutral, a perfect canvas. Really? Even after storming in like he owned the place? Seems rather entitled. “But it wasss rather rude of him to enter our domain the way he did. No regard for our domicile.” No, no, he just doesn’t know better. He’s a passionate youth! You’ll forgive him, won’t you? “Although… I sssupposse an outsider can’t be privy to our customsss right away. Perhapsss he just needss to learn the etiquette.” You can’t be serious. The guy’s a jerk! In fact, you should go over there and show him some humility! “A lessson I’d happily teach him at the end of my blade!” His tail begins to wrap around the grip of his consort-sized sword. “Dissgusting weasel. No better than those mangey maraudersss, coming in here like that!” What? How could you say something like that about him? You love this guy! He’s practically family! “Bah! What am I sssaying? I would trusst thisss young man with my life, and I’d happily give my own in hisss place.” Come on now, you barely know the guy. That’s a lot to assume about a stranger. “But again, I’m unfamiliar with the child. Iss there anything elsse you need?” You quickly remove your hand as the snake turns back to face you.

“No, sir.” You inform him with a smile. “Thank you.” With that, he continues on with his business. You turn back to see the Boss, slack jawed and wide eyed. “He was just a consort, of course. Their minds are usually easy to influence. Although I will say, he seemed much more cognitive than the one’s I had in my session. I’d say the consorts in the Arena are about on par for normal humans, mentally speaking. Weird, right?”

“And you can do that on other players?” He asks, lazily pointing at the consort as he slithers away.

“That I can, Boss.” You confidently cross your arms. There’s always that small bit of satisfaction whenever you show off your black magic to people. Like a proud conductor, displaying their influence over an orchestra.

“Wha-, well why didn’t you do that to the Prince?!” The exacerbation in his voice is poignant. Alright, never mind, satisfaction revoked. Seems your hard work has only warranted criticism.

“It’s not that simple.” You defend yourself. “Influencing another’s mind in the middle of a strife takes a lot of finesse. That snake was relatively easy to sway, but that’s only because he didn’t care about what I was asking him. Taking into consideration people’s personal cognitive barriers, the complexities of their neural pathways, aptitudes towards things they deeply care about, frantic synaptic firing, countless different schemas you’d have to navigate simultaneously… hell, even simple mental fortifications, like strong wills or stubbornness could complicate things immensely. It’s like brain surgery, I can’t do it on the pop-fly. It requires a certain… stillness.”

“Hmm. Damn.” He grumbles, covering his mouth with a hand while tapping his cheek. If you were to guess, you’d say he was expecting something more. Does that mean he was looking for actual, full-fledged Mind Control? Perhaps he was just subliminally hoping for it, so he wouldn’t have to admit to actually wanting that sort of power in his arsenal. Most people are that way, too afraid to admit the things they truly want. Especially if what they want is immoral.

“Sorry to disappoint.” You roll your eyes.

“Carful, you’re starting to sound like Haugrr.” He quips, grabbing the attention of the annoyed corpse across the room. You guess that’s the name of whoever’s occupying the cadaver at the moment. Haugrr, huh. Weird name. Interesting, though, how the Boss feels he knows you well enough to distinguish whether or not you only momentarily sounded like Haugrr or if you actually held a similar mindset to him. You’ve only known each other for less than a full day, after all. Not that it’s an unreasonable distinction to make, considering you present yourself in a very precise manner. On top of that, the Boss is much more cognizant than he lets on. You wonder if that’s purposeful. If the anxious side-liner role he takes is just a facade. Ineptitude, after all, is one hell of an advantageous disarmer. You can’t be certain if that’s the case, but there’s definitely something more to him, lurking just beneath the surface. You wouldn’t mind having a peek inside that head of his to see what’s actually going on in there. But for now, you’ve got a missing girl to… likely not find.

 

Creed, continue on with this Hopeless Search.

Chapter 30: > The Broken Trinity

It’s gotten to that point in the day where you’ve been on your feet so long, you can’t help but drag them as you walk. You’ve been through about five different towns now, and tons of other small villages and hamlets, yet you’ve still no leads on a girl in a set of white robes. The most you got was a few consorts talking about someone with a blue stain on their shirt aimlessly strolling through town. You had asked if they knew where she went, but they said they had better things to do with their day than watch dirty vagrants loiter about town. You’ve noticed the snakes here can be some pretty snooty assholes, sometimes.

“I told her to stay nearby…” The Boss mutters to himself, sighing in defeat as he seems to fully accept the inevitable. You’re pretty sure you weren’t supposed to hear.

At the moment, your group is in-between towns, following a narrow dirt path at the crest of a hill towards your next destination. The previous village turned up dry, so you’re moving on to the next, and hopefully final, town. The game plan was to search the immediate areas Mia could’ve wandered off to, but your group’s just about exhausted every notable location she might’ve gone. Instead of getting back to Dallra to wait for B team, it seems Boss has opted to venture further out past the agreed radius to continue the search. Strange, he still seems to be holding onto the small sliver of hope that she’s still nearby.

“So.” Haugrr grunts from the back of the pack. “How much longer of this do we have?”

“We aren’t scheduled to rendezvous back at Dallra's lookout for another hour and a half.” You inform the wraith, which evokes an exasperated groan from him. “Though your grievances are duly noted, and have been noted again and again for the past three hours.”

“Buzz off, human, this body isn’t exactly in the best of shapes to be scurrying around right now. Its vision is all snowy, the hole in it’s nutritionsack makes me always feel like I’m hungry and it’s got two broken walkpoles and all we’ve done the entire day is fucking Walk! I don’t need some lanky alien giving me shit on top of everything.” He bores.

“Lanky?” There’s a bit of offense in your voice. Sure, you’re on the thinner side, but it’s not like you aren’t muscular. You’re cracked enough heads to be confident in your strength! “I’m-“

“Guys.” Boss calls in a serious tone. At first you think he’s just trying to get you both to quiet the bickering, but you soon realize it’s something else. There’s someone off in the distance, standing out in the fields. They’re a ways away, but from the way they’re standing, it seems that they’re looking directly at you. “Get down.”

Boss drops to the ground, most of his body hanging on the slope as he peaks out upon the flatland. You follow suit, dropping to the grassy knoll, but Haugrr doesn’t so much as move an inch, standing around looking glassy eyed out in the open. You’d say he’s lost daydreaming, although that look could just be the postmortem milkiness filling into the lenses of his eye. Either way, he’s still upright, so you grab one of his ankles and jerk it out from under him, bringing him down with the rest of the group.

“Fah!” He grunts when he hits the dirt.

“Who the hell is that?” You ask the Boss who’s straining his eyes to get a look at the person.

“Prick!” Haugrr barks at you. You ignore it.

“No idea.” Boss answers, still peering. “But if they’re out here alone and spotted us first, they woulda ducked down the way we are… yet they didn’t.”

“Then they’re with a group.” You propose.

“That, or they’re packing enough power behind them that they don’t have to worry about getting caught on their own. Either way, I don’t like it.” He grumbles, tucking his head down anxiously. “Looks like a Doom player.”

“What do we do?” Your question causes the Boss to grimace.

“Well we can’t exactly wait for them to pass by.” He decides. “They already saw us. If they’re gonna try something, they know where we are. There’s also the chance that they follow after us if we try to abscond. We’re in a bit of a bind with this one.”

“So we strike first, then.” You suggest, already seeing where he’s headed with this line of thought.

“What?” Haugrr questions, as if tactical strategy is some absurd thing he’s never heard of before.

“I know how it sounds, but this isn’t about right or wrong, Haug.” Boss tries to sugarcoat. “We don’t know what they’re gonna do, and we can’t afford to be caught at the disadvantage this far away from everyone. It’s a basic precaution.”

“Preemptive attack.” Haugrr scoffs. “Classy. No really, it complements those fucking fins you’ve got there, Highblood.” He puts his hands behind his ears and flaps them back and forth with a disgusted look on his face, you guess to simulate… fins? Do trolls have fins? Not all of them do, obviously, but based on the disdain Haugrr’s tied to the feature, the ones that do must be some real pieces of work.

“I don’t like it either, but-“

“Fuck that.” He rises from the ground and holds his hand out to you. “Creed, give me the perspective for a second.”

“The what?” You ask, to which he rolls his eyes.

“Th-, forget it.” He huffs, facing his palm out to you as his hand begins to glow.

 

***

 

You’re not feeling so yourself all of a sudden. No, you’re feeling quite like someone else entirely now. Someone like… Haugrr Domark. In fact, you are Haugrr Domark! That’s right, you had used your Unlawful Action to snatch the perspective away from Creed. This is the second time you’ve suddenly been forced to be this guy. That’s not gonna be a trend, is it? Not important right now. What is important is making sure your Consultant/Leader/All around prick of an alien doesn’t go full fashisto on some poor assholes just minding their business.

A twitch flashes throughout your, er- Amvinn’s body, and it falls back to the ground. Damn it, you gotta stop doing that. Pretty soon Am’s body is gonna be more banged up from you dropping it all the time than it is from the fall that literally killed him.

“Why did he stand up if his body was gonna fall back down?” Creed asks, emphasizing your oversight.

“I don’t think he’s got ahold of his de-possessions yet.” Jason pseudo-mocks.

With a roll of your sightglobes and the familiar weightlessness of incorporeality, you head out towards where that vagabond was peeping you from. Guess they retreated somewhere, since they’ve disappeared from the fields. Wonder how they did that, there’s nowhere to go out in the open like this. Although, given that you’re currently searching for a girl who dropped off the face of Paradox Space, maybe vanishing-tricks aren’t the furthest fetch a barkbeast has ever had to chase after.

You’re about to head back and report the big fat nothing you found when something strange comes into view. There’s a huge pit just ahead, somewhat concealed by the grass surrounding its rim. Walking up to the edge, you find some sort of… something. There’s a ceremony circle looking situation down below, maybe 40 feet down at its very bottom, where engravings are carved into the stone and dirt, forming some kind of massive sundial. The formation spreads up and out in a stepping pattern, creating two large circular entrenchments that resemble an amphitheater-like structure partially buried in the ground. This must be where they’ve tucked away to.

With a quick hop, you’re down on the upper rung of the amphitheater. There are various passages that lead underground built into this level, their thresholds reinforced with larger rocks and stones. Good a place as any to start looking. You venture down what you assume is a dark hallway. Hard to tell if there’s any light in here while you’re just a soul, since the dead can see in the dark. Kind of a useless feature now that all the dead are mindless. Still handy to you though, so you can’t complain.

Nothing too interesting in this place, which you find weird. Assumably this is some sort of burial cavern, so shouldn’t there be tons of spirits walking around? Amvinn had a similar deal back on the Mountains of his Land, where the consorts would bury their dead in underground tombs. He’d disappear into those things for weeks on end, doing god knows what with those bodies. He was never able to see souls back in your session, so you don’t know what was so damn captivating about that place that kept him there so long. The dead make decent enough conversation if you’ve got their ghost to talk to, but you can’t imagine just the body would make for good company. You poke your head through one of the graves built into the wall and yep, there’s one boring slitherbeast skeleton. Maybe Amvinn’s crypts had more entertaining corpses?

“Oh my…” You barely hear someone say through the stone wall. Jutting out from the scale mausoleum, you find a figure stood between you and the entrance of this place. You check behind you, thinking you might’ve walked into the middle of a corporeal-conversation by accident, but it looks like you’re alone in here.

“…” It’s a little off-putting, being possibly-spotted like this. Amvinn was the only person you knew who could see you while you were dead, but you don’t find it hard to believe some other schmuck could wind up with a similar power. He wasn’t horribly unique in that regard, considering plenty of rust bloods could commune with the dead too.

“What are you?” They ask, moving closer. She’s a troll, bronze blood. And a Doom player, on top of that. She’s got the same kind of robes Am wore. A Seer. Guess that explains the whole seeing you thing.

“Hey… Name’s Haugrr” You say, trying to introduce yourself, however she doesn’t seem to react to your greeting. She continues her slow approach, looking you up and down.

“You’re a rift…” She mutters, extending a grabber out towards you. “A tear through causal normality.” Her hand stops short, slowly charting down to your midsection. “Rapid molecular decay flinging countless alpha particles every which way, but… they’re null. No wait, they’re non-existent, as if potentially there yet not at all, somehow! What’s stabilizing you, little anomaly?”

“Ragnaa?” Someone calls out, grabbing the girl’s attention. Her grabberprongs curl back, but her reach stays close to you.

“In here.” The girl, supposedly named Ragnaa, calls back. “I’ve found something… peculiar.” A human girl wearing a long golden cape enters into the crypt upon hearing her response.

“Ah, good. Thought you ran off again.” Golden girl says, coming up behind her. “So listen, I set Ryder’s arm, but-” She stops, looking around the cave. “…what’re you doing in here alone?” You think it’s safe to assume that, unlike her friend, this one can’t see you.

“I’ve found a rupture.” She states, glancing back at the human.

“...Huh?” She gawks.

“Some sort of disturbance in the local tapestry of spacetime.” She clarifies to her hornless companion while turning back to you. “It’s very residential, but everything about it says that it should’ve experienced complete structural collapse and fizzled out into nothingness, or even combusted into a plasma of ionized particles, yet somehow it has sustained its form for countless consecutive breakpoint events.”

“Uh, yeah, Rag? There’s nothing there.” The human tries to break the news as lightly as possible. It more or less just comes off as condescending.

“No, no, it’s just very small.” Ragnaa cutely corrects her. “Undoubtedly invisible to the naked eye. The only reason I can see it is likely due to the nature of this anomaly. Its mere existence goes against practically every natural law in the universe, yet it still persists. It’s like reality is trying to swallow it whole in an attempt to rectify the error in spatial continuity, and in response, the anomaly produces a constant string of hypothetical molecules to take its place in destruction.”

“Hypothetical?” The human continues to inquire, sounding more and more ignorant to some pretty basic facts this troll is spitting. A thing isn’t supposed to be there, yet it is. What’s so hard to grasp about that?

“They aren’t really real.” She says, walking her friends through this entire abnormality observation session. The abnormality being you. “They appear to be there, potentially. Yet simultaneously, they somehow aren’t. Like that one adult human you were telling me about earlier, the one with the earth-cats. Mr Schrödinger, wasn’t it?” God damn it, why is everyone talking about scrot cats today? “Only this time, they don’t collapse into singular causality when observed. How fascinating…”

“So this is all happening… right now?” The human questions, still apprehensive of what her friend is saying.

“Yes.” Ragnaa enthusiastically nods, seemingly ignorant to the skepticism she’s receiving. Good Lord, she’s adorable. “Like the decay of the universe is being held off by a perpetual explosion of potential matter.”

“Ok, yeah, cool cool… so when you’re done with your little rift thingy, could you help me with Ryder?” Goldilocks moves on, still sounding unconvinced of what Ragnaa's telling here.

“Sure.” Ragnaa grimaces. This must be a common thing with them.

With the human girl off her back, Ragnaa turns back to examine you. You aren’t sure what she’s seeing, but it must be quite the show based on the fascination glowing in her eyes. As much as you enjoy the attention of such a cute girl, you’ve got an itching curiosity wondering what this Ryder thing is, so you slowly slink past the Bronze and get after the human. Ragnaa gasps in confound amazement, bringing her hands against blushing brown cheeks, whispering a quiet ‘whoa’. You exit the crypt just in time to see the human enter into the neighboring passage on the same level. Following her, you find what you assume is this group’s current hideout. It looks like they busted open one of the slitherbeasts graves to take refuge in. Seems a bit morbid, but you’ve been inhabiting an actual corpse for the past several hours, so it’s not like you’ve got room to talk.

Looks like there’s another human in here. Must be this Ryder you’ve heard so much about. He’s more on the puny side, just a little bit bigger than that living stitch doll. Speaking of Frank, he’s even wearing the same robes as him. His dinky little outfit is purple, though. You aren’t sure what that one is. He’s also got the strangest colored hair you’ve seen on a human thus far. A bright reddish-orange, like the burning hue of a sunrise. His face is also covered in dark patches, centered around his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, leading you to believe he’s some strange spotted-human mutant subtype. The weird bastard’s lain out on one of the stone death-slabs, his left arm looking pretty banged up. The girl in gold is currently tending to him as he writhe ever so slightly at her touch.

“Aaah… fuck…” He whimpers, gripping a nasty looking bruise on his grabber. “God damn… hurts…”

“Yeah, well, you really brought it on yourself, didn’t you.” Golden girl chastises him. “What were you thinking, going after that Heir like that?”

“I really don’t need this shit right now.” He grumbles, looking like he’s got a bad case of sourpuss.

“Just because you got your arm broken doesn’t mean you get to get off easy.” Golden girl continues to press. “It was a dumb move, and look where it got you.”

“Fuck off, Leah, it’s not like it was even my fault.” Ryder apparently says to the Leah human. “You saw the guy, Fucker was rabid! Flesh rotting off his body and he’s still freaking out like a tweaker, it was only a matter of time before he went all zombie on us! What was I supposed to do, just let the shambling corpse eat my damn face?!”

“Well you didn’t have to go antagonizing him.” Leah argues. “You shouldn’t pick fights you can’t win.”

“Yeah yeah, I should just hide behind you like a pussy and let your big fuck-off gun scare them away.” The whiny anger in his voice seems to take a dip. “Just like you did with the Heir…” Is he… embarrassed? Well he did get his shit rocked, by the look of things. It's probably a rightful embarrassment, you'd say.

“Colt Action isn’t a fuck-off gun.” She corrects him, sounding a bit offended. “And I doubt a dinky little revolver could scare off a thug like that boy. I don’t even think he saw it. After he hit you, he just wandered off, like he wasn’t even interested in us. He had this occupied look in his eye, almost like he was busy searching for something… Did you see the scorch marks on his arms?”

“What about em?” He raises an eyebrow at her.

“I wonder if he was looking for whoever did that to him…” She trails off for a moment before a spark flashes in her sightglobes. She looks up to face you. “Are you just going to stand there, or…?” I-… is she talking to you?

“The anomaly moved.” Ragnaa says, coming up behind you. It startles you a bit, which would probably be embarrassing if anyone could actually see you jump.

“What the fuck is she talking about?” Ryder coughs, looking at her with the same skepticism you’ve come to expect from all humans.

“She’s seeing things again.” Leah explains, turning back to try and bandage up the boy’s arm.

“I’m not seeing things!” Ragnaa folds her arms in protest. “W-well, I mean, I am seeing things, but real things! Unlawful things…” She gives you the side eye.

“Unlawful how?” Ryder asks, sitting up a little more upright.

“Not-supposed-to-be-happening unlawful.” She answers like it’s the dumbest thing she’s ever heard someone ask.

“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.” Leah assures him, still unconvinced of her companion’s testament.

“Oh, sure. A self perpetuating cluster of anti-entropy.” Ragnaa sarcastically remarks, rolling her sightglobes. “I’m sure it’ll just go away on its own.”

“Ah come on, Rag. Don’t be like that.” Leah tries making her dismissals sound less harsh. “I’m not saying you’re lying, it’s just… hard to believe, is all.”

“Oh whatever.” She says with a huff.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but aren’t your visions the reason you ended up here in the first place?” Leah holds her hand out, almost as if to offer up her statement. “Maybe err on the side of caution before you get yourself too concerned with this cluster thing.”

“So you aren’t in the least bit concerned about this transcendental mass of unwarranted existence?” Ragnaa gestures to you. Leah stares blankly at the empty space you occupy.

“Hmmm… nope, not really.” She declares. “Just try not to think about it.” You can tell this conversation is going nowhere. Probably a good time to make your way back to your own dysfunctional group of bulgemunch humans. You know, before they start sharpening their tridents waiting for you.

You slowly sling away, making sure to stay out of Ragnaa’s peripherals. Can’t imagine what would happen if she followed you out to those idiots. They’d probably piss themselves seeing her ‘get the jump on them’ or whatever other justification they’d use to stick her like an oinkbeast.

Lifting yourself up from the weird reverence-pit, you find yourself back upon the grass plains. From this angle, you can't actually see Jason and Creed while they’re lying on the ground, meaning that dumb hiding trick they tried probably would’ve worked, much to your exasperation. In fact, it dawns on you that Ragnaa never even mentioned seeing anyone out in the fields to her friends. She really didn’t spot you guys, did she? This whole reconnaissance mission was as meaningful as a game of scolding-tubular-starchball.

“No, city life was alright.” You hear Creed say as you approach. “The gang warfare was a little taxing at times, but that’s to be expected when you break a rival kingpin’s kneecaps. Honestly I don’t think it was worth the turf, but it got our sellers more breathing room on the block to push product, so I guess it all worked out in the end.”

“How are you as well adjusted as you are?” Jason skeptically asks, sounding befuddled.

“Well adjusted to what, a society that doesn’t exist anymore or a death battle for all of reality’s rejects?” Creed asks back. Best not to let this meeting-of-the-pans last for much longer. Who knows what kinda genius these two assholes would come up with.

“Fair enough.” Jason hums as you possess Amvinn’s body again. GAH! God, you fell on his keys. “Ah, Haugrr, you’re back.” Jason addresses you as you squirm off the unlock-sticks. “What’d you find out?”

“Hey Creed, catch.” You say, brushing off Jason’s question to toss a handful of Perspective their way.

“Huh?” Creed looks over as the ball of green chaos soars over his head, shattering directly into Jason’s face.

“Oh my god, it’s in my eyes!” He screams. Oops, guess you missed.

 

***

 

You’re suddenly Jason again, and good fucking shit do your eyes burn right now. Your team is filled with assholes. That’s all there really is to say on the matter. Jesus, the right one won’t stop watering.

“Ga-What the hell is your problem!?” You shout at Haugrr, furiously rising to your feet. He doesn’t answer, apparently too occupied with brushing the grass off his smock and readjusting his god tier’s collar. Once he’s finished grooming himself, he looks over to face you. “…Well?!”

“Their group is hiding out at the entrance to an underground tunnel system, some sort of religious grounds the consorts use to house their dead.” He finally answers, seemingly ignoring your main grievance at this current moment. “The one we saw was a troll girl named Ragnaa, the Seer of Doom. She’s currently traveling with two others, both human. A girl in a golden cape named Leah and a scrawny looking boy with a broken arm called Ryder. None of them seems to know we’re out here, so it’s unlikely we were actually spotted.” Both you and Creed give each other a quick glance. You don’t think Haugrr’s ever spoken with such a serious tone before.

“Oh, uh… yeah.” You mumble, forgetting why you were angry to begin with. “You said a gold cape, right? How long?”

“Down to the ground.”

“Hm. Sounds like the Knight of Hope.” Probably for the best you didn’t go jumping into a strife with these people. Normally a Knight of Hope would be a tough enough opponent as is, but with a Seer of Doom directing their aim, I’d be like trying to fight a firehose with your bare hands, except the firehose is sentient and has the precision of a navy seal. “What about the boy with the broken arm, what was he?”

“I don’t know the official name, but he was wearing the same outfit as Frank.” He explains.

“A Page then.” You nod. Haugrr gets a weird look on his face.

“I thought you were a Page.”

“I am a Page.”

“Then why aren’t you wearing some dorky red thong like Frank does?” He snidely remarks. You experience a brief flashback to when you first god tiered, and the horror you experienced when you realized the uniform didn’t come with pants. The alterations you made with your alchemiter took just about every bit of grist you’d saved up throughout your session to make the god tier you’re wearing now, but it was worth having the dignity of not running around with your junk out all the time.

“I don’t know, why aren’t you wearing some dorky green puff-pants?” You ask, replicating his tone of voice.

“I’m wearing my friend’s corpse.” He says deadpan.

“I-…” You actually don’t have anything to say to that. “Just… what color was the Page wearing?”

“Purple.” Oh god, the Page of Rage. Thank fuck you didn’t challenge this. If the Knight of Hope was like a firehose, the Page of Rage would be a tsunami, if a tsunami could consciously hate you as they destroy your entire town.

“What are we gonna do, Boss?” Creed asks, making you realize you’ve been quietly thinking to yourself for a while.

“They didn’t see us, and they aren’t planning anything nefarious.” Haugrr reminds you. “There’s no risk in us getting out of here.”

“Yeah.” You agree, thinking over the disaster you almost walked into. “If they don’t know we’re here, searching the next town should be fine. We’d just have to take the long way back to Dallra, give these guys a wide berth…… unless…”

“Unless…?” Creed prompts you to continue.

“Oh no.” Haugrr groans.

“Just hear me out, okay.” You ask in earnest. “With Mia and Amvinn gone, we’re really lacking in the strife department, but those three in there? They could boost our defenses like crazy! Getting from place to place would be a piece of cake if we had them to watch our backs. We just have to convince them to help us.”

“I don’t think you really understand-“ Haugrr begins to interject.

“I mean sure, they aren’t the strongest in the Arena,” You admit, trying to remember everything you read about them in the Compendium series. “but they’re definitely powerful. And they’re more than likely still mentally stable, too. It’d definitely be a plus, having a balance like that. Strong enough to protect us while still cognitive enough to reason with.”

“Seriously, they aren’t exactly-“ He begins to doubt again.

“Even the increase in numbers would be great for the group.” You continue to list the positives of recruiting these very valuable fighters. “Our team is a decent size, relatively speaking, but if we run into any more fighters like the Prince of Life, and god forbid there are multiple of them, I’m not sure we could keep pace.”

“…Ya know what, go right ahead.” Haugrr tells you, finally coming around. “Sounds great.”

“Well, since we’ve got the go ahead from dear, dead Haugrr,” Creed says, equipping his Baseball bat and laying it on his shoulder. “let’s get going.” With that, he strides out into the grass fields.

“Uh, Creed, you’re not gonna…?” You ask, following after him.

“Hm?” He looks back at you with a bored confusion. “Oh, the bat? Don’t worry about it.”

“O-okay.” You say as the two of you cross the field. Looking back, you see Haugrr slowly following with his arms crossed, shaking his head at you.

As you make your way through the field, you notice a pit not too far away, concealed by the unkempt grass growing around it. You reach the edge and find an interesting array of runic symbols engraved into the walls of the ceremonial grounds below, with clear lines dug into the earth, carving the entire layout of the area into thirds. Fascinating. The burial site seems to be broken into sections, with each area having six tunnels allotted to their respective segment, three on the upper level, two on their middle and one on the lower. Perhaps the symbols are emblems for the different villages in the area, and this is their communal ritual ground. The entrances to these tunnels seem similarly constructed to the tunnels you found yourself in after your fight with the Prince and Heir, and you're about at the center of three different pyramid-monoliths, from what you can see in the distance. Perhaps this is the meeting point for their subterranean network, with all passages here leading to a different pyramid. The symbols engraved into the walls seem to get more intricate the lower the rung they’re on, making you wonder what the significance of that could be. Perhaps it’s a higher honor to be buried in the lower levels, with the lowest being reserved for the most important consorts in the area. All speculation, of course… What were you doing here again? Recruitment, right. You should probably get on with that.

“Which one are they in?” Creed asks Haugrr. He throws a thumb towards the tunnel entrance he’s leaning next to. “Right.”

“H-hold on.” You stop him before he can enter. “Maybe I should enter first. Just so they don’t get the wrong idea, us barging in weapons already drawn.” He looks at you a moment, as if contemplating something, before stepping aside.

“After you, Boss.” He says, ushering you into the tunnel. You step forward into the dark, traversing yet another hallway until you see a small break in the wall with a quiet glow radiating from it.

“Hello?” You call out. “Anyone there?” As you round the corner, you find three individuals sitting around in a hollowed out section of the wall, absolutely gobsmacked to see you. Just as Haugrr described, the group consists of the Seer of Doom, Knight of Hope, and Page of Rage. “Uh, hey, I’m-“ Before you can finish, the Page jumps up, clenching the hand of his good arm into a fist.

“Shit! Girls, get away!” He yells.

“Wha-Ah, w-wait!” You’re beginning to feel you might’ve made a mistake.

“Ryder, don’t! Get behind me!” The Knight yells, summoning a particularly shiny Revolver to her hand. Yeah, it’s no longer a feeling, this was definitely a mistake.

“Aaaah!” The Page screams as he springs forward, fist reeled back.

“W-w-wait! Wait!” You frantically try to back away, but soon find your back against the wall. The most you can do is close your eyes and grit your teeth in anticipation for what comes next.

“Heyaaa!” The Page’s fist slams against your face in-… no, wait, that wasn’t a slam. It wasn’t really a punch, even. It was more like… a tap? You open your eyes and find the Page, whose fist is still connected with your cheek, is peering at you with a stressed and confused look of his own.

“I-… Is that it?” You ask, genuinely surprised how weak that hit was. He pulls back, trying to go on the defensive.

“Fuck you!” His voice cracks as he shouts. Before he can do anything else, the Knight of Hope grabs him by the shoulder and forces him behind her, and with her other hand aims her revolver level with your eyes, about a half-foot away from your face. She pulls the hammer back and instinctively, your hands go up in the air.

“Oh wow, u-uh, Creed!” You call to your mouth piece, realizing maybe he should’ve gone first after all.

“Hey, easy now.” Creed says, stepping between you and the Knight. He’s holding his hands out, passively forcing her to back up so he isn’t close enough to grab the gun from her. Slowly, he begins to crouch down to place his bat on the floor. “We don’t want any trouble, alright?”

“Who are you people?” The Knight nervously demands. She hasn’t lowered her gun, but her grip isn’t as tight as it was, seeing Creed set his weapon down in good faith.

“We’re just a couple of guys in the same situation as you, okay? We were passing through when we noticed someone, so we stopped to see who, nothing more.” He explains, sounding much more relaxed than he usually does, especially considering he’s at gunpoint. After a tense moment of silence passes, his arms begin to drift back down to his sides. He’s giving the Knight a questioning look, like he’s asking if he’s allowed to lower them. She doesn’t object. “Please, we’re looking for someone. A girl in white, name’s Mia. Any of you seen her?” Wait, why the hell is he asking them about Mia? All that talk about moving on and he’s still focused on finding her?

“No, we haven’t seen anyone like that.” She answers, her voice soaked in franticness. Her eyes dart around the room as she clocks all three of you, before she focuses her gaze out towards the entrance. “Are there more of you?”

“Not with us.” Creed calmly answers with a shake of his head. “We’re spread a little thin right now. We thought splitting up might help speed up our search, but there’s been no sign of our missing person so far.”

“Why are you looking for this girl?” The Knight asks, shaking her revolver forward to grab a better grip on it. “What’re you, headhunters or something?” She’s so… paranoid. No trust or any sense of optimism. God damn it, she’s just as defective as the rest of you! Same for the Page and that pathetic punch! They’re nothing like what you were looking to recruit. Why didn’t Haugrr say anything?!

“No, no, she’s our friend.” Creed quickly corrects. “We were attacked, and got separated. She never regrouped so we’re trying to find her.”

“Attacked, huh? And why exactly should I believe that?” The Knight asks, bring her guard back up again.

“Well… I don’t know if you noticed, but some of us are pretty banged up here.” Creed says, gesturing over to Haugrr who looks thrilled to be involved, casually leaned up against the wall with a smug smile.

“Sure, it’s certainly easy to see you were in a scuffle. Who’s to say you weren’t the ones who started that fight, then?” She interrogates, eying you all suspiciously. “Plenty a' people in the Arena play nice when they first meet someone new, usually the facade drops when they think they can take the other person in a strife. It hasn’t worked out for people who’ve tried it on us. It won’t work out for you either, if that’s what you’re planning.”

“Trust me, we’re not like that.” Creed assures her.

“Trust you?” The Knight laughs. “Riiight. Some psycho breaks our boy’s arm and runs off, next thing I know, you lot show up not an hour later, knowing right where we’re hiding with a sob story about a missing girl.” She elaborates, tumbling completely down a rabbit-hole of paranoia. “That’s a little too convent for my tastes. So forgive me if I don’t buy what you’re sellin’, because from where I’m standing, it sure don’t smell like apple pie.”

“Look, we didn’t have anything to do with that. An hour ago, we were three towns away, nowhere near here.” Creed continues to reason with the crazy lady with the gun. “Hell, four hours before that, we were still on one of those giant pyramids, not even sure if all of our friends were still alive. We certainly weren’t going around, breaking people’s arms for no reason.” The Knight pauses a moment, silently debating something to herself.

“… Let’s say you really were attacked, then.” She begrudgingly says, her demeanor finally bringing to slip. “By who?” The look on her face has shifted from an artificial bravery to more of a skeptical curiosity, interested in what Creed has to say.

“The Prince of Life. Crazy bastard had tentacles coming out his back. He cornered us up on the pyramid. We barely got away, the ones of us who did.” The Knight readjusts her grip again, unmoved by the story. Creed readjusts his posture slightly, realizing she’s coming very close to making a final decision. “There was someone else, as well.” He goes on, recapturing her attention before he loses it entirely. “He was a Heir. Would’ve been wearing an outfit like mine.” The Knight’s eyes suddenly widen, as if he’s revealed something crazy. “His were purple, though. Same colors as your boy's there.” He nods towards the Page.

“……Hah…” The Knight exhales, finally beginning to slowly lower her gun, uncocking it’s hammer with a mind-easing -click- “He was looking for someone…”

“He? Wait… you know that guy?”

“You could say that.” The Knight says with a sigh. “He didn’t stop to make chit-chat, to say the least.”

“Let me guess, he had a go at you guys too, huh?” Creed asks, looking about the room to each of them.

“That he did!” There’s an exacerbated tone to her voice, like she’s suddenly grown exhausted. “He was the psycho who nearly killed poor Ryder here.” She gestures to the Page.

“Bullshit he nearly killed me.” The Page grunts, glancing your group’s way, like he’s trying to make sure you don’t believe how dopey his friend is making him out to be. “Fuckin’ bitch got a cheap lick in then ran away like a putz.”

“Cheap or not, he still broke your arm.” The Knight reasons with him.

“Whatever…” He huffs. The Knight turns back to Creed.

“Sorry for… nearly killin' you there.” She apologizes to the both of you. “You can never be too careful these days.”

“Don’t sweat it.” You tell her. “Happens a lot more than you’d think.” She laughs. You can’t tell if she thought it was a joke or found what you said relatable. Before you get ahead of yourself, you step forward to hold out a hand. “Name’s Jason Green.”

“Leah Luchra.” She says as the two of you clasp mitts in a moment of intra-species camaraderie, completing the Acquainting Shake ritual traditional for your group. “Quiet one back there is Ragnaa, and the hot head is Ryder.”

“Piss off.” Ryder nips at her. She doesn’t pay it much mind.

“You’ve already met Creed, and Haugrr’s the one with the green wings.” You say, pointing out your own group.

“My, you really weren’t lying about getting banged up. Looks like you’ve been through the ringer.” Leah comments on Haugrr’s butchered corpse body. He just stares back silently, hand in pocket. “You said there were more of ya’s?”

“Yeah, four others, and a couple of consorts.” Hopefully some transparency will buy you a little bit of trust, and you can get out of here without raising gun-girl’s suspicions. “And one more, still missing, of course.”

“Eight people?” She whistles. “Kind of a big group, don’tcha think?”

“Uh, well-“

“We’re actually gathering a team.” Creed answers for you. Guess you’re going with full transparency then. Honestly, you were still debating if you wanted to recruit these three after all, seeing that they weren’t the fighters you thought they were, but it looks like Creed’s already sailed that ship. So fuck it, the more the merrier.

“A team for what?” Ryder patronizingly asks. Creed looks back to you, as if to signal for you to take over from there. You’re getting some heavy mixed signals here. Are you supposed to be leading the conversation or is he?

“For getting out of here.” You announce, hoping that’s enough to explain your plan. Which in all honesty, that’s about as deep as your plan goes. Either way, they don’t seem to pick up what you’re putting down. “Without… you know, killing each other.”

“Feh.” Ryder scoffs. “Fat chance.”

“Ah… I guess you haven’t heard all the details, then.” Leah begins, sounding like she’s just stumbled upon a sensitive subject she now has to broach carefully. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but escape isn’t an option here. We all, for one reason or another, were summoned here, to the Arena, to be punished for our misdeeds. We were given a responsibility and be it from negligence, ignorance, or heck, maybe even malice for some, we faltered on our paths and failed as Propagators of the Multiverse. We have sinned, and for it have been casted into hell.” Her words send a shiver up your spine. “One soul might find salvation, but for the rest of us… this is all there is now. Not to be a downer.” Gotta love that Hope player charm. It seems Leah’s grown more into the Religious branch on her Development Tree, much like Esspin. You were really hoping she’d gone down a more Optimism oriented-development, and had just kept that stereotypical Knight-Mask covering up her true self. Ha… hoping.

“I’m aware of the situation we’re in, Leah, a-and I get what you mean. Really, I do, but let’s not go overboard here, the Arena isn’t hell.” You try to assure her, not even convincing yourself. “It’s just a glorified gladiator-pit. A Prison. One that me and my team plan on getting out of.”

“Call it what you want.” Leah shrugs, uncaring of your hopeful outlook. “Only one of us gets out. That’s what the Universe told us, and I have no reason to doubt it. Hoping for anything else would just be… well, implausible.”

“A-, u-under normal circumstances, yeah, you’d be right,” You nod, trying not to openly contradict the girl. That’s at least what you think Creed would suggest you do. “but fortunately for us, a walking implausibility is on our side.” You gesture towards Haugrr, who’s still looking bored as ever.

“A… Seer?” Leah asks, sounding confusedly unimpressed.

“I’m not a Seer.” Haugrr finally speaks up. “I’m just wearing one.”

“Ah-...Hm?” She hums, a little put off by the ominous shit he just said. Haugrr rolls his eyes to the side, realizing just saying something without context doesn’t mean anything. Like a moron. He walks over to you.

“Hey Creed, catch.” He says as he falls on top of you.

“Damn it, Haug, again?!” You yell as Amvinn’s corpse flops into your arms. “If you’re gonna toss something to Creed, make sure it actually gets to Creed, you asshole!” Suddenly, the Seer troll who’d remained silent up until now jumps up from her seat.

“Guys, the Anomaly’s back.” She nervously hums, bouncing on her feet. “It’s back and it’s making me uncomfortable with how it’s not supposed to be a thing that can happen.”

“This might seem a little unorthodox,” Creed says, taking over the recruiting efforts while your hands are full. While he’s busy doing his thing, Amvinn’s corpse is currently starting to weigh on you pretty heavily. You pull his arms over your shoulder to get a better grip. “but I believe this was supposed to be a demonstration.”

“Is he…” Leah begins to say, looking all kinds of freaked out.

“Dead?” Creed finishes for her. “Very much so, but he’s been dead for a while now.” He lifts up the back of Amvinn’s shirt, showing off the puncture hole in his torso, careful not to tear his wings any more than they already are. “Up on the pyramid, we weren’t just attacked. We were ambushed, and this poor troll felt the brunt of it. Who you’ve been seeing move this body, and who I assume is this anomaly your friend has been seeing, is the Prince of Doom. He’s also dead, but fortunately for us he has a particularly tenacious ability to persist post-mortem, which also allows him to Possess the bodies of the deceased.”

“whoa…” Ryder mumbles in awe, leaning back on his stone slab.

“See!” The troll girl exclaims. “I told you it was a noteworthy occurrence!”

“Ragnaa, we don’t know for sure if-“ Before Leah can continue on with what she’s trying to say, she’s interrupted by Haugrr jumping back into Amvinn’s body.

“Actually, yeah, that was me earlier.” He tells her as you awkwardly push him off you.

“I’m just so happy there’s a reasonable explanation.” Ragnaa lets out a sigh of relief.

“Bullshit, that’s a reasonable explanation.” Ryder blurts, looking around the room. “This motherfucker was spying on us!”

“I wouldn't call it spying.” Creed interjects before that idea can get too much traction. “We were on our way to a neighboring village when we spotted your Seer off in the distance. Jason thought we might’ve been being followed by the Heir, so we had Haugrr check things out for us. You guys seemed reasonable, so we thought we’d ask you about our friend. No ill intents, honest.”

“Yeah, likely…” Ryder slowly nods his head, peering at Creed. “Real fuckin’ likely.”

“Look,” You bring their attention back to you before the conversation spirals out of control. “the point is, this guy,” You place a hand on Haugrr’s shoulder, to which he side-eyes you. “he’s our ticket out of here. With him, we’ll strip ourselves of our doom. After that, all that’ll be left to do is escape out into the Void, which I’ve already taken care of.”

“Half taken care of.” Creed tacks on.

“Half taken care of.” You begrudgingly agree with his correction. “The foundation’s been laid, is the important part.”

“We still have quite a few more details to iron out, however.” Creed admits. “And we would really appreciate the help, now that we’re down a few team members.”

“Oh… I see.” Leah mutters, sounding uncomfortable with the offer, realizing what you’re really here for. “Thank you, but I’m not too sure about this. I-I mean, what’s the guarantee that you can-“

“I’ll join.” Ragnaa cuts her off. Her words hang in silence for a passing moment. Leah looks back in a confused shock, clearly surprised by how quickly her friend could commit to what you’re offering.

“Wh- Rag, are you serious?” She asks, sincerely questioning if she understands the weight of her decision.

“Yes.” She says with the same certainty as before. “I understand your hesitation, but there’s something spectacular here, I’ve seen it with my own eyes! Something so fantastically impossible, there’s no room for doubt. This boy is something outside the parameters of obligational causality, something that doesn’t have to obey the rules.” She firmly declares to her friend. “I’m uncertain if these… fine gentlemen will be able to do what they say they will, but there’s no way I can pass up their offer after what I’ve seen. I can’t-… I can’t not act. I have to.” As the Seer finalizes her decision, yet another silence comes over the room, this time dragging on for what seems like forever, as Leah and Ragnaa look at each other. You go to say something, hoping to break the silence, but Creed puts a hand out to stop you.

“Well…” Leah finally says. “If you’re set on going with these guys…” She looks back to Ryder, as another moment passes. Seems she’s really thinking hard about this whole thing. “I guess… we’ll join too.” With her agreement to join, Creed lowers his hand from in front of you. Ragnaa’s mouth curls to a warm smile, and she quickly darts to her friend to embrace her in a warm hug around her torso. “No reason to split up the gang. That alright with you Ryder?”

“Whatever.” He grunts, getting back up. “Not like we were doing anything, anyways.” He goes to push himself off the stone slab, but seems to forget that his arm was broken. “Gah!”

“Whoa, easy bud.” Creed rushes ahead, catching him before he buckles over. “This arm doesn’t look too good.”

“You think so?” Leah says, crossing her arms with worry. “I’ve been tending to it the best I can, but I’m no medic.”

“We’ve got a healer who might be able to help with this.“ Creed says while still looking over the arm. “In the meantime…” Trailing off, he pulls his giant tube sock hood around to his front and rips it off from the rest of his god tier. With the large piece of cloth, he wraps a makeshift sling around Ryder’s arm.

“Ah!” The boy yelps, pulling back. “Watch it, asshole!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Creed throws his hands back, respectfully. “Just don’t put too much strain on that until we have our girl take a look at it.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He grumbles, moving past him towards the tunnel’s entrance.

“If everything’s settled, then,” You clap your hands, drawing the room’s attention to you. “we’ve still got one more village we wanted to search, and we’d appreciate the help, if you don’t mind.”

“We’d be happy to.” Leah happily agrees as she hurries up after Ryder. Ragnaa gets a move towards the exit as well, stopping next to Haugrr.

“So this isn’t your real body?” She asks him.

“No, I’m actually a goldblood.” He answers, walking her out and leaving you and Creed alone.

“Hey.” You grab his attention. “How’d you know the Heir attacked these guys?” He smirks before holding up his thumb, revealing a faint blue stain on the pad of his finger.

“That Page, Ryder? He had a small blue smudge around the laceration on his arm.” He explains, rubbing his fingers together to clean off the blood. “At first I thought maybe they had a run in with the Prince of Life, like our group did, but when she didn’t react to me mentioning him, I figured maybe the Heir got some blood on him when the three of you were fighting, then he must’ve gotten some on the Page when he broke his arm. It was a shot in the dark, but it paid off.”

“So that arm sling-“ You begin to bring up.

“Was to wipe the blood off him, yes.” He finished what you were saying. “I figured Dallra would’ve been freaked out if she went to check on us and only found a blindspot in her vision.”

“Huh… wow, Creed. Quick thinking.” You compliment him.

“Yeah, I’m pretty good at my job.” He gladly accepts your admiration. “Now come on, before they get too far ahead.”

“Right…” You agree, looking back at the scene one more time. This technically was Creed’s first recruitment for the team, and it went off without a hitch. After everything that’s happened in the past few days, you were starting to have your doubts if getting out of this mess was even possible, let alone doable. Sure, you had all the gumption in the world when you found the ship in the back-sleeve of that book, but that was before you truly appreciated just how difficult others in the Arena could be to work with. You doubt you’ll be pshooesn’glooves’ing again the way you used to, but that isn’t to say you won’t celebrate small victories like these. This chance encounter alone has you feeling bold enough to say you might still have a shot at survival. Hopefully this doesn’t jinx anything, but... you’ve got a good feeling about this.

 

Jason, catch up with your team.

Chapter 31: > Stale Air

Like all of the other towns of this Land, there’s a plethora of weird old-fashion Japanese styled buildings, a whole bunch of snakes, and no sign of Mia. Not that you’re surprised. Creed even confirmed that the chances of Mia still being on LOFAC were slim to none. But no one can say you didn’t try. That’s the important part.

You just had the group meet at the outskirts for one last call out over the town, shouting in the hopes Mia might hear one of you. There’s a soreness in your vocal cords, one you haven’t noticed until you started to put a little strain on them. How long have they been like this? Maybe you’re coming down with a cold or strep or something. Can demigods get sick? Can you even still be classified as a demigod? Will any of your questions ever be answered?! Probably not.

“Hey!” Haugrr snaps directly in front of your face, grabbing your attention from your thoughts. “Well? Are we going?”

“Y-, yeah.” You stutter, realizing how deep in thought you’d gotten. The others have gathered behind you, waiting on your word. “Yeah, let’s get going.”

Unless Mia ran away in a straight line at full-tilt, you’ve checked all the places she could’ve reasonably ran off to. It was agreed you’d regroup after seven hours of searching, and you’ve just about used all that up, being around six and a half hours since you started. Maybe Dallra or the other search team had better luck. You doubt it though. On the bright side, since Leah, Ragnaa and Ryder decided to join, you don’t have to take the long way back to avoid them.

“Excuse me, Creed, right?” Leah trots up to the front of the group. “Now that we’ve got a minute, do you mind if we go over some of the logistical details about the parts of your plan you’ve still yet to iron out?”

“Of course.” He agrees. You’re about to join them when he looks back, letting you know he’s got it taken care of. He’ll probably explain the important bits better than you, anyways. “The current dilemma, as you know, is the Doomed Statues we all bear that marks us for death. As of right now, the only resource we have that can remove this status effect is the Arena’s Prize, but obviously that’s in very low supply. The idea is to replicate the prize using a combination of powers the people here have at their disposal.” The two of them drift ahead, carrying on with their own conversation.

“What?” You hear Haugrr grunt from the back of the group. Glancing over your shoulder, you see him being trailed closely by Ryder, who’s staring him down intensely.

“I’m keeping an eye on you.” He grumbles with a glare. “I don’t trust the undead. Never know when they’ll catch the taste for living flesh…”

“I’m not a rainbow drinker, you moron.” He growls back. “Besides, what’s a cripple gonna do with one arm?”

“Beat you back into the grave single handedly, is what!” If you were a troll, you’d probably think things were getting pretty hot n’ heavy on the ♠black-rom♠ side of things back there. But you aren’t a troll, so you’re just relieved Haugrr’s found someone else to be pissy with besides you.

You aren’t really doing anything interesting at the moment, so maybe now would be a good time to be someone else. Someone doing more than just walking on a dirt trail. Perhaps you’ll be someone from the other search team, or maybe you want to check in with Mia, or how about you be someone completely random in the arena, or maybe-

“I’ve seen you before.” Or maybe you’ll continue to be Jason. You turn around and see the Seer girl, Ragnaa, looking at you. Not like how Ryder was looking at Haugrr, but still peering at you with a heavy suspicion in her eyes.

“I would hope so.” You half laugh, not sure what to make of what she said. She just narrows her eyes at you. “I mean, I’m kinda the leader here.” You hear Haugrr audibly scoff-laugh at your self-asserted title. Yeah, it’s a bit hypocritical to try and claim leadership now, after how hard you refused it before, but between Creed constantly calling you ‘Boss’ for some reason, and the likelihood of the plan being a success becoming greater and greater… maybe you’d like to take a bit of ownership here and there.

“How are you still alive?” She asks, complicating the interaction by at least 3-fold.

“I’m… not sure how to answer that.” You admit. She’s walking considerably closer to you now, making you realize just how small she is, only coming up to your shoulders. You can’t tell if she’s just young or if bronze trolls are built shorter than most. Either way, she’s an absolute tiny thing, having to look up at you in order to make increasingly uncomfortable eye contact, peering at you from beneath her hood. “Uh, consistent… oxygen intake? My heart keeps pushing blood through my veins? Look, I’m a little confused with the question, what are you asking?”

“Ever since I came to the arena, I’ve had nightmares about those who’ve met a calamitous end. Savage beatings, death and despair, people… exploding.” Ah right, she’s a Seer. Makes sense she’d be getting visions of people getting their asses kicked, Doom and what not. “Out of all the Godtiers I’ve seen meet their end, the Page of Time has been the one to show up consistently in my glimpses. I nearly evacuated my digestionbladder when that giant sword chopped into your bellowcage.” You aren’t exactly sure what a bellow-cage is, but the last giant sword you were involved with was the one that nearly cut you in half back on the Forge.

“Oh yeah, nearly evacuated something there myself too, back when that happened.” You shiver, remembering your fight with the Prince of Time and his enormous fucking cleaver. Your right side still feels stiff sometimes…

“How did you reattach yourself, anyway?” She asks. “From the glimpse I saw, you should’ve lost a good portion of your torso from that attack.”

“Oh, well… It sort of just… regenerated on its own, I guess.” You shrug, unsure how to describe the process. It was just super healing, not some sort of skill personal to you. Everyone has it, don’t they? You all got it from trading in your immortality.

“Really?” There’s a look of genuine surprise on her face. “That’s quite an ability, then. Even a highblood would have a hard time bouncing back from an attack like that.” Hmm… Maybe Frank was right about humans being more durable than trolls. He’s a pretty astute guy, you’re coming to find.

“It’s not that impressive…” You try to brush off, unsure how to accept such an earnest compliment. “You have some pretty interesting abilities yourself, Ragnaa. Would you mind if I asked you more about that sight of yours.” You request, hoping to get a better understanding of the people who’ve just joined your team. From what you gathered, both Leah and Ryder are pretty much unrealized and/or developed improperly, leading to some bad habits for their Mythological Roles. Either that, or they just aren’t the titans of combat you thought they’d be, something Haugrr neglected to tell you about when you first approached. Ragnaa, on the other hand, seems at least somewhat put together for a Seer of Doom. Figuring out the extent of what she can do would certainly help figure out where she could be the most useful.

“Uuh! W-what do you want to know?” She nervously asks, visibly embarrassed to have the conversation’s subject suddenly switch to her.

“Whatever there is to tell.” You answer simply.

“Um… W-well, I’ve never really had a good understanding of my powers before the Arena, so I don’t know how much there actually is to tell, really. However, it… has changed, recently.” She’s speaking slowly, trying to find the right words to describe it. “It used to be that I would get nightmares every now and then. Terrible premonitions about the death of my friends, or the sacrifices we’d eventually have to make on our journey. At first, I thought it was just my nerves getting the better of me. Our world had just been destroyed in a single night, and before we could figure out what was happening, we were thrust into an ancient war against strange fiends and monsters. I had told myself it was only natural to feel stressed after going through all that. Who wouldn’t have a few bad dreams after everything we had been through? And yet, the nightmares only got worse as time went on. Whenever I’d close my sightglobes, it was like there was some new and horrible fate to see befall upon us. Some twisted new way we’d be butchered for the thousandth time over, visions of realities where one of us would end up cold and alone for all eternity, scenarios where we’d turn on each other, destroying everything we had built up until then. It was as if the totality of every hardship my friends would ever face was being placed directly on my columnblades. It became so bad that I began waking up in a panic every nightfall, barely able to breath until I managed to calm down.” You nod along to her woes, trying to appear as understandingly as possible. “Sorry. I’ve never talked to anyone about my nightmares before. It’s a little weird, saying all this out loud.”

“You never told your session mates about what you saw?” She shakes her head ‘no’.

“I wasn’t sure how. Like I said, these premonitions first started out as nightmares, coming to me whenever I slept, even when I was in my recuperacoon.” You’re not sure what those pod-beds trolls have has to do with anything, but you nod anyways, pretending you understand. “After a certain point, I just stopped going to sleep. I figured I’d stop having nightmares if I stopped dreaming entirely. Unfortunately, that only seemed to make things worse. Soon, I began to see these premonitions play out before my very eyes. Waking Nightmares appeared before me as if they were real, vivid hallucinations merging my dreams with the world around me. It got to the point where I could no longer distinguish what was real and what was delusion. I tried sleeping again, hoping the hallucinations would stop if I rested, but it was too late. The nightmares carried on into the waking world no matter what I did. By that point, they were coming so often, I didn’t know what to make of everything I was seeing. I started thinking my pan was rusting. So I just… kept quiet, knowing the others in my session would think me crazy as well.” If she didn’t vocalize her visions to her team, it’s no surprise that she ended up in the Arena. Doom isn’t exactly something you can ignore without consequence. “I know now what I was seeing then was real to some degree. I’ve talked with a few other Heroes of Doom, learned about the finer intricacies of our aspect. They were warnings, showing me what would happen if we didn’t follow the rules of our session, or where we might End up if we weren’t careful. It’s a little ironic, in a tragic sense, finally learning how to see the signs once you’ve completely blown past them.”

“But you said your vision’s changed recently, right?” She looks back over at you with a jump, almost like she just remembered she was talking with someone. “I assume it happened when you entered the Arena?”

“That’s right.” She nods.

“How so?” You ask, interested in how this place might’ve affected her powers.

“If I had to describe it, I’d say it’s not… predictive, anymore.” There’s a discouraged tone to her voice. “I no longer get hallucinations… that often. I still have nightmares, but they aren’t trying to warn me of anything anymore. In them, I’m always in the same place, flying through a dark storm of thunderclouds. I’m afraid, most of the time. I never know of what, but an ominous feeling hangs over me. Like there’s something lurking just behind the veil of clouds, watching me. Waiting until I let my guard down. The worst part, though, is even when I wake up, it’s like…” She flexes her fingers outward before balling them into fists, looking a thousand yards away. “It’s like that storm is still inside my head! It makes it hard to think sometimes, like my thoughtsponge is bloated. Everything is always so dark and hazy. And be it a dream or in my waking-hours, the gloom of the storm, it remains hidden, and only vaguely can you see the outline of the thundering behemoth, but then there comes a strike of lighting! And the sky lights up for a split-moment, and painted on the clouds is death. Blood and carnage of the people in the Arena, all facing their last moments. Most people only show up once or twice, but you… you’ve appeared more times than I can count, somehow always surviving whatever fate befallen you.”

“There’s certainly been a lot of close calls since I’ve come to the Arena.” You frown at her. “Sorry, if I’ve been giving you a few headaches along the way.”

“Hm.” She quietly hums, facing forward.

Strange. If you’d have guessed, you would’ve thought Ragnaa's sight would’ve made her aware of all the other players in the Arena, since everyone’s Doomed status would fall under her jurisdiction, turning her into a sort of Godtier Radar, able to sense those around her. She seems to be heavily invested in the Eventuality branch on her Development Tree, after all. And the Doomed players here are all marked for death, eventually to die. Although, doom and inevitability hinge rather heavily on the presence of [fate][fate][fate], and the nature of the Arena seems to imply that nothing is set in stone as of yet. Meaning there’s no fate any of the players have to follow for temporal continuity’s sake. If that’s the case, it’d be reasonable enough to assume a power like Ragnaa’s wouldn’t be able to predict future events, since there’s no sure-future for events to exist in. So instead of bringing her visions of the inevitable, her power is projecting the deaths of Doomed players into her head as they happen in real time, like some sort of fucked-up live update feed, custom made just to traumatize the girl. But she’s seen you multiple times, and you’re still kicking. Maybe it has less to do with death, and more to do with someone reaching their physical limit, which just so happens at the time of death. It’d make sense why she’s seen you so often then, since you’ve got a knack for getting the shit kicked out of you but not quite dying. You really feel sorry for the girl, with the stuff she’s had to see. You can only imagine what kind of crazy shit’s been going on around the Arena.

While you ponder the various ways you can implement your new teammate’s sight to the plan, an idea suddenly comes to mind.

“Hey, if you don’t mind me poking further, these visions you see in the clouds, when the lightning flashes. Have any of them been of a Maid in a white god tier?” You ask, hoping the answer is no. “Black hair, green eyes?”

“Your missing friend, yes?” She asks back. “No, none fitting that description have appeared in the Gloom before.”

“I guess that’s a relief.” You sigh. Mia’s slab was still glowing on the Trans.Temp. Camera, so you definitely know she’s still alive, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t gotten herself into some form of trouble. If she did, though, she likely would’ve popped up on Ragnaa’s radar.

“I’ll let you know if anyone like that appears.” She assures you with a smile. You smile back.

“Thank you! I can’t tell you how helpful that’ll be.” Her face turns a shade darker brown, before she faces straight ahead, suddenly quiet now. Guess talking-time is over?

 

***

 

Your travel back to the meet-up point was rather peaceful. No random encounters or impromptu strifes, just a lot of idle chit-chat. Creed told you all a story from his fucked-up childhood in a tone that would make you think it wasn’t fucked-up, then Ryder told a story from his childhood, which you doubt was actually true since it seemed like he was trying to one-up Creed’s story at every point. Haugrr talked about the cool psychic powers he had when he was still alive, which you also doubt was true. Not for any particular reason other than the fact that it was Haugrr saying it.

The snake consorts slither about as you enter into the building, seemingly ignoring your presence in their daily on-goings. You try not to step on any tails at your group scampers on up to the second floor. Room 203, where you had first planned your two group’s search areas. You knock on the door before entering, for some reason. It’s not like Dallra wouldn’t see you coming and tell the others, so you aren’t sure why you just did that.

“Hey, we’re back.” You announce as you enter. “Brought friends, too.” Everyone piles into the room behind you, and you suddenly realize there’s a tense awkwardness in the air.

“What is this?” Sara asks, sounding like a mother demanding an explanation for the ragged puppy her kid brought home. You stand there at the entrance with your caravan of assholes, a stupid look plastered on your face.

“What?” You finally blurt out, unsure of what she’s so perturbed about.

“Unbelievable.” She scoffs before storming past you, out the door.

“What?!” You ask again, begging to be told what you did wrong. You turn back to the rest of B team, who all look concerned. Except Frank, he’s still just smiling like he always is.

“Our search was… unfruitful. We discovered no leads to go off of.” Esspin finally breaks the silence while heading after Sara. “Things are a little sensitive, right now.” She adds before disappearing out the door as well.

“Oh…” You mutter. “Well, uh, everyone, we’ve got some new members. There’s a lot of people here, so I’ll just let you all get acquainted, yourselves. And, uh… yeah.” Sara’s scene really tanked the atmosphere in here. The triplets disperses around the room, giving quiet introductions among everybody who’s still left. That being Frank, your daughter, and the purple paint lizard. You make a B-line for Dallra while they talk.

“Y'know, I’ve noticed there’s a disproportionate amount of Seers and Pages on this team.” She says, looking around the room.

“Wha-, y-yeah, I guess.” You agree, a little put off by the observation. “Listen, how’s the search going? Any ideas where she could’ve gone?”

“Nothing.” She somberly admits. “I think the problem is her blindspot is small enough that I won’t be able to find it unless I’m practically on top of her, figuratively speaking.”

“Don’t worry about it, I know what I’m asking is… statistically improbable.” You sigh, leaning on the wall by her side. “How about you, how are you holding up?”

“Me?” She almost laughs. ”All I did was sit in a room all day. No need to worry about me. Who you really should be worried about is Sara.” She looks up at the ceiling, which probably means she’s retreated to a level above you to get some space.

“Do you know what that was about?” You ask, hoping she can shed some light.

“Not entirely, but if I were to take a guess, I’d say it has something to do with you parading in here with three new allies instead of one old friend.” She’s glancing at you from the corners of her eyes.

“What’s wrong with recruiting people?” You’re a little baffled why bringing in new people would upset her. Bringing in new people was the entire reason you were on LOFAC to begin with!

“Think about it from her point of view.” She suggests, holding an open palm to you. “You all go out with the hopes of finding Mia, but instead you bring back three other completely different people, and not a single lead to go off of. Maybe she sees it as you moving on without much hangup, or like you’re trying to replace her spot on the team.”

“…shit…” You say to yourself, realizing how tone deaf you’re handling this situation. Christ, you must be some kind of sociopath or something because you are awful at dealing with all these people’s emotions.

“Mmmh.” Dallra hums as she sees you’ve realized what you’ve done. “Maybe you’d like to go speak with her, before her feelings have a chance to ferment?”

“Yeah, you’re right.” You push yourself off the wall you’re leaned against and get going towards the door. You’re about to exit when Creed grabs you by the shoulder. Hey, looks like his Tube sock hood has just about sewn itself back together. Magic Pajamas are so cool.

“Think about what you’ll say, first.” He advises before releasing you. Right, think before you speak. Good advice. You nod.

Leaving out to the hallway, you return to the stairwell. You aren’t sure where she ran off too, but you’re betting she’s in the same room just a floor up. You hop up a flight, minding those stairs so many people have warned you about, and find Esspin standing in front of a thin paper framed door. You pull back when you hear she’s in the middle of a conversation, lingering at the top of the stairs and out of her view, hoping to listen in.

“-and I know we haven’t known each other for very long,” You hear Esspin say to the closed door. “yet I feel there is something strong that connects us. A sort of destiny. As though we were always meant to meet and… and be near one another. I want to get to know you better, and I want you to know me as well! The good and the bad. I’m aware of how forward I must sound, confessing in such a manner, but… it’s what I feel in my heart.” A pause comes over the hall, and you try to peer around the corner to see what’s happening. “It was you who led me here, to this group. Have I ever told you that? It was your faith in Mia that drew me to you out in that desert. Like a winsome breeze leading me through the world, to where I truly belonged. And because of that, I was able to meet my Moirail. I was able to meet Jason, who gave me purpose in the midst of damnation. I was even able to meet Amvinn again! Finding out who I was to him, what he and I had both been through together… he helped me figure out who I am. Meeting you all out in that desert… it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Without you, I’d still be alone. You brought me in from the cold… Meeting someone like you here, amidst the hardship and toil... it lets me know that there truly is a higher power in the universe. One that doesn’t let it be all bad. One that will send an angle down to help people like me find their way. Today has taken a heavy toll on all of us, and I know how disheartened you must be in this moment. Please believe me when I tell you I understand how important it is that we find her. You both are very precious to me, and I don’t know what I would do if I were to lose either of you. I know you’ve been through so much, and well, I-… I… I just wanted you to know that I’ll stay with you, whatever your decision may be.” Another pause comes, and you peek out yet again, waiting for Esspin to start back up again. However, it appears she’s concluded her confessional and has turned to return downstairs.

“Ah.” You mindlessly blurt aloud as you make eye contact with the troll. Half a tick passes as the two of you look at one another, as though Esspin doesn’t recognize you and is caught up trying to figure out who it is that’s snuck up on her.

“H-…! How long have you been standing there?!” She finally stammers out, her entire face exploding with an orchid tint.

“Not long!” You quickly answer, realizing you were more or less spying in on what seemed to be a private conversation. “I practically just got here!”

“H-how much did you hear?!” She continues to demand in sheer embarrassment.

“Just the tail end of it, really!” You continue to frantically explain. “Nothing of note, or anything momentously personal! I mean, I heard so little that you could barely say I heard anything at all! Haha…” The both of you wordlessly stare at each other once more, as Esspin’s expression of frazzled embarrassment soon turns to annoyed frustration at the blatant breach of privacy. “S-… sorry.”

“It’s-…” She pauses, taking a moment to compose herself before speaking again. “It’s quite alright.” She tells you with a calmed breath escaping her lips. “Though those words were meant for her, I would not hide them. A heavy heart only weighs down the soul, after all.”

“If it’s any comfort… I’m glad we met you too.” You tell your friend, in hopes to schmooze over your overt violation of simple edict.

“It is.” She warmly smiles, joining you by the stairs. “You wish to speak with her as well, yes?” You look over to the door Esspin was talking to, nodding with determination. “Though I wouldn’t encourage you to do so, I certainly won’t stop you. Just… don’t try to persuade her too harshly. I doubt she’d receive the efforts well, regardless of how well-intent you might mean it to be. She’s already considering-… well, I suppose she’ll tell you herself.” With that, Esspin descends, leaving you alone in your predicament.

You fully ascend the stairs, approaching the paper door Sara had sought to separate herself from the world with. For a split second, you think to leave, afraid of confronting your friend after they’ve made it clear they’re angry with you. That split second quickly turns into what feels like an eternity, caught in a loop, debating with yourself of what you should do. After some time like this, you grow closer and closer towards abandoning the idea of a heart-to-heart all together, too nervous to take the first step. What the hell is wrong with you? You’ve talked with Sara plenty of times before. Why can’t you just do it! Just go in and Do It! …… You can’t… Your shoulders slump, turning to leave as you feel a disheartening melancholy wash over you, defeated before you’ve even said a word to her….

 

No!

 

Come on, you can do this! She’s your friend! She’s an ally! If you can’t so much as talk to her when she’s mad, can’t so much as smooth over the qualms your team member has with you when they’re upset, what hope do you have of getting out of the Arena alive?! Get in there and fucking Fix This, Jason! Remember; Deep Breaths, buddy! You got this.

Hyping yourself up to get this done, you take one last breath, and place your hand upon the flimsy barrier before you. Carefully sliding the door to the side, you find a quiet scene before you. A room empty, save for the Sylph of Breath sitting in the windowsill, looking out over the town. Silhouetted behind her sits the pyramid where everything happened, lying off in the distance from here.

“Sara?” You call to her as you slowly shut the door behind you. She continues to look out at the world, a faint breeze drifting in through the window. “Mind if I-“

“I just want to be left alone. Jason.” She cuts you off, still facing away. “I don’t want to talk.”

“I get that, but…” Think before you speak, Jason. Think before you speak. “I really think we should. Talk, that is.” She sighs. Not in annoyance but… despondence.

“What is it…” She almost whispers.

“I just wanted to see how you were holding up.” It’s slight, but she’s shaking her head in disappointment.

“I’m doing fine, Jason.” She quickly answers, sounding like she’s trying to dismiss the conversation. You linger around, desperately searching for something more to say.

“We’ll, uh… we’ll have to decide, soon, what to do next.” You try to keep your voice level, scared even the slightest break in inflection could set her off again. “Who to prioritize finding for the mission.” Her head turns, almost like she’s going to look back at you, but she stops short.

“I suppose this is where we’ll part ways, then.” She says, purposely trying to keep her voice from shaking. “I’ll be sure to make my way back once I find Mia.” So that’s what Esspin meant. Sara must’ve known then, just as you and Creed had realized, that the search would inevitably turn up dry, and that you’d eventually call off the hunt in order to deal with more pressing matters.

“Sara, that’s ridiculous.” You say without thinking. Damn, you were told not to do that! You continue anyways. “You can’t just go off on your own.”

“Why? Because it’s not safe?” She rhetorically, as well as angrily, asks you, finally turning around and leaving the windowsill to stand before you. Her expression is stern but her eyes are soft, like she’s trying to hold back tears. “Because no one could survive on their own?… You’re right, it is. That’s why I won’t give up on Mia, even if everyone else abandons her.”

“That’s not fair.” You protest. “Mia is my friend too.”

“Is she, Jason?” She nips at you. “Because she had quite a few things to say about how you treat your friends.” She throws air quotes around ‘friends’… Ouch.

“Now, you don’t-” You stop yourself, realizing your temper’s starting to rise. Come on, cool down. Think. “Look, I-… I know Mia and I don’t always get along, but that doesn’t mean she’s not still my friend. I’ve known her since we were kids, you seriously think I don’t want to find her?” Her gaze darts off to the side, too flustered with what you’re saying to look at you. Normally a Breath player shouldn’t get caught up in this sort of stuff, but as you’ve already been painfully made aware of, nobody seems to have properly developed in this shitshow. It seems that the motherly nature of her class has descended too far into its connection with others, and now she can’t help but trip over the ties that’ve bound her with the people she cares for. She’s saddled herself with an obligation to find Mia, regardless of how constricted it makes her options moving forward. It’s like an anchor, leaving the poor Sylph to be helplessly overwhelmed with all the viscous interpersonal conflict of the group. “I’m sorry, Sara… okay? I’m sorry I sent Mia away when I should’ve protected her. I’m sorry I didn’t think things through during the strife, and I’m sorry that I was wrong about Dallra being able to find her. I never wanted something like this to happen, especially not now… but I’m not sorry for saying we need to move on. Because if Mia were here right now, I know for a fact she’d be saying the exact same thing. I don’t expect you to like it, but Mia would want us to continue onward if she was here.”

“But she isn’t here!” She begins to shout, looking at you again with a furious anguish in her eyes. “She isn’t… she’s out there, on her own!” She jerks her arm back behind her, pointing out the window. “Alone and scared, and waiting for us to find her!”

“I know.” You hold your hands out, hoping she lowers the volume of her voice.

“You don’t!” She declares. “If you did, you wouldn’t be giving up so easily!” As she goes on, Sara’s disposition vacillates between rage and despair, pausing every so often to compose herself, as she tries to keep her lips from trembling. “She could be hurt…! She could be-…! She-…!”

“No.” You adamantly shake your head. “She won’t die.”

“You don’t know that!” She practically hisses. “After what happened to her, she’s barely strong enough to pull something out of her sylladex! How could she possibly get through this alone?”

“Because she’s Mia!” You shout, fully losing control over your own volume. Just as you do, the sky outside flashes dark, and a thunderous erupton rings out through the sky and valley, shredding your eardrums and shaking the town to the point you nearly lose your footing. As you catch your balance, the momentary shock of the blast wears off and you search for the cause, finding your attention drawn out the window, to the enormous pyramid off in the distance. Much to your horror, you discover that the megastructure has been cracked, leaving a clear divide down its center as large chunks of temple break off and tumble down the sides. As you behold the spectacle, an immense sense of dread begins to overwhelm you, as you not only realize that someone or something must’ve caused the monolith to split in two, but also that this thing is only an hour’s walk away from your exact location. While you wrack your brain, thinking of who could’ve possibly performed such a terrifying feat of power, you hear Sara shift her stance upon the creaking floorboard.

“Tf…” She scoffs, looking away from the cataclysmic scene. “And you think she’ll be okay. You’ve seen who we’re trapped with, you’ve even read about them in those damn books! You know what they can do, what they’re capable of, and yet… you still want to move on… you still want to leave her behind… How can you be so callous? How can you leave her to fend for herself?”

“… Because…” You begin to answer as you watch the pyramid crumble a little while longer. “Because she’ll survive…” You turn away from the horrors of the outside world to face your friend head-on. “Because Mia Kruger is the strongest person I know. And she’s still in there, I’ve seen it!” Your voice is hoarse, soar from all you’ve been through these past few days. “She came back to me. Up on the pyramid, when I challenged the Prince… she came back. Even though she knew how dangerous it was, even though she knew she could’ve died, she swallowed her fear and came running after me. Because she’s still Mia. After everything she’s been through, it’s still her in there.”

“She can’t defend herself, Jason.” She tells you, her voice getting more and more shaky. “She isn’t strong enough-”

“But she is.” You say, taking a step towards her. “She is strong enough. She always will be, I’ve seen her works a thousand times before. There’s no stopping that girl. It doesn’t matter if you take away everything that makes her strong, strip her down till she’s nothing but blood and bone, she’ll still find a way to keep fighting. Because she wasn’t born strong. She earned it. Claimed it tooth and nail from the grips of her fears. That’s who she is! That’s why she’ll survive!” Your words ripple into the air, and the room stays quiet as you two stand in the tension.

“… When I first lost Greg…” Sara begins, breaking the silence. “I… accepted it.” There’s a surprise in her voice, as if not just admitting it to you, but herself as well. “We knew the situation we were in, and Greg himself said he couldn’t win this. He was almost proud that he knew he was going to die, like it was almost a victory itself that he was able to see what was coming. And when it happened… it destroyed me… but I accepted it.”

“Sara-“ You try to interject.

“But when Mia and I found you out in the desert, and you said you had a way out… it broke my heart, knowing Greg was already gone. That it was too late for him… but I had already accepted it. And I had to move on… So I did.” She musters a braveness in her words as she starts to fight off tears. “Then I found Amvinn, and he reminded me so much of him, it was like Greg was back, in some small way. And when he died, when that bastard put a hole through him like he was nothing, it was like I felt everything I should’ve when Greg died. The anger, the rage. It all poured into my mind, all at once. I couldn’t stop it. He was my best friend and I let him go like he didn’t even matter to me. I-… I can’t take it anymore, Jason, I-…!” The tears are coming in full force now, streaming down flushed cheeks until they reach her dress and vanish, as the blue of her teardrops disappear into the blue of her god tiers. Kinda like… “I can’t lose anybody else…”

“Then don’t fight me on this. Trust me when I say we haven’t truly lost her yet.” You assure her, taking her by the shoulders to focus her on you. “You did your job, Sara. You kept her safe and guided her way when she needed it. It’s up to her now. She’ll find her way back. Find her way home. She just needs a little time to remember who she is, first.”

“But… but what if-“

“She isn’t gone, Sara.” You stop her before her imagination can run wild. “She’s just not here right now.”

Tentatively, Sara turns her attention to the window, gazing out at the world once more. You wait patiently for her final verdict, watching the conflicted expression on her face morph and change, making it clear she’s struggling with what to do, as fact and ideal clash in her head. As she thinks, the empire of a tomb continues to crumble off in the distance, a physical reminder of the dangers the Arena holds. You don’t think you could’ve timed the destruction of the megastructure any worse than how it happened, showing up in the middle of your conversation like that, literally proving Sara’s point that the Arena isn’t safe with a direct example of that fact. Even still, it appears that your efforts weren’t in vain, and your heartfelt pleas have finally managed to sway your friend’s mind, if only to a minor degree.

“…what do we do, then?” Sara asks, finally calming down.

“The only thing we can do.” You answer. “We continue on with the plan. Find the people we need and worry about our missing numbers once we have some breathing room.”

“How long could that take?” She continues, as it seems the emotional-charge of the moment has finally leveled out.

“Not long at all, now that we have Dallra and Creed.” You smile, somewhat satisfied that all the groundwork for getting the plan going has finally been laid. “And with those three new recruits I brought back, getting from place to place will be that much easier.”

“Are they really strong or something?” Sara cocks her head at you.

“Aiey, weell… potentially.” You cringe, still disappointed at how powerful the triplets could’ve been had they progressed properly. You suppose you’ll have to get used to that disappointment, if your little ‘broken godtier’ theory bears fruit. “The Doom Seer definitely could be useful with how she described her powers, and the Knight seems like a more than capable fighter. The Rage Page is… on the softer side. For now. I’ll have to see if there’s any way I can kick him into gear.”

“Is that okay to do?” Sara inquires. “With the Page boy?”

“Don’t see why not.” You shrug.

“Well, isn’t it kinda like trying to make a horse drink?” She clarifies for you. “I don’t know much about Pages, but isn’t it… better… if they progress on their own? I thought forcing it was kind of dangerous.”

“It isn’t forcing it.” You quickly clarify with an admittedly whiney tone. “It’s more like… mentoring! I had tons of mentors on my journey! I mean, they were all either Offbranch or Future versions of myself, but they taught me the ropes of my aspect, showed me the way and all that.”

“And you’re going to do that for the Rage guy?” She asks like it’s a ridiculous notion. Which… suddenly makes you realize you teaching this Ryder kid anything about Rage is a ridiculous notion.

“Hmm. Good point.” You nod along. “We may need to find him a teacher… eh, it can wait. What’s important now is the plan.”

“Is there really nothing else we can do to find Mia, then?” She circles back in the conversation one last time, seeing you’re putting a final moratorium on search-and-rescue.

“Chances are, the blood hiding Mia’ll wash off on its own.” Hopefully wherever Mia ended up has a lot of water she could accidentally fall into. “After that, Dallra will spot her, and you have my word, we’ll drop whatever we’re doing and go find her.”

“Jason… troll blood can double as paint.” She informs you, breaking the bad news. “It’s not just gonna come off once it sets.”

“W-, it can? I mean, it does?” You ask, a little baffled by the info. “How do you know that?”

“Amvinn told me.” She explains. “Apparently back on their planet, Esspin tried to kill him at some point to paint her weird troll-chapel.”

“O…kay, I’m gonna have to look into that.” You say, taking a mental note. “But, if that’s the case then… we’ll keep an eye out for her where we can. Y’know, high vantage points, quick area searches, ask around with the people we run into, that sort of stuff.” She sighs, thinking over your suggestions.

“Yeah… yeah, okay.” She agrees, looking down to the ground in a sort of sad acceptance.

“Hey.” You grab her attention again. “Wherever she is, I’m sure she’s fine.”

 

***

 

For dramatic irony reasons, you are momentarily the damaged Maid of Rage, Mia Kruger, and you are very much not fine right now. At the moment, you’re in the lower deck of a furry boy pirate ship in the middle of a storm. Not just any storm, mind you. It’s like a hurricane out there, but if a hurricane could consciously hate you while it brings its liquid wrath down upon you all! You meekly exit the barracks towards the staircase up, doing your best not to be thrown off your footing by the thrashing of the waves. Clutching your hood in place upon your head, you emerge onto the top deck, greeted by an enormous cyclone of nearly pure black clouds. Heavy rain droplets pelt your face and gale force winds threaten to spirit you away to a watery grave. Countless furry boys scamper across the deck, some galloping on all fours, some jogging awkwardly on two feet while they carry cargo from place to place. A team of them climb up and down the mast, constantly changing the sail’s position. You can’t really tell if their adjustments are purposeful, or if these guys genuinely have no idea what they’re doing. You’d like to think it’s the former, but this whole situation has you fearing it’s the latter.

“Haddock!” You call out to the captain, who’s currently manning the helm of the ship. He doesn’t seem to notice your yells. “Haddock!” You call louder.

“Aye, Lass!” He calls back, shouting over the storm.

“Where are we going?!” He glances down at you, looking confused.

“Repeat fer me, Lass!” He requests, his voice getting more and more drowned out by the sound of the sea. “Can’t hear worth a dickens!”

“Where! Are! We! GOING?!” You try a little louder.

“Ahahaha!” Haddock laughs, throwing his head back. “Dead ahead, Lass! Center Line.” He unsheathes a sword from his hip, pointing it out to the front of the ship. Following the direction of his gesture, you see an enormous pyramid off on the Horizon. There’s certainly been a lot of pyramids as of late, you’ve noticed. However, unlike the monoliths of LOFAC, these pyramids are much smaller, around a tenth of their gargantuan size, with a more Egyptian esthetic. It seems to be made of stacked and smoothly cut limestone, as opposed to the rugged stone Azteca temple formation of the LOFAC pyramids.

“What is that?!” You turn back to him.

“Tis be our main base of operations!” He heartily howls. “And place to lay boot till Neptune’s had his fill playing merry with the sea. We’ll be at dock in less than a knot!”

“Why?! What’s there?!” With a single glance, Haddock lets you know you’ve missed something obvious.

“Aside from me and me crew’s booty?” He says, looking up to the sky. “Sturdy shelter! This be the worst storm to grace these waters in ages! Now get below deck befer’ ye go overboard!”

“Yes sir!” Without doodling, you turn heel to get back to shelter. Before you do though, you notice something. Off in the distance, starboard side, there’s something out on the water.

“Brace, Men!” Haddock screams out to the crew. You’re about to look when something slams into your right side, taking you off your feet.

Before you know what’s going on, you’re on your back, coughing up a lungful of seawater. It seems a rogue wave made it up onto the ship’s deck, slamming you against the wooden guardrail of the rightmost side of the ship. You push yourself up onto the rail, doing your best to clear your airways. As you haphazardly hang halfway off the ship, you notice that thing off in the distance again. Looks to be a small water skimmer, gracefully gliding on top of the surface of the ocean. A dim light illuminates from behind the sail, turning it a pale reddish orange and revealing a dark silhouette behind it. A vessel that small in weather like this? Who is that…?

“Caution, grog-head!” One of the crewmates says, pulling you back onto the ship. “You’ll be washed away!” He pushes you, the best his tiny body can, towards the stairs leading below deck. “Get back to the barracks!”

Without much grace, you stumble down the stairs, down to where you first started. It’s a bit of a pig sty down here, but at least you aren’t constantly being bombarded with gallons upon gallons of water. You wipe away the dampness on your face but find there’s something slick on your fingers. Looking at them, you find your hand is covered in that strange blue substance from before. Eww, what is this stuff? You wipe your hands off on one of the hammocks by your side, but there’s still a large amount on your shirt, and presumably on your face as well. You’ll have to remember to clean yourself off sometime soon. For now, you find your way to one of the bunks at the back of the ship and hold tight. You've still got quite a wild ride ahead of you.

 

***

 

Stepping back into the meeting room, there’s a noticeable quiet among the peanut gallery. What’s going on in here? Slowly, you and Sara step past the threshold as everyone looks your way.

“Uh, guys.” You address them, still a little hyper-aware of what you say before you say it. “Wrap up… uh, wrap up whatever you’re doing and huddle up. We’ve gotta decide our next move.”

“Boss.” Creed addresses you as you walk further into the room.

“Hey.” You say back as you walk over. “Is everything okay? We saw what happened at the super-pyramid, do we know what caused that explosion?”

“No idea, freaked everyone the hell out, though. Dallra checked things out through her God’s Eye, but the place was clear. No players, no blindspots. Just rubble and shattered temple.” He explains, glancing at the closed window that looks out at the megastructure. “The current working theory in the room is that it just kind of did that.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think things that big don’t just implode outta nowhere.” He clarified his stance on the matter. “Especially something constructed by Sburb. It’s gotta be the work of a godtier, but there’s no evidence suggesting one was even there to begin with, the closest people to the temple when it happened was us.”

“I don’t like it either.” You nod. “If there was no trace of anyone in the area, that doesn’t rule out the presence of a Void player, but I can’t think of a single one that could’ve done that.” As you think deeper about the incident, the most you can come up with that could’ve caused the collapse would’ve been that explosive payload at the upper levels of the temple. Maybe if there were others like it up and down the pyramid, it could’ve caused a chain reaction that destroyed the entire place. Holy shit, would it have done that if you used the payload against the Prince? Jeez, guess that was a bullet dodged.

“So what’s this all about, then? We finally getting off this damn planet?” Creed asks with a grizzled optimism for leaving LOFAC.

“Weren’t you living here or something?” You jokingly remark. He scoffs.

“I came here to get some tranquility. And Boss?” He grabs you by the shoulder. “There’s been anything but.”

“Well I’ve got good news then.” You say to him as the rest of your group finishes gathering around. “Alright, everyone. There’s a few decisions we’ve gotta make. Namely, what we’re going to do next.”

“How do you mean?” Esspin steps forward.

“With the combined help of Dallra and Creed, getting the people we need shouldn’t be much of a problem.” You expand on the plan. “There’s a handful of people important for the mission, but I can think of about three high priority individuals critical to getting out of here.”

“This being?” Leah… also steps forward.

“For starters, we’ve got a ship, but…” You quickly pop into your sylladex. Catalog number 36, section 6x6. Left, Right, Left, Left, Straight, Right, Left. Daintily, you grasp the tiny ship between three fingers. “As you can see, it’s not exactly roomy.”

“Wait, is that seriously the fuckin’ plan to get out of here?” Ryder squeaks in anger. “That tiny little hot wheels shit?” Huh… it does look a bit like a model toy, doesn’t it?

“Yeah, that’s my point.” You recaptchalogue the ship, worried you’ll accidentally collapse the hull if you purse your fingers too tightly. “We’ll need someone who can manipulate physicality, meaning some sort of Space player, or maybe even a Doom player if they know how to work the fundamental Laws of Reality a certain way, maybe blur the lines of Conservation of Mass.”

“Is this our next step, then?” Sara asks. What the hell is up with everyone interjecting every two breaths?

”Potentially. Expanding the ship is one thing, but there’s still the matter of flying it.” You say, moving on to your next point. “If-… when we leave, we’ll be going through the Furthest Ring. Time and Space is in constant flux out there, so if we want to go flying through nonsense-space with any kind of substantial ability, we’ll need to find a competent Navigator, maybe Space… Time, Void, it’s hard to say anything for sure without knowing the extent of powers everyone has at their disposal.”

“And the third thing?” Haugrr asks from the back of the huddle. “You said there were three things… What’s the third?” Every time, huh? Every time.

“… The third thing, Haugrr’s so eager to get to, is the cultivation of the undooming power.” You explain to everyone while staring directly at your corpse-snatcher companion. “Right now, we don’t have the power, but we have a vessel for it to stay in. Destroying our Doom fits snugly into Haugrr’s repertoire, so he’ll theoretically be able to hold and use the power for us without much problem.” You get some weird looks about the theoretically part of that. “But actually crafting the power, and transferring it to him is something else entirely. It’ll undoubtedly take a few players to create it, maybe a Life, Light, even a Void player, possibly. Transferring the power should only need just the one person. Rogues are our best candidate to get something from one person to another, but what aspect to draw from might differ. We might need the Rogue of Doom, which’d be unfortunate because I’m pretty sure they’re already dead. Or no, maybe someone like the Rogue of Hope could pull it off. Depends on what we have to work with. Which is why we need to get a move on.” Creed shifts his weight, looking like he’s got something on his mind. “So, what are we thinking?”

“The power to Unshackle us from our Doomed Fate seems like it’d be the most important part of this venture.” Esspin speaks first.

“I’d also take the longest to gather.” Dallra points out.

“So we should focus on it first, right?” Sara brings up to her. “If it’s the most important, the faster we have it, the better.”

“Word will get around once we start gathering people.” Ragnaa says, staring down at the floor. “It’s possible the people required for creating the power will be easily swayed or even seek us out if what we have to offer is secured.”

“Having a way out was a big reason why we joined.” Leah agrees with her. “I say the ship should come first. Having a tangible symbol of escape in our arsenal could certainly grease the wheels while we get your friend that power.”

“We could get the person who’d resize the ship for us, but I wouldn’t want to make it flight-ready until we have everyone we need.” You say, cutting her idea short. “I don’t have the sylladex space for a fully sized star cruiser, and I don’t wanna risk the hull’s integrity leaving it out for anyone to come across. Any jealous asshole could do some serious damage if they got to it, and if anything happens to this ship, we’re stuck here.”

“Maybe we should focus on the power then, after all.” Dallra concedes. “Since you haven’t figured out who exactly we need for that yet, I could find those Rogues you were talking about and we could recruit them in the meantime.”

“No.” Creed finally chips in, sounding very firm in his disagreement. “Leah was right, we need a symbol that escape is possible. It’ll make getting people to join us significantly easier. Since enlarging the ship is a no-go, then we’ll use the next best thing.”

“Our Navigator, then?” Esspin asks. He nods, looking down to the ground with a conflicted look on his face, like he’s unsure of what he just said. Strange, he usually doesn’t doubt himself like that. You’ll have to ask him about it later, given you remember.

“Alright. Navigator it is, then.” You declare, surprisingly pleased the debate went so quickly. Every second counts when you’ve got a sea monster breathing down your neck. “Everyone good with that?”

“Well actually-“ Ryder begins to say.

“Too bad.” You cut him off. “Creed's our negotiator, and whatever we can do to make his job go smoother, the faster we’ll get outta here.”

“Hey, wait a minute-“ Haugrr starts to say, sounding annoyed with you.

“Now the question is, who can keep track of an ever-changing three dimensional environment…?” You ask more to yourself than the group.

“I thought this was supposed to be an open discussion.” Haugrr begins to protest.

“It was.” You agree. “It was open. And I closed it.”

“Oh this is musclebeast shit.” Haugrr groans.

“Yeah, well… we have to act fast while we still can, call it an executive decision.” You brush him off. “A Void player should be familiar with the Furthest Ring well enough, but could they chart the labyrinth-like geometry accurately? Not to mention temporal deplatformation…”

“Quite a compelling argument, Mr Consultant.” Haugrr rolls his eyes at you, reminding of your previous refusal of the leadership role. Whatever dude, that was like ten chapters ago.

“I know someone.” Frank says, reminding everyone in the room he is also in the room.

“Huh?” You glance over to him.

“I know someone.” He affirmatively repeats.

“Okay?” You prompt him to continue. He doesn’t. “Someone who…?”

“Oh, right!” He chuckles, realizing he hasn’t elaborated. “Someone who can accurately track spastic changes in the geometric geo-folds found in a three-dimensional environment. I know that someone.” You glance around the group, making sure you’re all hearing the same thing.

“You do?” You ask, the surprise in your voice rather audible.

“Yes, my Mother!” He smiles brightly. “She was a scientist.” An awkward moment passes, as you all realize Frank meant his guardian back on Earth.

“That’s, uh… that’s very nice, Frank.” Sara tells him, trying to break the news lightly. “But we’re…”

“We’re looking for people who we can actually get ahold of.” You finish for her. “People in the Arena.”

“She is!” He assures you. “I don’t know where she ran off to, though. We’ve been out of contact for a while now.”

“…You’re mom’s in the Arena?” He nods to your question. “Like actually?” He nods again. “Why?”

“She was summoned here by that person who wrote with invisible text.” He explains. Invisible text? The White-Text Guy?

“W-wait, is your mom a Godtier?” You ask him, unsure what you’d make of his answer regardless.

“Yes, the Mage of Space.” He says, matter-a-factly. His mother was also a Player? This boy makes less and less sense the more you find out about him.

“And she can keep track of the changes in the Furthest Ring?” You continue your line of questioning.

“Certainly.” He confirms, almost sounding proud. “Her main passion was physiology, but in her free time, she’d study gravitational fields and the fluctuations that’d ensue when micro-black holes are introduced to unstable spatial regions.”

“That was her hobby?” Ryder mutters to himself, like it’s the most absurd thing he’s heard, which, fair enough. It’s a really weird pastime.

“I can’t imagine the fluctuations in this Ring would be much more complicated for her to document and plot around, regardless of how far away it is.” Frank continues on, really selling his point.

“Well she… sounds like a prime candidate.” You tell him, causing his goofy smile to double in size. By god this boy loves his mother. “Dallra, got any leads where she is?”

“Yeah, I saw where this conversation was going about halfway through." She says, already sitting down on the floor, legs crossed and hood over her eyes. “Let you know when something comes up.”

“Thanks.” You sigh, relieved by her competence. At least someone on this team can see ahead of the curve. “Everyone else, rest up while you can. As soon as we get a where, we’re out of here.”

“We’re not going to break for a few hours?” Esspin asks, sounding surprised.

“We haven’t really stopped moving since Losad.” Sara points out. “It won’t be long before we start burning out.”

“We’ll have to do with just this breather.” You deny their request. “We’re already way behind schedule as is. I wanna be off-planet within the hour, sooner if possible. Especially if super-pyramids are gonna keep exploding without cause.”

After hearing your intended schedule, everyone disperses to their own small clicks. The triplets keep to themselves in their own corner, quietly discussing if joining this team was really the best idea. Esspin and Sara linger close to Dallra, lounging on Sara’s couch, using the hopefully short down-time to its fullest. Creed meditates while Haugrr broods, and Frank sits between the two of them, patiently waiting until the trek to his mother begins. The consorts sit in their own corner, off by themselves. The purple one seems to be sleeping again, while Gretel quietly flips through her tome. How about spending some time with your daughter for once, ya deadbeat? You want this child growing up on the streets? Would it kill you to show a little compassion, dad?!

“Hi!” Gretel chimes when she notices you approaching.

“Hey, kiddo.” You greet your daughter, sitting down next to her. “What’s on the menu tonight?” You tap the page she’s opened to. There’s a large illustration printed on the left hand side of the spread of some misshapen peanut-looking planet, covered in small spikes.

“That depends. Which translation do you want me to use? Scalish or Mammanese?” She asks, looking up at you with those cute little gecko eyes of hers. You can’t help but smile.

“Hmm.” You ponder her question. “How about Scalish?”

“Well, in scalish, this is the Land Frenzy and Crash.” She says as she looks back to the page. The Land you’re on? You can see the spikes, with all the pyramids everywhere, but you’re surprised to find that the Planet had such a weird shape.

“Do you always research the Lands you travel too?” You ask. She did know a lot about the Forge, back when you first met. You had thought she only researched that land in particular.

“I think it’s neat, knowing the lore of the places you go.” She bashfully admits, nearly giving you a stroke from the Fatherly Pride you’re feeling right now. “And this one is really interesting, too!”

“Oh yeah?” You look a little closer into her tome, placing an arm around her. “How so?”

“Apparently, a long and terrible war is foretold to ravage this Land.” She says with a sense of ominous wonder. “Those who live here practice a strict warrior code, and they’ve prepared an extensive burial system in preparation for their expected casualties, with a distinguished honor awarded to those who die in battle.”

“Sounds pretty intense.” You agree with her tone. “Who are they supposed to fight?”

“It says those native to the Land will fight each other for total supremacy. A Civil war, of sorts.” She’s got a focused look on her face, closely examining the text. “The scalish translation credits the flashpoint of the war as being a trick of some sort. It doesn’t go into too much detail, but the implication is there’ll be a surprise attack or ambush of some sort that’ll plunge the Land into chaos.”

“What about… what was it, Mam-… Mammanese?” She nods, looking back to the text.

“The Mammanese translation is much more… colorful. It also differs significantly in the interpretations of the ancient prophecies this book is based on.” She murmurs. “In Mammanese, the warrior code isn’t so much an honorable practice as it is an obligational duty to oppose the neo-nobility attempting to suppress the true lawless nature innate to this Land. It also states that burials are considered righteous and principled so long as the individual in question is buried with a personal item of great worth, and isn’t about where they’re buried or how they died, like the Scalish translations believe.” She flips the page. “This interpretation also asserts that the cause of the war is to be a full frontal invasion, not a trick or ambush. There’ll be a very overt and incredibly destructive attack so catastrophic, a significant portion of the Land will be wiped off the map. A kind of First Blood fitting of such a gruesome war. It also claims that this is the Land of Conflict and Repose, not Frenzy and Crash. Neat, huh?”

“Unbelievably neat.” You lightly squeeze her close to you with the arm you’ve tucked around her. She hugs your arm back with an affectionate warmth. Slowly, however, she seems to pull back and get noticeably quiet. “Hey hey, what’s wrong?”

“Mr Jason, do you… do you think this mission is a Dead End?” She asks after a bit of coaxing. The question is off-putting to say the least. Something as cynical as that coming out of nowhere is a red flag on its own. Pair this with the fact that what she asked pretty much reflects the constant doubts you’ve been stuffing to the back of your mind… maybe you haven’t been hiding your worries as well as you thought you were?

“Whaat? What makes you say that, kiddo?” You ask, trying to deflate her doubts the best you can.

“It’s just… Ms Samantha spoke a lot about Dead Ends, and how you have to be vigilant at spotting them before you end up expending all your energy.” Samantha? Who’s… oh right, the Seer of Life. Is that what all this is about, the lecture she heard on LOAEAF? “And your mission seems to be getting more and more complicated at every turn. I don’t want to see you run circles until you’ve exhaust your resources, just for some jerk to make all that effort meaningless.”

“Hey, come on, little Miss.” You try to cheer her up, lightly jostling her in your embrace. “I know what I’m doing. Sure, it’s a little rocky, but things are still going as planned.”

“Ms Samantha thought this was a poor endeavor…”

“Yeah, she wasn’t exactly the biggest fan of my plan, was she?” You lament, remembering how awkward that whole encounter with your Post-Scratch friend’s kid-parent was. “I can’t say I blame her, though. It’s pretty scary out there, huh?”

“Uh-huh.” She quietly nods. “There’s a lot of crazy people running around lately. I’m always afraid when we run into one of them.”

“That’s alright.” You rub her head. “I get afraid sometimes, too.” She seems a little reassured, but is still wearing an uncertain expression. “How about you? What’d you think about this mission? Was it a bad idea?”

“Well…” She pauses, likely trying to figure out how to not to hurt your feelings. “I believe in you. So if you think you can save everyone, then I believe you can do it.” She looks back up to you with a weary, but faithful smile. You smile back. Save everyone… honestly you don’t have any intention of saving even half the psychos in this place, only yourself and those who would help you escape. You don’t think you’ll correct her misconception about what your actual objective is, though. Seems like it’d only confuse her.

“That’s good to hear.” You look back to the others in the room, too occupied with their own affairs to notice your gaze. “Cause honestly, you do all the heavy lifting around here.” You squeeze her tight one more time, causing her to giggle into your cape. “We’d get absolutely nowhere without you, ya hear?”

As you goof around with your daughter, you can’t help but feel a hopeful air fill the room. This is the first real step towards enacting the plan. It’ll go off without a hitch. You know it!

 

***

 

 

“H-hey, hey!” Dallra calls out to the room. Your eyes suddenly snap open at her call. What the hell, when did you fall asleep? “I think I found her.”

“Oh, come now.” Esspin groans, turning over on the couch. “Couldn’t your search have lasted five more minutes?” You yawn and rub your eyes, trying to shake the sleepiness off.

“What are we looking at, Dall?” You ask while getting up off the floor, carefully picking a sleeping Gretel up with you as you rise.

“Or hours?” Sara tacks onto Esspin’s complaint.

“She’s… she’s somewhere horrible.” She seems to shutter. “The entire place is so dim, I can barely make anything out there.”

“Hm?” Gretele pokes up in your arms, stirring awake from the commotion.

“Do you see a forest? With dark blue trees?” You think back to when you first arrived in the Arena, and how impossibly dark it was on LOGAV. It’s been a long journey since then. Today is just full of nostalgia, isn’t it?

“No. It’s rather hollow and barren, actually.” She shakes her head. “There are these… monstrous creatures, all across the planet. Some gliding through the vacuous skies, as if they were weightless. Others… they haunt the cavernous mountains, like some sort of demonic dig-beasts.” Whoa. From what you’ve learned about trolls, you’re pretty sure they’re raised by monsters. Hearing the discomfort in her voice, and seeing the sickened look in her eyes, it says a lot about what these things look like.

“Hu!” Gretel shoots fully awake, hearing the Dallra speak. “That’s my Land!” She shouts in excitement before climbing down off you and trotting up to the hooded Seer in excitement.

“Really?” You glance down at her as she walks over.

“Yeah, my home Land. The Land of Horror and Nothing!” She says, sounding way too chipper for the words… that were… just... spoken. Huh… you just got the weirdest sense of déjà vu. “Are we going there?!”

“Uh, i-if the Mage stays there, sure.” Dallra answers, a bit put off by Gretel’s enthusiasm for returning somewhere so supposedly horrible. “The only problem is the Portal there is on the other side of the planet, maybe a week’s travel with a group this big.”

“Why don’t we just planet hop like we did coming here?” Sara tiredly suggests, her eyes still glued shut as she stretches on her couch.

“That won’t be much better, unfortunately.” Dallra shakes her head. “The nearest portal is roughly a day’s walk from here. Even then, it’d either be a five day journey through that Land, or at least three more days of planet hopping until we actually got onto Lohan. Then maybe another half a day till we get to the Mage, and that’s only if she’s stayed put the entire time.”

“No good.” You start to tap your foot. “We’re gonna need to find a faster way to get around.”

“I’m not sure we have any other options at our disposal.” Dallra informs you with an unfortunately honest sincerity.

“Why don’t we use the gateway downstairs?” Gretel asks, drawing the room’s attention to her. Dallra sits up a little more straight to look at her.

“What gateway downstairs?” She asks back.

“The one in the foyer, down on the ground level.” She clarifies, only to cause an even more confused look to form on Dallra’s face.

“Do you mean the stone statue by the staircase?” Her mouth hangs open somewhat, letting the gold of her canines shine ever so slightly.

“It’s only stone because it’s inactive.” Gretel adds on. “Once it turns on, it’ll look and act like a normal gateway.”

“And you can activate this portal?” Creed pipes in.

“Well, duh.” She says in the way that kids do when something’s obvious to them. “It’s a gateway system made for consorts, of course I can activate it.”

“Wait, they have those?” Leah joins the conversation from across the room.

“Yes.” Gretel nods. “It’s so we can get home easily if we ever travel through the Lands. They’re all over the place, if you know where to look.”

“Why didn’t you ever mention this when we were trying to get around?” You ask, kneeling down next to her.

“I can only make it go to the Land of Horror and Nothing.” She elaborates. “They’re like pipelines back to a consort’s homeland, so it didn’t seem very important until now.”

“Huh, that’s actually pretty interesting.” You say, thinking about how something like that would function. Maybe some sort of consort DNA recognition or something? “Alright, uh, Gretel, how about you and me go down and test out that portal, yeah?” She smiles and scampers up onto your shoulder. “Everyone, pack your stuff and be downstairs in five. Dallra, mind joining us?”

“Sure.” She grunts, stretching out while rising up from the floor. “I need to get my poleprongs warmed up anyways. Been sitting for hours now.” As she joins by your side, the three of you make your way to the stairwell.

“So what are you thinking?” You ask Dallra as you begin your descent.

“Hm?” She glances at you.

“About these consort portals.” You add on for her.

“Ah.” She nods, taking a moment to think about your question. “Certainly seems handy if non-consort entities can utilize them. If that’s so, we certainly lucked out with having a Lohan Consort already with us.”

“Certainly did.” You smile up at Gretel. “We also have that Chameleon boy if we ever need to head back to Loaeaf.”

“George.” Gretel whispers in your ear.

“Is that his name?” You hum, finally learning what to call the consort besides paint lizard.

“I’ll be sure to factor in those Lands for future course plotting.” Dallra informs you of how she’ll be using this new utility. You hadn’t even thought about how useful something like a fast-track to a Land could be for Dallra’s tracking.

“Do… do you think we should nab consorts from other Lands as we go?” You ask, drawing a strange look from her. “What?”

“Did you nab that one?” Dallra nods up to Gretel. You look up to see her waitingly observing for your answer, skeptical of the implication you’re dangerously circling to.

“Of course not!” You say with a humph. “I wouldn’t kidnap my daughter.”

“I don’t know what that is.” She says back bluntly. Right, alien.

“It’s like… a person you take under your wing to watch and look after as they grow up. And you pay for their fieldtrips and stuff like that.” You try to explain, unsure if you’re sounding too human for her to understand.

“What, so you’re like her custodian?” She laughs, seemingly understanding what you’re getting at, you think.

“Maybe?” You shrug. “Is that weird?”

“I don’t suppose so.” She puts your worries at ease. “My Lusus wasn’t the same species as me, so a Scalebeast being raised by an alien isn’t the strangest thing I’ve heard of. And anyways, I wasn’t the most attentive of Jades, so I don’t think I can comment about how fit of a custodian you’d make.” You aren’t really sure what that’s supposed to mean, but you think it was a compliment?

“But still, you don’t think getting a consort from each Land is a good idea?” You pull the conversation back. “It’s not like we’d just kidnap them off the street. We’d have to have a bit of tact with befriending them, sure, but think about it. A fast-pass to anywhere in a Consort’s Land? Plus travel-companions for Gretel and George, too. How would you like that, Gret? A few more friends to hang out with while we move around.”

“Actually…” Gretel says through a forced smile, the way you do when you’re breaking the news to someone hopelessly oblivious. “I can only open a portal back to my home village, not just anywhere in the Land.”

“Oh.” You feel a bit of wind leave your sail.

“And as nice as some more people to talk to would be…” She continues with the bad-news tone. “Not all inhabitants of the Incipisphere get along as well as George and I do. And George sleeps all the time, so I’m not even sure if I like him or not.”

“Ooh…” You deflate even further.

“She’s right, you know.” Dallra piles on. “I’ve seen some of these guys go at each other. They’re some vicious little creatures when they get serious.” You guess consort-on-consort violence never really crossed your mind. You never really saw it with the Lands in your own session, but then again, you never really saw consorts interact with anyone outside their own Land either. Your Sand-Gators mainly crawled around the dunes of your planet, contend with the simple things in life, like the warm sun on their back, or a juicy grub they got for half-off.

“Well…” You sigh, reaching the bottom of the steps to see the stone gateway statue tucked between the base of the two stairwells leading down. “It was a nice thought, I guess.” Arriving at your destination, Gretel scampers down off your shoulder, stopping just before the Gateway. You look around the foyer, feeling something is off about the room. There aren’t any Snake consorts. Wonder where they all ran off to.

“Before we activate this bad boy,” Dallra calls, stopping Gretel before she can turn the portal on. “do you think you could tell me where your village is?”

“Why’s that?” Gretel queries, slowly rising up onto her hind legs.

“Just so we don’t end up on the other side of the planet from the person we’re after.” She explains to her. “It could be a shorter journey to take a roundabout way depending on where your village is.”

“Oh, okay, it’s… um…” She looks down at the ground with a confused look on her face, like she can’t quite think of an answer.

“Gretel? You alright?” You lightly place a hand on the top of her head.

“I’m not sure what my village’s name is.” She finally admits, looking up at you as if she’s seeing if you might know. “I always just called it ‘my village’.” Makes sense for a Consort settlement to be without a name. Regardless of how smart the consorts are in the Arena, the simplistic nature of their role in Sburb would keep the finer details of their world relatively straightforward… Wait, how do you know that? Normally when you go off on mental tangents, it’s just you babbling nonsense to yourself, but it feels like what you just thought is true, except… you’ve never researched Sburb’s game mechanics before, so where the hell did that bit of insight come from?

“That’s alright.” Dallra tries to cheer her up, pulling you out of your almost trance-like-pause. “I got a good look at your Land while I was searching through it, so most of its landmarks are still fresh in my mind. Just describe home best you can and I’ll see if I can find it. Are there any mountain ranges near it? Any notable buildings?”

“Yes!” She exclaims, noticeably happy she can make up for not knowing the town’s name. “It’s nestled in the valley of three huge hills, with a cabin on the top of the northernmost one. The path into town leads in from the south west, and ends at town hall, a big stone fortress at the center of the village.”

“Hmm.” Dallra hums. She crouches down before Gretel, placing two of her fingers against her temple and shutting her eyes. “… Your village, it’s surrounded by large wooden palisades, yes? With a smithing shop near the gates at the entrance?”

“That’s it!” Gretel cheers as the two of them closely smile at one another, clasping hands in celebration.

“What’s it looking like, then?” You ask Dallra. “Is her town closer?”

“Off the cuff?” Dallra glances up at you. “Maybe… two days. Day and a half, if we put a move on.”

“Perfect!” You practically gasp. You were only expecting to shave a day off the week long planet hopping journey you were looking at, but only two days? If you were a Hope player, you’d be thanking all the serendipitous gods that may or may not be.

“Is that good?” Gretel asks, her tail swaying back and forth hearing the excitement in your voice.

“Of course, kiddo! This is great! Didn’t I tell you we’d get nowhere without you?” You praise your daughter, playfully pinching her cheek, evoking a giggle from the little girl. “How about we get this portal up and running, huh?” With your go ahead, Gretel steps up to the statue and places her little gecko hand upon the slab the whole thing rests upon. With her touch, small cracks of white start to peer through the stone of the statue, with pieces falling off here and there. Dallra leans in closer towards the emerging portal. Kinda weird, since she can see as close as she wants with her sight omnifold. Maybe it’s an old habit back from when she just had plain old sight 1-fold.

“How peculiar.” She mutters to herself, tapping a metal finger against her chin. “Something’s triggered a desolidification of the structural make-up of the gateway, almost visually identical to a sublimation change in matter, but there’s no way that could happen to stone under such nominal conditions. There must be some form of rapid decalcification at play, transforming the stone into the stabilized Gateway energy… Maybe some sort of stimulation of the statue’s structure on a subatomic level, or advanced from of matter-to-energy transmutation.”

“What does it mean?” You ask her, hoping she could put it in a way that’d make sense to you.

“Iunno.” Dallra unceremoniously shrugs. She straightens back upright, suddenly uninterested with how the gateway works. “Seems safe enough.”

“O…kay…” You try to believe her assurances, but all the science things she may or may not have just made up on the spot has you a little concerned about what this thing is.

“Hey, what’s the deal, are we going?” Haugrr obnoxiously yells, peeking out from the upper half of the staircase you’re next to. Before you can answer, everyone’s already poured down the stairs and into the lobby to marvel at the newly illuminated statute. Ragnaa in particular closely examines the gateway, muttering to herself as she shifts her attention to different sections of the portal. You guess this thing must be some sort of major unknown incipisphere magic if all the Seers are drooling over it.

“Everyone’s packed up and ready to go.” Creed reports to you as he joins the group at the portal. “I made sure we didn’t leave much of a trace behind. I doubt we’ll have anyone tracking us, since we’re taking a backdoor off-planet, but you never know who’s got what up their sleeves.”

“Good, good…” You nod, agreeing with his caution. After that last attack, having a hard barrier between you and anyone who might be after your hide is comforting. “Let’s not linger, then. Alright, everyone,” You turn to the rest of the group, who’ve gathered around you to listen. “Last call, you got anything left to do on Lofac, speak up now.”

“Uh, someone was supposed to do something about my arm, sooo…“ Ryder says as he steps forward, slightly waves around his broken arm in the sling made from Creed’s hood. “Can that be a thing that fucking happens today, please?”

“Oh, right, uh… Sara?” You turn to her. “Can you…?” You jumble your hands slightly, implying she work her mojo. She just stares back at you.

“I can’t really do anything about that.” She plainly states. “The healing from my wind only really affects someone’s insides. Y’know, like stamina and breath capacity, slight internal damage, at most. Broken bones are out of my jurisdiction.”

“Well what the hell?!” Ryder’s voice cracks as he tries to sound tough. “Am I just supposed to walk around with this damn thing?” He gestures to the tube sock sling Creed had made him.

“Hm?” Esspin peers over his shoulder, looking down at his arm. “Broken grabbershaft, eh? Don’t fret, friend. I know just what the Wellness Mender calls for.” With her hands on her hips, Esspin scans the room, before seemingly finding what she was looking for and making her way to a small lounge she’d spotted off in the corner of the room. “Here we are.” She chimes, kneeling down by a futon, feeling underneath the cushioning.

“What’s she doing?” Leah asks as Esspin rips two support boards out from beneath the futon. With a pep in her step, she walks back over to Ryder and begins to carefully untie his sling, wood planks held under arm.

“I doubt I could count the amount of times someone broke a calciumunit back in my brood.” Esspin fondly chuckles to herself as she carefully removes Ryder’s arm from the hood. She quietly looks over the injury, trying to twist the arm around as little as possible. Her expression sours a moment before brightening back up again. “Most times, they’d heal on their own, but you had to take meticulous care to make sure everything’s aligned properly when it did. Otherwise a drone might mistake you for a mutant when it sees you've got a grabber on Backwards-!” In one quick maneuver, Esspin’s firmly slapped Ryder across the face with the palm of her hand. While he’s too stunned to react, she’s already gotten hold of his arm, jerking it in a quick and concise rotating motion.

“Gahah!” Ryder yelps in pain. His knees wobble and he’s about to collapse when Esspin grabs him by the shoulder, slowly lowering him down to the ground with a quiet ‘shh’.

“Hey!” Leah exclaims, marching up to the scene, clearly outraged by the abuse of her friend.

“Sorry, sorry.” Esspin holds her hands up to show she didn’t mean any harm. “His grabberstaff wasn’t set properly. I just needed to readjust it before it had a chance to heal.”

“Yeah, well… w-what was the slap about, then?” Leah sounds a bit confound, having her quarrel so suddenly invalidated. Like she’s trying to find a place to insert the anger she’s got so she doesn’t seem like the unreasonable one in the situation.

“A distraction…?” Esspin explains like it was obvious. “So the initial pain of resetting wasn’t as intense.”

“Hm.” Leah grumbles in frustration, quickly kneeling down by her friend’s side. “How you doing, Ryder? You alright?”

“I’m Fine!” He growls through clenched teeth, sounding like he’s annoyed by her checking on him.

While they’re busy with that awkward interaction, Esspin quickly tears Creed’s old hood into ribbons. With the pieces, she begins to bandage the lacerated point in Ryder’s arm, tightly wrapping it and evoking a wince from him. With that done, she places the wood planks from the futon on either side of his arm, tying them together with what remains of Creed’s hood to form a splint.

“Alright, just try not to move it around all too often, and you should be strong as a drone in no time!” Esspin exclaims, standing back up again. Leah cautiously helps Ryder up, trying not to be too overbearing on his apparently fragile sense of independence.

“That it? Are we good to go now?” You address the room again, hoping that’s the last interruption. Everyone looks at each other, seeing if anyone else has something to say, but for the most part, they all stay quiet. “Good, now clasp hands. Even if we’re going to the same village, I don’t want us splitting up.”

The group does as you instruct, forming a line behind you. You look down at Gretel, who’s waiting patiently for you at the Gateway. She holds out her hand for you expectantly, and you take it with a smile. From your other side, you feel a sudden chill grip you. Looking back, you see Dallra’s taken you by the hand with her robo-arm, her prosthetic cool to the touch. For some reason, looking at her fills you with a great sadness, like what you felt seeing that frog die back on LOPAW.

“You alright?” She asks you, bringing your attention back to the moment.

“Y-… yeah.” You stutter as the two of you look at one another. “The air’s just gotten a little stale here.”

“Well then, how about we scram?” She quietly smirks. You nod, turning back to Gretel.

“Take us away, kiddo.” You tell her.

As she places her hand against the portal, you feel that familiar sensation of being spirited off somewhere far, far away. About time, if you say so. It feels like an eternity you've been on this damn planet.

 

Jason, Leave LOFAC.

Chapter 32: > A Crypt Fit for a Maid

Your eyes open, and you’re greeted with… nothing. The landscape you’ve arrived in is completely barren. Hills like dead elephants paint your immediate surroundings, with a few mountain ranges just peaking over them off in the distance. The ground here is hard, and covered in dark, shriveled grass. You notice a dark grey path beneath your feet, leading up to a fort about thirty yards off to your right.

“We’re here!” Gretel exclaims, jumping up and down while still holding your hand. You release the girl, allowing her to scamper about in excitement. She inevitably hurries back to you after lapping the group a few times, scurrying up to her usual perch on your shoulders. “It’s so good to be home!”

Looking up at her, you see that wide Gecko smile of hers as she beholds the settlement, the excitement in her eyes palpable. Seems she’s just about bursting at the seams to return. You smile, happy to see her so excited. The moment quickly passes, however, as a feeling soon creeps up on you. It’s hard to describe it exactly, but seeing Gretel so happy to be here reminds you of something that you’ve more than likely been ignoring up until now. The fact that a Consort’s Land is where they belong. Their true home. Pretty soon, you’re not going to be in the Arena, hopefully because your plan succeeds, but regardless, that eventuality is getting closer and closer by the second. Say you do succeed. What then? Would you take Gretel with you? Would it be right to take her away from a place where she belongs? You love her, and you’re sure she loves you too, but maybe… maybe that’s only because you’ve interjected yourself into her life… You said it before, she’s brilliant, but she’s still a consort. A facet of reality meant to facilitate players like you so they can better coordinate the propagation of another universe. They’re helpers. Who’s to say she isn’t genetically predisposed to bend to your expectations of her? She could’ve subconsciously picked up on your paternal feelings towards her, and started acting more daughter-like towards you as a result. You yourself were genetically designed to fulfill a role, why wouldn’t she be as well?

S o m e t h i n g i s w r o n g . W h y d o e s y o u r h e a d h u r t ?

W h y i s i t G o n e ?

“Uh, Jason?” Dallra calls to you, yet again breaking you out of another deep mental tangent. You’ve been losing yourself in thought rather often lately. You aren’t sure if you should be concerned about that or not.

“Yeah?” You ask, looking over at her. The two of you stare at one another for a brief moment. Realizing that you’re waiting for her to continue, she eventually raises her forearm up for you to see, showing you that you’re still gripping her hand. “Oh! Sorry.” You quickly let her go, trying to hide the redness in your face. She warmly chuckles at your embarrassment.

“Geez, what a shit hole…” Haugrr mutters to Ryder under his breath, causing him to quietly snicker.

“Stow it.” You order, shooting both of them a dirty look. “We’ve still got a lot of ground between us and the Mage.”

“We’re not… going into town first?” Gretel bashfully asks, peering over your shoulder.

“A-, wh-…” You’re at a loss for what to say. Somehow it never occurred to you that Gretel would actually want to stop by her town while you were in the neighborhood. Probably because you’re a dumbass. You want to tell her that you’re on a schedule, and there’s just no time for a pit stop so soon after your last break. You want to say that, but she’s currently giving you the puppy-dog-lizard eyes. “O-of course we are!” You assure her. “We’re not just going to come here and not visit.”

“Whaat?” Haugrr groans in unsurprised disappointment.

“We’re stopping?” Sara perks up, hoping to get another rest in.

“N-no, we’ve still… gotta search the town!” You make up off the cuff, trying not to seem like you aren’t taking your own schedule seriously. You totally aren’t, but you can’t have all these schmucks not taking it seriously either, this is just a one time this for your daughter.

“Search it for what?” Frank asks with a tilt of his head.

“Information.” You bluff. “This place apparently has a lot of secrets squirreled away. All types of potentially precious info that could be important to the mission.”

“This is musclebeast shit.” Haugrr scoffs, taking the gravel path towards the village. At least he’s following directions, regardless of how bitter he’s being about it.

“Information is important, I suppose.” Esspin sighs, following after him with the rest of the group.

“What the fuck do consorts know anyways?” Ryder bores rather ignorantly. Shot in the dark, but that mindset probably has something to do with how he ended up in the Arena. You hurry after them, Dallra and Gretel by your side.

“You sure about this?” Dallra asks you, clearly understanding the nature of this pitstop.

“Yeah, I know, not the best use of time, but… what’s the harm?” You ask back. “We were looking at a week-long journey just to get planet-side. As far as I’m concerned, we’re already waay ahead of schedule. One leisurely stop isn’t gonna make or break our mission.”

“Hm.” Dallra purses her lips, as if to say it’s not her place to disagree. You try not to let it get to you. “So long as you’re sure.”

As your group approaches the giant wooden walls of the town, you’re stopped by the sudden appearance of several heavily armed Consorts. Around six grey Geckos wielding disproportionately large spears appear at the front of the gate, with four more appearing in the lookout roosts with bows aimed your way, arrows already notched and pulled back. They’re all wearing armor or sorts, with a main focus on covering their faces and upper bodies. From metal helmets and face masks to clavicle guards and half-plates, these are some decked-out lizards! The metal their armor is made from, however, appears very crude, with heavy scuff marks up around the edges and dents all about the place.

“Halt!” The one with the roughest looking set of armor shouts to you. “What’s your business here?” He sounds rather gruff for a Consort. Guess he’s the chief of this little outfit.

“It’s okay! It’s okay!” Gretel announces, running to the front of the group and holding her hands out. “They’re with me! They just want to stop in town for a brief while!”

“Wait a tick... Cap, I know this one.” The one to the left of the leader announces.

“Private?” The leader glances back at him.

“Sir, I believe this is the one who left the village some weeks ago.” He elaborates.

“Is that so?” The leader looks back, slowly lowering his defenses as Gretel approaches. “Horrors haven’t made a meal out of you yet, eh wonder child?”

“No sir.” She proudly declares.

“Good.” He knocks the end of his spear against the ground, emphasizing his statement. “That much closer to the bastards starving, then. Now, about this riffraff you’ve brought with you.”

“They won’t stay long, sir.” She explains. “They’re meeting a friend a few towns away, and were hoping to stop here for a little while before making the journey.”

“Hmm.” The leader pauses, thinking over whether to let you in or not. “Well, a friend of a villager is a friend of the village, I suppose. Tell your lot to come in, ‘for their scent attracts any Horrors nearby.” With his say so, the other guards disengage, walking back to their post just inside of the gates. Gretel turns back to wave you in.

“Alright, everyone,” You turn to the group before they can move. “We aren’t gonna be here long, so try to get as much info as you can before we leave.”

“What are we looking for?” Creed asks, completely blindsiding you with the simplest of questions.

“Yeah, what are we looking for, Jason?” Haugrr piles on.

“Uh, well…” You ponder in front of everyone. “Anything you think is important. Places we should be cautious of in the Land, any possible short cuts, players who might’ve passed through town recently. This place is messing with Dallra’s vision, so we might not be able to rely on it if things go sideways. We need information that could help us get our footing in this place.” You think that’s a reasonable enough explanation.

“And how are we even supposed to find this information that so fucking important to the mission.” Haugrr continues to pester.

“I don’t know, skim an important looking book, talk to some geckos or something.” You begin walking to catch up with Gretel before any more questions can be asked, firmly dodge your douchebag teammate’s malicious attempt to undermine your decision as a leader. “Turn a stone or two over, how else are you supposed to uncover secrets? This place is chocked full of them. Start poking around, you’re bound to find something! Fan out and meet back here in two hours!”

By the time you had finished talking, you’d gotten so far away you had to yell for them to hear you. You can tell Haugrr’s still trying to protest, but you’re long gone by then. Turning your attention away from the group, you find that you’ve lost track of Gretel. Uh oh… how the hell’d you manage that? Sure, every villager here has an uncanny resemblance to her, but she’s got a backpack on, for christ’s sake! A discernible piece of clothing. You quickly scurry about the town, looking for where she might’ve gone, but she’s vanished without a trace. Oh god, this could be bad. How could you lose your own kid? Quick! Be someone else to avoid embarrassing yourself any further.

 

***

 

Your entire weight slams forward as the ship arrives at dock, throwing you spiraling into a spare hammock. Haddock appears at the top of the stairs just as you manage to untangle yourself from the damn piece of fabric.

“We be at port, lass!” He bellows with joy to you. “Join me top side, fer’ the thick of the storm catches our tail!” Hurrying after him, you’re nearly blown off your feet again, leaving the safety of belowdeck. You’re far enough from the storm to be out of the rain, but the wind’s really picking up for some reason. You grab a support beam to support yourself, fulfilling said beam’s purpose for being created in the first place. Looking up, you notice that the pyramid is much larger than you’d originally thought when looking at it from off in the distance, needing to angle your head back to see the very top of it. It’s surprising how something this big could be build on an island as small as the one you’re on, isolated out in the middle of the ocean.

“Wow…” You mutter to yourself.

“Quit yer’ gawkin’ n’ start a walkin’ lass.” Haddock orders, making his way over to the plank leading off the boat. You quickly follow, trailing just behind him, hunching slightly to hear him over the wind. Stepping off the ship, you awkwardly stumble about, too accustomed to the thrashing of the sea that solid land is throwing off your equilibrium. Haddock, on the other hand, walks with the swagger only a captain could have. The rest of the crew frantically tie the ship down and unload cargo, preparing for the storm to hit. Looking around the area, you notice there’s another ship docked on the east side of the island. Their flag has the silhouette of an entire mongoose printed on it, as opposed to just the teeth on your ship’s flag.

“Who’re they?” You ask Haddock.

“Nother crew.” He grunts, not looking back. “We’d a kick em outta dock, normally, but the bellyachers said they needed to stop fer repairs. They’ll be on their way soon enough, iffin' they know what’s best fer ‘em.” You nod, keeping an eye on the rival crew. As you peer at them, you notice a majority of their workers have stopped to watch two furry boys fiddle with something wrapped in cloth. There’s a ceremonial feeling to their stillness as the storm rages in the background of their gathering. The Mongoose who appears to be the captain of the crew has his hat off, held against his chest.

“What are they doing?” You inquire, trying to make out the shiny trinket they’ve begun to tuck into the cloth.

“Burial.” Haddock solemnly answers, still not looking back.

“Burial?”

“Dead sailor, swept up by the storm. Drowned, likely.” There’s a sort of rasp in his voice, making it clear that he understands what it’s like to lose a crewman. “Seems they fished out his body, and are plannin’ on a burial.”

“Why are they doing it now?” He glances back at you, as if you said something stupid. “I mean, aren’t they gonna be rushed to dig with the storm coming?”

“What are ye, some sort of scale-scrubber?” He sneers with a grumpy grizzledness. “Don’t put our dead in da dirt, round here. Nothin’ mer disgraceful than a sailor becoming worm food.”

“Then… what do you do?” You inquire, a tad bit hesitant.

“Sailor comes from the sea, fittin’ they return to the sea.” He grunts, looking forward again. “They’ll take him out on the water, wrap one’a his prized treasures in his bindings, and cast him into the depths.”

“Why with their treasure?” Haddock’s irritated aura seems to mellow as your questions continue, seeing you’ve got a genuine curiosity about his culture and not just landlubber ignorance. “I thought you guys were pirates, wouldn't you plunder their hoard or something?”

“We do, but as the living are entitled to all they may take, the dead are entitled to their sentimentalities. Only their most coveted treasure is sent with them, to a place no scalawag could make claim.” He explains, taking a glance at the rival crew as they load the body aboard.

“Keep is clean, sir.” One of the furry boys reports to Haddock as the two of you reach the entrance of the pyramid. “No vagabonds or squatters inside.”

“Good, good.” Haddock smiles, happily scratching his chin with a gleeful joy. “Nothing like a secure stronghold for a warm welcome. Tell the boys to finish quick and head inside. I’ll be in me quarters.”

“Aye aye, capitan.” He salutes before scurrying off.

“Come, lass.” Haddock calls for you. “I’ll show you where to hang coat.” You do what you’ve been doing for the past several hours and follow Haddock’s instructions, following the small captain down the dark corridors, lit only by the occasional torch sconce.

“It’s a little cramped in here, isn’t it?” You vocalize, noticing how low the ceilings are, just a foot or so above your head.

“Tis, iffin' yer a giant like yerself.” Haddock points out the size difference between you. That’s fair, you suppose. Not like this place was designed for you. After countless turns in this labyrinth, the two of you eventually find your way to a small room, with only a bed and a desk inside. “Alright, here ye are, lass. Make yerself comfortable, we’ll be bunkerin’ down fer a spell n’ a half by the look-a-things.”

“Hm… cozy.” You mumble, looking over the room.

“Someone’ll come fer ya when storm breaks.” Haddock informs you, turning back to head down the hall while working out a knot from his shoulder. “And laboratories are down the corridor and te the left.” He adds on, closing the door with the back of his heel.

Now alone, and on solid ground, you allow yourself to relax, lying down on the bed. You haven’t had a chance to rest since… since you were back on LOSAD. Even then, you didn’t really get a full night’s sleep. It’s hard to remember why, though. You were talking to Jason and then… your head started to hurt, and it felt like you were burning up. Just thinking about it now has your head thumping, like your brain is trying to break its way out of your skullbone. Maybe you’re just anxious about how you left everyone back on LOFAC. Huh, that whole fiasco seemed to have slipped your mind somehow. It was so stupid of you to run off like that! What the hell were you even thinking? Why didn’t you stay to fight, instead of absconding like a chicken? That isn’t like you!… at least, it shouldn’t be… There was a time when you wouldn’t have run, wasn’t there? Guess those times have passed, now. If they even existed at all. You can’t remember. And now you’re in over your head with this mess, no idea how to get back to the others, and no one to help you but a crew of furry sailors. You miss the group. Hopefully everyone’s safe, or doing alright at least. Maybe… maybe if you fall asleep… maybe when you wake up, everything’ll be okay again. You think you’ll do that. This pillow is a bit firm though. You’ll have to make due.

 

***

 

It’s cold where you are. You don’t know where it is you’ve ended up, but you know that it’s cold. You try to open your eyes, but they won’t budge. Glued in place by some instinctual failsafe to keep you from realizing yourself beyond the subconscious. That same instinct has deemed wherever you are too horrific for your fragile mind to behold. That, or just sleep paralysis. Who knows? Certainly not you, you can’t even open your eyes to see what’s happening. You do, however, hear something. There’s a quiet whispering coming from off in the distance. It’s faint, but just clear enough for you to her what they’re saying.

“Take it back…” It hisses with a vile hatred lining its voice. It… sounds familiar. You’ve heard this voice before. But where? Who even are you right now?

“H-hello?” You manage to ask through jittering teeth.

“Take… it… back!” It continues to wraith, slowly growing louder and louder. As the voice seems to approach, the immediate area chills, feeling like frostbite forming on your skin. Wait, who’s skin? Who the hell are you?

“W-w-w-w-what-t-t is-s ha-ha-ha-happening.” You stammer, slowly losing control of your body to the dropping temperatures. But wait, do you even have a body? You can’t feel anything. There is no flesh, there are no bones. You exist a vague amalgamation of stardust and empty space. A form once solid and self-assured, now pulled apart, its foundation debunked. Reality and all others that sought to make claim on your being has rebuked you till you’ve been rendered nothing but dust in the breeze, a simple afterthought lost in the vast ocean of the universe. Out from the void beyond your sense, you’re grabbed at where your head used to be, by a hand gripping the particles that might once have been your hair.

“Take! IT! BACK!“ Its breath pours onto your face, colder than the vacuous clutches of the dark between unmade stars. It pierces past the space that was your eyes, into the space that is your mind, halting the cerebral jitters in their arcs and compressing the dust there into machines of proper thought. And they ask one thing;

“Who Am I?”

 

***

 

A very sudden, and very loud -slam- rouses you from your sleep. Being thrown out from the somber grips of the unconscious world, it takes a moment for you to remember who you are. You’re Mia, and… you’re in a pirate stronghold right now. A kind Captain had given you safe shelter after hitting you on the head with his treasure chest. You’d fallen asleep after taking a moment to rest, overcome by the exhaustion of the past few days.

Looking around the room, you find that the torch illuminating the chamber has gone out, with the only light in the room coming from outside the hallway, through the now open door of the room. Didn’t Haddock shut that when he left?

You cautiously rise from the bed, waiting for something else to happen. When nothing does, you quickly move across the room to the threshold, quietly closing the door and lingering before it, thinking about what could’ve moved the oaken-slab to begin with. Did a gust of wind blow it open? That would explain why the torch is out, but you’re a little too deep in the pyramid for the wind to reach here, aren’t you? Maybe one of the crew came to check on you and forgot to close it.

“You.” Someone says from behind. You whip around, lightly pressing your back against the door to scan the room. It’s dark, but you see the outline of someone sitting in the chair by the dest.

“W-w-who are you?!” You manage to say, finding it difficult to speak over the thrashing in your chest. To answer your question, out from the dark descends five thin wires, glowing a dark pink and revealing the intruder. Sitting before you, soaked to the bone, is the Thief of Heart. The one who… who… Before you can remember, you’re already halfway turned around, hand on the door handle. Whatever hope you had of absconding from this rival-player is dashed by the feeling of her wires wrapping around your throat.

“Ah, ah, ah.” She tisks, pulling her finger back and reeling you away from your escape. “Behave yourself and mayb-“

“H-help!” You call out before she can finish her threat. “Hel-“

“Keep your voice down!” She growls, tighten the wires around your throat as the hue of the threads beginning to darken to a tint of purple. “Anyone through or out that door loses their head. So be a good little human, and Sit. Down.” With a painful jerk, you’re flung away from the door, spinning towards the center of the room to face the bed again. On the bright side, if there is any in this situation, the wires she had around your neck let go. They retract back to her and hang idly by her side as she watches to see what you’ll do.

Feeling the sudden pressure of not only yours, but all the lives of those in this pyramid, you slowly creep towards the bed, scared if she’ll attack you again. As you reach the other side of the room, you look back to the Thief to see if she’s grown agitated. She simply sits there, leaned back in her chair, quietly glaring at you. Seeing no other option to take, you sit back down on the bed and look to the Thief, waiting for more instructions. She doesn’t say anything, just stares,  still as a statue. The only sound in the room comes from the tapping of water droplets as they fall off of her. She must’ve been out in the storm recently.

“W-what are you going to do?” You can’t help the tremble in your voice as you start to remember your last interaction with her, what she did to you.

“Relax, you wriggler.” She sneers, finally breaking her silence. “If I wanted you dead, you never would’ve woken up.”

“…Why are you here?” You ask, feeling somewhat assured knowing she’s not immediately going to kill you. Her eyes narrow, completely shattering the momentary bout of safety you felt. After a moment, she breaks her gaze from you, looking down to her wires as she wags them back and forth, letting her hand hang idly as she rests her elbow on the desk behind her.

“You fed me something fowl.” Her eyes dart back to you. “And I can’t get the taste out of my mouth.”

“What?” You squeak.

“Tf, pan-rusted wench.” She mutters to herself, sounding disgusted. “The emotions I took from you, you nit. Like taking a bite out of pure ash.”

“Uh… s-sorry!” You tell her, finally understanding what she’s getting at. You didn’t think you had such a bad taste. How do you even fix something like that? Is that something you can even change? While you’re busy thinking of ways you could avoid this in the future, the Thief gives you a confused, yet still slightly annoyed glare. Guess that response wasn’t what she was looking for, but you can’t think of any other reason she’d come all this way to find you other than for an apology. “Ah! I mean, I’m not… sorry?” She rolls her eyes, seeing you’re now taking shots in the dark.

“I’m giving it back, you fucking moron.” She clarifies. You would be happy, if you weren’t, like, 100% sure this was some sort of trick.

“…Why?” You hesitantly ask, prompting the Thief to shoot up from where she’s sat, pushing the chair over with a sharp crash and causing you to jump.

“Why? WHY?!” She starts to shout, causing you to recoil back. “Because your emotions are a fucking disease, is why! They’re like a parasite, latched onto my insides and refusing to get out no matter how hard I pull…!” Her fists clench and begin to tremble. There’s a vague familiarity to the feeling she’s emanating. Like a half-forgotten thought out of a far-flung dream. “So you…” She’s speaking through gritted teeth. “are going… to take. It. BACK!” The entire room is engulfed with a purple glow as her wires ignite with a violet flame. “Ah! Gah, fuck!” She exclaims, seeing her wires combust without warning. Judging by how she painfully shakes her hand trying to put them out, it seems turning her construct-thingies into kindling wasn’t intentional.

“A-are you alright?” You ask her, instinctively getting up from the bed to approach. You quickly back off, however, seeing the death-glare she’s shooting you as she clutches her hand. Is she growling at you?

“Like a parasite,” She repeats, sounding begrudgingly calmer as she’s reminded of what happens if she gets overheated. “these… I hesitate to even call them emotions, more like primal impulses, they’re a constant drain on my system. It’s exhausting being this ffffffucking ANGry all the time! Not to mention your… ♠inclinations♠ towards that fucking Page.”

“Jason?” You’re a little lost on what she’s implying.

“Hm.” She dismissively grunts. Is… is she blushing? It’s hard to tell with how dim the room is, but her face seems noticeably darker blue than it just was.

“W-well if it’s so much of a burden, why did you bother keeping it until now?” There’s a faint bit of snark riding your voice. And who can blame you? She basically just said your emotional caliber was a constant nuisance. It’s not like you asked her to take them or something, why the hell is she complaining about it to you?! …Huh. It felt like your temper was rising just then. It feels… natural. “Why not just dump my emotions as soon as you were too good for them?”

“Tff.” She scoff at your rising confidence. “Believe me, you miserable wretch, if I could’ve saved myself the trip here, I would’ve. I told you, it’s latched onto my insides. I’ve tried to dispel it countless times, to rip it out of myself kicking and screaming, but every time I pull, it practically sears my soul, only to burrow deeper within my resonancekeep once I give up. This pestilence has practically been intertwined with my own essence at this point!”

“How do you expect to return it, then?” You half expected the question to anger her, but she stays relatively calm.

“I figure… if it’s got somewhere familiar to burrow into, there’s a chance it’ll let its claws out of me and crawl back to you.” She explains her logic.

“O-okay.” You say, swallowing the nervousness building up within you. “What do we do?”

“Hmm…” She grumbles to herself a moment, quickly tapping her foot as she thinks. “I’m not sure. Giving things back is kinda new to me.”

“Maybe if you just… do what you did, but in reverse?” You suggest, a little out of your depths. It’s hard to even remember how you used your own power, let alone guessing how other people’s powers work. “That could work, right? Like, that makes sense?” She finds pause while looking at you, seemingly trying to decide whether to insult you or not.

“Sure.” She says with a huff. “Can’t hurt to try. Not me, at least.”

“What?”

“Alright, let’s get started.” Before you can protest, she’s already in front of you, her open palm hovering before your chest.

“W-wait.” You stutter, backing up slightly. Instinctually, you bring a hand up to try and keep her away. Not that you could physically stop her, but she seems to back off anyway.

“Ugh.” She moans, rolling her eyes.

“How do I know I can trust you?” Hearing your concerns, the Thief narrows her eyes at you, like she can’t believe what you’re asking. “A-after you do this, I don’t know what’s going to happen, so how do I know you won’t try and steal my soul, o-o-or something?”

“Please.” She derides, almost laughing. “Like I’d ever want your infernal soul. I’ve had enough of that particular brand of fuckery, thank you.”

“Oh. O-okay…” You guess that was a little conceited of you. Your soul probably isn’t worth that much, anyways…

“Let’s do this then.” She orders, taking another step towards you.

“R-right.” You mumble, feeling a slight tremble in your legs.

Hovering her hand above your chest, the Thief let the air in her lungs slowly escape as she carefully lowers an open palm directly over your heart. Taking a sharp breath through her nose, you feel something unhinge, like a lock inside you has been pried opened. With whatever prep she needed now taken care of, the Thief pulls her hand away from you, taking a half step back. Despite the distance, you still feel a connection with her.

“We’re in uncharted waters now.” The Thief informs you. “So I advise you grit you teeth.”

With another breath, the Thief begins to tense up. It starts with her shoulder, suddenly lurching down like it’s trying to dislocate itself. You can see her teeth grinding as she does her best to withstand the pain. If this is what it’s doing to her… what is it going to do to you…? The trembling in your legs starts to get harder to manage. She begins to writhe, nearly folding in on herself by the time whatever this thing inside of her is reaches her arm. The muscles in her bicep start to flex, exuding an indisputable power within them. The mass in her forearm expands beyond what should physically be possible and by the time the veins along her arm start to unnaturally bulge from her flesh, she’s begun to quietly whimper. This power finally settles in the palm of her casting hand, causing her fingers to shake and curl inward. With her free hand, she reaches over, grabbing hold of her digits and prying them open, wincing as she does. With her hand kept unfurled, a small purple flame sparks from behind the webbing of her fingers. At the same time, the room begins to grow warmer.

With her palm seemingly cemented open, the Thief moves her spare hand to clutch her arm, holding it just below her elbow. Her eyes squint and cringe with pain as the flame grows bigger, extending out into the space between the two of you. The room’s starting to get uncomfortably hot now, feeling more like a sauna than the cool stone crypt it was just a moment ago. The trembling that was previously housed in your legs has worked its way up and around your whole body. It’s hard to keep your fear in check when the room is practically flooding with its presence. However, the fear is nothing compared to what comes next. It isn’t until the flame reaches the tip of the Thief’s fingers and enters your connection with her that you feel it, an inferno of pure hellfire erupts into you, piercing clean through you chest, like you’ve been harpooned by a ray divine and solar fury. The brief half-moment of shock on impact is quickly overcome by the Burning sensation that engulfs you. Your entire being, your entire world, everything the ever was and ever will be. It is all consumed by nothing but Fire. Your skin begins to bubble and blister as the tidal wave of heat blankets over you, penetrating deep down, cooking your muscle and scorching your bone.

“Stop! Stop!” You shriek, not even able to hear your own voice. You’d beg more, but you can’t seem to bring air into your body, either unable to physically lift your chest from the excruciating agony or for the fact that the air burns away as soon as it fills your lungs. You-, you-, y-you’ve got to get away. I-i-i-it doesn’t matter where, just away from here and this torment! You hold your arms out in a pointless attempt to shield yourself as you try to flee.

“Don’t even dream of it!” The Thief roars, shooting out her wires and anchoring them firmly in your chest. “You think I’d let you get away now?! Your sickness isn’t going back in me ever again! So take It BACK!”

With no chance of escape, all you can do is let the tears stream down your face as you helplessly weep, silently mouthing the words ‘Stop’ and ’Please’ to the uncaring Thief. Your eyes shrivel, your toes curl, the palms of your hands are carved open with your gripping nails, leaving your blood to pour to the floor like forsaken sacrament. A stillness comes over your body, as the torturous scorch breaching the interior of your skull, boiling your brain and evaporating any thoughts you had left. It’s too much… Darkness begins to enter into the sides of your vision, and you fall to your knees. This is it. This is death. You’ve felt this sensation once before. When you first ascended. When you first died.

 

***

 

You sit down with a huff. It’s official. You’ve lost your daughter. If your dad could see you now… he would probably slap you on the back and say ‘eh, it happens’. You can’t remember how many times that man lost you at the mall. On the bright side, if there’s one place you would’ve wanted to lose her, it would be in her own hometown. You watch idly as the geckos walk about their daily lives, keeping an eye out for any with a backpack on. Seems she’s tucked tail completely, as you haven’t spotted a single satchel on one of these guys.

Right now, you’re sitting on a crate, squared away under a small stone awning of a mason’s house, boredly kicking your legs back and forth. There seems to be a lot of places in town that shield the streets from the sky, you've noticed. Between that and the high security at the entrance of town, maybe attacks are rather common for this place. Dallra mentioned something about flying monstrosities, so maybe the public architecture doubles as impromptu shelters for those caught outside during an attack. Or maybe this house just had an awkward extension added onto it, who the hell knows! Certainly not You! God, you’re getting tired of these random bits of insight showing up in your brain out of nowhere!

“Looking for secrets, huh?” You hear as someone sits by your side. You glance over to see Dallra next to you, resting the side of her jaw on the knuckles of her bio-hand. She smiles exaggeratingly wide as soon as you notice her, showing off her gold toothy grin. Speak of the Devil… er, Troll.

“Ah-“ You begin to try and think of an excuse as to why you’re sitting on your ass after sending everyone on a fool’s errand, but for whatever reason, you lose all traction. “…yeah, I know.”

“So you waylaid plans you adamantly told us were time sensitive to… watch consort traffic?” She says leaning back against the house you’re both sat against, crossing her arms to intensely watch the geckos with you in a playfully sarcastic manner.

“The plan is time sensitive,” You try to reassure her. “but… this is her hometown.”

“The consort you’ve been looking after?” She cocks her head to gawk at you.

“Right. I figure we’re ahead of schedule by a good week, and we owe that to her, so…” You shrug, trying to find the words. “We could stop for an hour or two. Besides, I can’t say no to that face of hers.”

“You’re a good guardian.” Dallra lightly pats you on the head with her robo-arm.

“Thanks.” You passively accept the patronizing gesture.

“So where is she, anyways?” She glances around the square you’re in front of, looking for Gretel.

“She ran off ahead without telling me where she was going.” You admit, feeling a tad bit embarrassed.

“Hm.” Dallra leans back again, seemingly reevaluating her ‘good guardian’ declaration. “Well I’m sure she knows her way around the place.”

“Yeah… yeah…” You sigh. “You wouldn’t be able to see where she is, would you?”

“Sorry. Vision’s a bit spotty on this planet.” She lets you down gently. “If I take my focus off the Mage, I can’t guarantee I’ll find her again.”

“Bad luck.” You brood. “I was just hoping to go around the place with her. Listen to her recount the lore of her Land.”

“You know, I would sometimes sneak away from my lusus when I was younger every now and then.” She proposes, offering a new perspective to you. “Just to have a day on my own. It’s not unusual for someone young to want alone time. With how many people she’s been traveling with, I’m sure she’s been feeling a little claustrophobic the past few days. I’m sure she’ll tell you about that lore of her’s when she gets back.”

“…Thank you, Dallra.” You lightly smile, kick the dirt with hum-glum appreciation. A quiet moment passes when something crosses your mind. “Hey, you’ve talked about your lusus before, but I’ve got no idea what to picture when you bring them up.”

“Huh?” She looks at you, clearly confused at what you’re asking.

“When my human friends talk about their parents, I usually just imagine an older version of them.” You explain, reminding her of the cultural difference between you two. “But trolls are raised by a different species from your planet, right? So I’ve got no idea what they’d look like.”

“Oh.” She nods, realizing what you’re asking. “Well… her taxological classification was Pharus Noctiluca, but most people in the Caverns would’ve called her a Winged Cave-Scuttler. Specifically, she was a Bioluminescent Cave-Scuttler, she just so happened to fly. I’m not sure if any of that would mean anything to you, though. I used to call her a Sunshine Bug.”

“Sunshine bug?” You try to imagine what she’s describing.

“Yeah…” She reaffirms, bashfully twiddling with her hands. “I never saw it for myself, but according to the Jades who could stand the sunrise, the light her abdomen produced had a striking resemblance to the Star in our system.”

“I… think we had something like that on Earth.” You tell her, thinking about the fireflies that’d come out during summer nights when you were young. “Small cicadas that could light-up. Was she something like that?”

“I wouldn’t describe her as small…” She taps her chin thoughtfully. “She was pretty big for her breed, a little larger than a yellow public buggy.”

“A what?” Trolls have such weird names for things.

“Uh… a big metal, four wheeled vehicle that you could pay to take you places.” She explains. So a car. Her bug-mom was bigger than a car. That’s kinda horrifying.

“Huh…” You hum, trying to think of something to say about her bug-monster parent without sounding rude. “She sounds nice…”

“I didn’t get to see her very often once I had to take on the responsibilities of my caste, but…” Dallra smiles softly, looking down at her hands as they toy at a splinter of wood she broke off the crate. “She’s the one who taught me how to glow.” There’s a sadness to her voice. Guess she lost her parent too. Seems everyone has in the Arena. Except for Frank, strangely enough. Not that you would consider the woman he’s described to you as much of a parent.

“My Dad’s gone too.” You tell her, looking down as well. “He was, uh… human. Kinda looked like me, but taller, and… more rugged, I guess?” Her smile seems to perk up.

“I still can’t imagine what it’d be like to live with adults.” She laughs. “So your guardians are really biologically related to their fosterlings?”

“I don’t think they’re much of a fosterling if they’re biologically related.” You point out.

“Oh, you know what I mean.” She waves off your remark. “So like… a hive unit for you is a direct lineage?”

“Yeah. I-I mean, usually.” It’s hard remembering all the details about something as vague as family when explaining things to your alien friends. “Sometimes kids without parents would be adopted by other adults. I was actually adopted by my Dad, but we were still related, sorta. More like brothers than father and son, but that’s not really common for humans.”

“Your culture’s weird.” She jokingly jeers.

“Fuck you, your culture’s weird.” You jeer back. She lightly pushes you on the arm, starting to laugh. You join in. It’s weird, you don’t think you’ve actually laughed like this since you entered the Arena. It’s a gleeful feeling, one you can only have with a friend. Sharing this nice moment, you’re reminded of how you and… how you and Lexie would joke around. The light joy in your heart quickly shifts to grief, recalling those memories. You do your best to hide the pain the feeling evokes. No reason to dig up the past during what is a relatively nice moment in an otherwise unending sea of dismay, but… god, you miss her…

“Hey!” A familiarly chipper voice calls out. Looking up, you spot Gretel scampering across the street, making a B-line for you.

“He-hey!” You open your arms wide to extravagantly welcome back your daughter. “Look who’s here-“ You go to get up as she approached, however the young gecko has other plans, leaping off the ground on the approach and jumping directly into your midsection, quickly shoving you back down again. If she weighed much more than she does, she might’ve actually knocked the wind out of you. Luckily, she’s light as a feather. “Whoa-ho, easy, kiddo!”

“Where’d you go, Mr Jason?” She pouts, trying to wrap her small arms around your torso. “I thought you were coming with me.”

“Uh-, sorry sweetie. I got a little lost along the way.” You half admit to losing her.

“Bad luck.” She frowns, climbing off your lap and sitting next to you on the crate. “I thought you would’a liked a tour of the place.” She begins to kick her legs as they hang off the edge. Dallra muffles a snicker watching the two of you. What’s got her so giggly? “But we’re out of time, right?”

“Ju-… just about.” You pet her head as you deliver the news. You’d tell the others to go for another hour, but you’re not sure how much longer you could keep them busy. “I’m sure we’ll stop here again, what with you having suck a quick way to get us into town. We’ll do it then. Sound like a plan?”

“Okay!” She eagerly agrees, turning back to nod vigorously at you. You can’t help but smile.

“Great. Now let’s get a move on.” You announce, standing up from the crate, picking Gretel up with you as you place her on your shoulder. “Dallra, if you will?” You offer a hand out to help her up from her seat. She rolls her eyes trying not to laugh.

“Why, thank you.” She reaches out with her robo-arm, gracefully accepting your hand as she plays along with the formal tone. She also makes sure to grip your mitt just slightly firmer than necessary, reminding you where the two of you stand in ways of who’s helping who do what.

Walking through town, it isn’t long until you start meeting up with a few of the others. Creed, seemingly knowing your exact location, meets you down the block from where you were cooped up at, showing off a strange crystal sphere he’d found before shoving it back in his pocket. The triplets run into you about a block after that, each with a various number of tombs within their possession, undoubtedly scavenged last minute after goofing off in the town’s library for the last two hours. Your half group continues on, meeting the rest of your party at the gates, having already started reconvening themselves. Haugrr steps forward as he sees you approach, an apparent topic of discussion already on his mind.

“Hey, so we’ve been corralling all the info we could get, and we’ve figured out-“ He begins, seemingly taking your pointless fetch-quest seriously after grilling you about it beforehand.

“Good job, Haug,” You cut him off as you walk past. “but we can discuss everything on the road. We’ll have plenty of time as we walk.” You can hear him simmering behind you, sounding exceedingly disappointed in your complete disinterest with the results of the side mission you sent the group on. You don’t pay it much mind.

As you all gather your things, cataloguing the various clandestine items you discovered in the village and squaring them away in their proper inventory spaces, you turn to the bleak road ahead of you. Just as you’re just about to get on your way, a voice calls out from above.

“Hey! Wonder child!” You look up and see the Leader of the Guards, hanging out the front of the left watchtower overlooking the village’s entrance. “Watch yourself out there! No telling what sort of trouble a group that big’ll bring your way!”

“I will, sir!” Gretel yells back. “It was good seeing you!”

“Likewise!” He raises a mug he apparently had, cheering her as your group leaves.

“Was it nice visiting home?” Sara asks Gretel, catching up with you to walk side-by-side.

“Sure was!” She chimes back, leaning against your head.

“I’m so glad!” Sara tells her, a wide smile on her face.

With that, you’re off into the wilds of the vacuous world of LOHAN. Though somewhat relieved you're finally getting back on the road, something feels… off. Usually when you start a trek out of a safe haven like this, you have a gut feeling about the journey ahead. Be it good or bad, there's always that feeling. This time, you don’t really feel anything. At the moment, there’s a blankness occupying your mind, almost like the sensation you get ###### just before falling asleep.

While you contemplate what could be causing such an unusual disposition in you, a hand suddenly appears directly in front of your face, snapping to grab your attention. Surprised, you look over to see Creed.

“Hey, Boss. You alright?” He asks with a concerned look on his face.

“Y-yeah, yeah.” You frantically answer, startled by the sudden stimulus delivered directly to your ears. “Why?”

“You’ve had this dazed look on your face for, like, the past ten minutes.” He gently explains, sounding like he’s briefing someone who’d just woken up from a coma.

“What?” You look around to find you’re standing out in the middle of nowhere, Gretel’s village nowhere to be found. Wha-… what the hell happened?

“Boss.” Creed waves his hand in front of your face, trying to grab your attention again. “You’re not going all braindead again, are you?”

“No… no… sorry, just… a lot to think about, I guess.” You look around bewildered, unsure what happened. There’s a sudden panic when you realize Gretel is no longer on your shoulders. Your eyes dart around until you find her, nestled in Esspin’s hood, fast asleep. Good. “H-how-how long have we been walking… again?”

“About four hours now.” He frankly informs you.

“Right, right.” You try to play it off like you were just asking for a time check. “I haven’t been too talkative, have I?”

“Not really.” He looks at you strangely. “You’ve responded, y’know, when someone asks you something, but you haven’t spoken a word beyond that. You sure you’re alright?”

“I think this place is just messing with me.” You mutter.

“Not used to the void staring back, huh?” He assesses.

“You could say that.” You huff, taking stock of the new location you’ve found yourself in. Dreary fucking wasteland. Yep, just about the same as everywhere else on this planet. “…No one else has been zoning out, have they?”

“Not that I’ve noticed.” He crosses his arms as the two of you fall back from the group to talk privately. “So spill, what’re we dealing with here?”

“Wh-“ You glance over at him, seeing a skeptical look on his face. Guess he’s got you pinned. “…Not sure. Based on the thematic elements, I’m guessing we’re in a Void player’s planet. Maybe it’s something inherent to the Land, then. Like a… curse or something.”

“You seemed to have all your faculties when we were still in the village.” Creed notes. “It’s possible the more people in a given area, the harder it is for this thing to get a hold of you.”

“You think?” You ask, to which he shrugs. “Hopefully we have enough Mental Exhaust to ward the effect off then.”

“Exhaust?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Huh?”

“You called it Exhaust.” He says again.

“What, is that… not the right word?” You’re a little caught off guard by the sudden fixation.

“No, it is the right word. Brain activity will give off a certain level of exhaust, varying from person to person.” He explains. “But something like that would only manifest in the metasphere.”

“The what?” Now you’re really confused about this fixation.

“The Metasphere. A realm where all the unseen effects of our existence reside. A sort of etherial layer of reality placed right on top of our own.” He elaborates, a seeming wealth of knowledge on the subject. “That’s not the important part, though. What stands out to me is that you’re not only aware of the Exhaust our Minds give off, but that you also made the leap in logic that the mechanics of this Land can be circumvented using this Exhaust as a protective shield.”

“It was just a guess, dude.” You try to reason.

“No. It wasn’t.” He shoots you down rather quickly. “I know when someone is guessing. You spoke with certainty. Perhaps subconscious certainty, but certainty none-the-less.”

“I-I really don’t know what the point of this-“ You begin to deflect again.

“The point is you know more than you let on.” He cuts you off. “There’s something in that head of yours. Something no one else seems to notice. But I do. It affects the little things, like the subtext in how you talk. To someone who isn’t looking, it’d likely go over their head, but to me, it’s as obvious as a traffic light. One look at you and I can tell there’s a constant resifting in the lower parts of your mind. Maybe you’re unconscious to it, or maybe you’re trying to hide something, and your true self hasn't got the memo yet. I don’t trust either scenario.” He pauses a moment. “I agreed to help with your plan because nothing told me not to. This is something telling me not to.”

You’re stunned as to where all this is coming from. Creed seemed fine with you just a few hours ago, but now it’s like he’s trying to tie you to a murder all of a sudden. He’s a powerful mind player, so of course he’d be sensitive to all the small neurological inconsistencies you might have, but he seems to have taken a particular exception to the way you conduct yourself. Have you been thinking on the wrong wavelength or something? Or is there really something abnormal in your head like Creed seems to think there is? Before you have a chance to ponder this any longer, a sudden scream grabs your attention. Up ahead on the trail you’ve been walking is the rest of your group, all crowded around in a circle, looking down at something. You look back at Creed and the two of you silently agree to put the conversation on hold as you turn and run to catch up.

“What’s happening?” You ask as you both enter the circle. Looking down, you see Ragnaa on her knees, clutching her head with Leah kneeling down beside her, trying to calm the sudden episode. Seeing you’ve arrived, your Knight looks up to face you.

“She’s having another flash.” She tells you. Her flashes? When she sees…

“Oh no…” You mutter.

 

Jason, find out what Happened.

Chapter 33: > Frenzy in the Crash

You drop down next to your team’s Knight and begin to address Ragnaa’s malady, trying to figure out what’s causing her visions this time. All she can muster is incoherent groans and winces as bronze tears begin to stream down her face. Oh god, oh fuck.

“Okay, o-okay, Rag?” You gently hold her by the sides of her face, directing her attention to you. “Can you understand me? Hey, hey, common focus. Focus on me. Can you understand what I’m saying?” She calms down just enough to nod. “Good, okay, good. What’s happening? What do you see?” Her head bobs forward, the way it would when you’re trying to hold back vomit. “Okay, uh, g-g-give her some room.” You pull yourself back, pressing both hands against the cold gravel of LOHAN's ground to stabilize your balance. “Just breathe, alright? In, out, right? In and out. S-sara, get over here, she needs help.”

“Right.” Sara kneels down beside you, cool as can be. She places a hand on Ragnaa’s shoulder, and almost immediately the girl erupts with a gasp of relief.

“Good, good, okay.” You bounce slightly on the pads of your fingers. “Listen, Rag, is it her? Ragnaa, is it Mia?” Hearing this, Sara’s attention darts to you, focusing on what you said for a lingering moment before turning back to your troll friend.

“Iehh…” Ragnaa manages to sputter. “Uhh… ph…” She starts waving her hand around. “U… Up!” Using the last of her strength to point her finger to the sky, the poor Troll devolves into a coughing fit, over come by her vision.

With her unable to talk, you look to where she’s trying to point at. You don’t get it, there’s nothing there. The sky here is remarkably dark, but even with that withstanding, you don’t see any… any… thing… Wait… there is something in the sky. It’s hard to see, but there’s definitely something there, sparkling in the dead of night. Is… is it getting bigger?

 

***

 

There’s a crispness in your throat as you take your first breath. Everything is sore, and hot. The same feeling you get after a bad sunburn. Who are you right now? It… it feels like it’s been a while since you’ve been awake. You sit up to get your bearings. The room is dark, but you can make out the smoothly cut limestone walls, and a desk with a chair lying on the floor before it. Someone left the door open. Fuckin’ rude. This is… the room Haddock was letting you stay in. That’s right, you’re Mia Kruger, the Maid of Rage.

Getting up from the bed, which you now realize was a stone slab with a sack of hay for a pillow, you stretch out, your body popping and cracking like a motherfucker. Guess you haven’t been moving around all too much as of late. Your neck in particular cracks three times on just one flex. Oh, your God Tiers are purple again. So that’s pretty cool. White wasn’t really your style anyways.

With a quick dip into your strife deck, you call upon your polearm, Heed No Warning. A Board-Breakers™ Board Construct falls into your hands, and you snap it over your knee, giving you a hearty shot of dopamine. Nothing like a good board-snap to get your day going. In the construct’s place your favored weapon appears, a good heft to its weight. You throw the old girl on your shoulders, hanging your arms over its length as you stretch out. Time to get out of this crypt. Waltzing past the threshold, you enter into the labyrinth that makes up the interior of this place. You don’t remember the way Haddock took you, but it doesn’t take long for you to figure out the lay of the land here.

First exiting out of the pyramid and onto the beach of this island, you’re hit in the face with a powerful gust of wind. Agh! God damnit, your mouth was open! Now you’re got the taste of saltwater on your fucking tongue. As you smack your lips, trying to get the bitter flavor off your tastebuds, you notice that the skies have cleared. The water seems reasonably calm as well, yet the winds are still just about gale force. You pull your polearm off your nape and hold it like a staff to better your balance against the breeze.

“Aye, Lass! That you?” You look over to see Haddock and his crew of mongooses down by the dock, working on their ship. The storm took its toll on the whole harbor it seems, with broken boards and snapped ropes strewn about the entire region. Not to mention the enormous tear in their mainsail several of their men are trying to stitch back up.

“Haddock.” You call out to him, raising a hand to greet the seadog. “What’s up.” Showing the true leadership of a captain, Haddock shoves the chest he was carrying into the arms of his subordinate and barks a few orders to send them off.

“Quite the flashy number ya done dawned, Lass.” He says with cheer, swinging off a spare rope to meet you at the dock. “Didn’t take ye fer the flaunty sort.” He continues, scoping out your restored robes with a quiet impressment. You look up at the ship, examining the damage closer.

“Looks like your boat’s taken a lot of damage.” You tell him, completely ignoring the 'flaunty' comment.

“Feh. BOat.” He mockingly repeats. “Dingy be a boat. This be the Muzzle’s Grip! Finest nautical vessel on all the twenty seas!” Just as he finishes talkin’ that good shit about his boat, part of the bow comes crashing down behind him, landing half in the water, half on the beach. “Hgn. But, aye. Poseidon’s certainly taken’ his toll.” You look back up at the sky. No clouds in sight.

“The storm’s past, but the wind is still so powerful.” You tell him as a gust blows through your hair. It nearly knocks Haddock off his feet. “Why is that?”

“Nary a clue, dearie.” He sighs, regaining his footing. “Never felt such a sour wind in all me life.”

“Sour?”

“Aye. Blowin’ every which way. No good fer proper sailin’. Not that we’ve gotta sail worth-a-damn anyways.” He growls, taking off his cap to run a paw through his head fur. “But! Storm’s past. Doubt there be another fer a fortnight. Suppose we square? Fer the knock on yer noggin, that is.”

“Hm.” You smile, only now just noticing how cute this little guy is. “We’re square, Haddock.”

“Good.” He declares, trying to sound gruff. “If yu’ll excuse me then, I be needin’ to get me ship in order.” 

With him on his way back to his ship, you turn out to face the sea, trying to think of a way back to the group. You got separated after Jason took on those two douchebags. It looked like a tough strife, but no doubt he’s still kicking. Bastard’s like a cockroach, no killing him that easy. God forbid the universe makes you happy. You’re not so sure about everyone else, though. Didn’t that one troll Sara found die? She’s probably not taking that well. Best if you not drag your feet getting back.

“…Huh?” You look off to the other dock where that rival pirate crew was parked, finding the Thief of Heart in their stead. “She’s here, still…”

“Eh?” Haddock turns back, hearing you speak. “Ah, her. Damn Wraith. Best te’ steer clear ‘a folk like thems.”

“How long has she been there?” You ask him.

“Most ‘a te mornin’, far as I’ve seen.” He shrugs, grabbing hold of the rope he slid down on, giving it a few yanks to test its anchoring. “Land locked, probably. Sour winds, en all.” With that, Haddock climbs back onto his ship, leaving you alone on the dock.

Seems the Thief is brooding, sitting in the classic ‘I’m so Deep’ position, letting one leg hang off the dock while she leans on the knee of the other one. Hmm… might as well go poke that bear. Not like you’ve got anything better to do at the moment. You stroll over to the other dock and quietly approach the troll.

“What do you want?” She asks in disgust, not even bothering to turn around. You squat down just behind her, looking out at the ocean as you mull over her question. What do you want from her?

“You know I should probably kill you for the shit you pulled.” You say with a calm inflection, like you’re discussing the weather with her. She responds in kind. That is, not responding at all. “But, I’m sure that dweeb’d get all up in arms for some fuckin’ reason.”

“The Page?” She perks up, glancing back at you. Seemed to grab her attention.

“Yeah. He’s annoyingly sentimental in the dumbest fucking ways.” You explain as you scratch the edge of your chin. “Like leaving-someone-a-soda-after-stranding-them-in-a-desert sort of dumb.”

“Heh.” She briefly laughs. “Yeah… dumb…”

“…Yeah.” She’s suspiciously non-combative for someone who tried to murder you and your friends the first time you met. “Anyway, something tells me he’d get all moody and say something like ‘killing her was gratuitous’, or ‘you probably did it to get your sick kicks’.”

“Sounds like a handful.” She blandly says. Not exactly the talkative type. Come on, why are you always the one who has to pry? Okay… Jason likes to pointlessly ramble, what would he say…?

“So, uh… what’s your name?” You ask. She doesn’t say anything. “…mine’s Mia." You continue, evoking nothing out of her. "...Just thought it’d be nice. Ya know, participate in some fucking cordiality. If not, I can keep calling you Grub, since you seemed so fond of the name the first time we met.” She doesn’t turn her head, but you can feel the side-eyed glare.

“…Medeas.” She begrudgingly admits. “Medeas Colchi.”

“Hm.” You face out to the sea again. “It's a pleasure, Medeas.”

“Ey!” You hear Haddock call out from a distance. “What’d I warn ya ‘bout messin’ with Wraiths?!” The sudden insult thrown Medeas’s way directly to her face causes you to chuckle lightly. You wave at him, letting him know you’re alright. He shakes his head and goes back to his own business on his ship.

“Guess you’re considered riffraff ‘round these parts.” You say with a stretch, standing back up. “Well don’t worry. I’ve associated with worse crowds.” She lets out a long sigh.

“What do you want from me?” She asks. Suppose she’s desperate for you to leave her alone. Pff, like you’re gonna let something like that stop you from fucking with her.

“Obviously not a stimulating conversation.” You smugly say. “Look, Media, I’m not trying to strong-arm you into being my friend, but-“

“It’s Medeas.” You straighten your posture at the interruption, trying to make sure you’re not hearing things. “Muh-dee-ezz.” She repeats, phonetically pronouncing her name.

“…But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friendly, for the time being.” You continue on with your statement.

“Alright, human.” Medeas says, rising from her perch and turning to face you. “Friendly, right? Let’s talk then.” It’s a little rough, but she’s beginning to budge. Finally, some entertainment. You sit on one of the stakes that holds the dock up.

“Sure!” You agree with a sarcastically large amount of perkiness, gesturing for her to sit across from you. “Let’s talk.” She eyes the seat you suggest skeptically, eventually sitting with a huff.

“What is that Page after?” She asks once comfortable.

“Ugh, what is with you trolls and asking about Jason?” You moan as the conversation rolls around to that asshole yet again. “The dude’s not that interesting.”

“Not very friendly, human.” Medeas mocks. “Fine, what is it your group is after? Why are you going around the Arena blowing things up?”

“To my knowledge, the Forge was the only thing we’ve blown up so far.” You explain, crossing your arms. “As for what we want, isn’t that obvious? We want to escape this shithole.”

“How?” She leans forward.

“We’ve got a ship.” You mimic her motion, leaning in to tell her like you're some schoolgirls swapping secrets. “We still need to gather a crew to fly it, but after rounding up our personnel, we blast off outta this dump. Simple as a pin pull.”

“That’s incredibly foolish.” She dismisses with a raise of her chin.

“Oh yea? Why’s that.” You more so demand than ask, sitting up straight now.

“We’ve all been dealt the Fate of Doom.” She explains. “You can either die here or you can die out in nonsense space. The only difference is that no one is saved if you really do manage to escape.”

“That’s not what the Page thinks.” You slyly mention, knowing these trolls can’t help themselves around that d-bag for some reason. He’s like alien catnip. Predictably, she perks up at the mention of Jason.

“So you’re willing to talk about him now?” She raises an eyebrow at you.

“I speak of him only when necessary.” You narrow your eyes at her. “And the conversation just so happened to make it’s way to the subject.”

“So what does he think, then?”

“From what I understand, there’s a person in the Arena he knows about.” You say, looking out to the sea. “Apparently they can dispel the inevitable death a Doomed Creature faces. Our group is trying to find this person and recruit them to work for us.”

“What?” She almost seems shocked, unable to believe what you said. “No, that’s… that’s impossible.”

“Believe it.” You lean back, happy with how gob-struck she is. “Normally, I wouldn’t buy half the shit Jason says, but for some reason or another, he seems to know a fair deal about the sorts of powers people here are hoarding. And according to him, there's a golden goose running around out there who could get us off, scot-free.”

“But what’s the point of a Prison if our cell has been left wide open?” She asks, sounding like a scared child, confronted with the shattering of their expectations about the world.

“Eeeh, it’s not exactly wide open.” You shrug. “More like left ajar. Everyone’s just too busy beating the ever-loving-piss outta each other to notice.”

“Still.” She scowls with worry. “For there to be a way to cheat our way out? Especially one this easy…? Sounds like bait.”

“Ya think so, huh?” You tilt your chin down at her, unconvinced of her unconvincement.

“Like fermented beast milk in a Nibblefiend trap.” She explains in her weird fucking alien colloquialism. You don’t know how many times you’ve said it, but trolls are so god damn weird, man.

“Maybe it’s an oversight.” You suggest. “Like they weren’t supposed to be here. Anomalies in the system and all that shit. Hell, maybe this place is one big test. We can try to go for the easy way out and be the last one standing, or we can stop and show some fucking initiative about pulling ourselves outta this mess.”

“Sounds too optimistic to be coming from someone who bears the Banner of Rage.” She snidely remarks. You’re beginning to like this girl.

“Cut me some slack, I just got my juice back.” You sarcastically go on the defensive, raising your hands as if to surrender. “Still getting back into the swing of things, ya know?”

“All speculations withstanding, though.” She gets back on track. “Who could covet an ability that powerful?”

“Who could be powerful enough to rip someone’s soul out of their body?” You gesture to her. She seems to get the idea, judging by how she glances down at her hands. “There are some powerful freaks in this place.”

“I suppose, I just find it hard to be-“ While Medeas begins to move on to her next contrarian point, your chat is interrupted by the sudden appearance of a whirlwind blowing in from the sea.

Almost like the aftermath of an atom bomb, the immediate area is blown back by the sheer force of whatever it is causing this bombardment. The sound of air whipping past engulfs the entirety of your hearing and nearly erupts your eardrums. At first, you thought you could stand your ground agains the pressure of the wind, but the sheer amount of air being thrown your way slowly begins to force you back, inch by inch. You face your shoulder out towards the sea, making yourself flat against the gale, and bury Heed No Warning into the boards under your feet, anchoring yourself in place. At your side, Medeas shoots her wire-things out from her fingers, wrapping them around one of the stakes holding up the dock to save herself from being blown away.

The winds rage for the next fifteen or so seconds, making an absolute mess of the area, stirring the water into a tidal flurry and whipping sand just about everywhere. As the force slowly fades, you readjust your footing. You look back to Medeas, bewilderment painted all across her face as her eyes dart back and forth along the horizon, expectedly waiting for another onslaught. There’s a silence in the air, almost as if the sea itself has gone quiet. Just as it seems everything’s settled, a sort of whirling sensation begins to travel throughout the area, not unlike a machine winding up as it comes to life. This whirling reaches its apex, folding into a single note that lays on the land like a mist, before it’s silenced by a sudden blaring and ugly thunder, erupting off in the distance. The noise is akin to some grotesquely broken foghorn, sounding-off it’s last alarm.

“What the hell…?” You mutter at the strange series of events. Glancing over at the Muzzle’s Grip, you notice all the mongooses have stopped what they’re doing, somberly looking off to the east, towards where the sounds came from. Haddock walks to the banister of his helm to look out at the sea with his men. Placing his paw on the railing, he takes his hat off, letting it hang by his side.

“Great Gods…” He mutters, too far away for you to hear, but the unbelieving awe that paralyzes him is as clear as day. As you ponder what could possibly take the wind out of that swashbuckler’s sail, the ground begins to rumble.

 

***

 

Your name is Pazuza Hanebi. You’re a Troll. Rust. You spent the better part of your early sweeps as a nomad. Your Lusus was killed. You aren’t sure how. He just disappeared one day. Poached, probably, but you could never be sure on Alternia. Long days were spent haunting the toolhives of those fortunate enough to still have a place to slather in sopor, hiding from the brutal rays of the sun. It felt like you could do nothing but scrounge for scraps and hope to god you weren’t spotted by a Drone. It wasn’t till you met the Scourge that you felt a true calling.

The Scourge. A tightly knit syndicate of lowbloods with an agenda to bring equality to the castes. Highbloods called you terrorists, but they also turned wrigglers into paint, so you weren’t very eager to let them morally grandstand you into giving up the fight. That said, you did do some less than savory things in your time with the Scourge. There were plenty of other groups like your own, always will be when the full might of an empire weighs on a specific demographic, so it’s not like you guys were something special. But, you like to think you managed to change some things, even if they were only on a regional level. One subgrub where trolls lived in semi-harmony under threat of finding a bomb in their scuttlecarriage is better than an entire planet of shit heads constantly oppressing people like you. It wasn’t much, but it was what you fought for. What you bled for. And then… the world ended.

You don’t know where it came from, but on the eve of your planet’s annihilation, a string of code was uploaded onto an obscure website titled Play Me If You Want To Live. There was word of it working, of somehow taking those who ran the code somewhere far from the asteroids pulverizing the planet. So you and your comrades from the Scourge got together and left the world you’d been fighting to change. You found yourself in such a strange place, where you were given a title of Royalty. A Prince of Breath. On Alternia, you were nothing more than a ghost drifting in the breeze, unable to make even the smallest of choices in your life without deadly consequence. But on this world? Your own world? Perhaps you were fooling yourself, but for the briefest of moments, you thought, maybe… just maybe, you could be free.

Things were nice, for a while at least. Your comrades seemed to be figuring out what your worlds demanded of those they belonged to at a steady pace. You though? You took every moment you could to live for yourself! It… didn’t end well. No matter what you did, it felt like you made the wrong call at every turn. The longer time went on, the less options you felt you could take, as more and more doors closed from your growing collection of bad choices. Maybe blood really does determine who’s meant for power and who isn’t. Maybe you weren’t meant for anything more than scrounging through the leftovers of those actually worthy of the crown.

After your worlds festered and died, things soon turned hostile with the former Scourge members. Conflict inevitably broke out, and in the end, a pact was made. Everyone was to stay on their own Land, no one was allowed to trespass elsewhere. All of a sudden, the world that had once given you freedom was now a prison. A million miles from those you used to call friends, trapped within a kingdom of breath and nothing more. It was yet another binding, wrapping itself around your throat to throttle you. And then, you were given an offer. Another means of escape from another apocalypse. Another brand new world bringing you another hope for freedom. A friend of yours would say time was cyclical. You can appreciate that now. In the Arena, you met someone new. An alien dressed in dark green who spoke of woe. A Page to your Prince. He was the first person you’d seen in over half a sweep.

The two of you stuck close together, glued by the torsojunction. Eventually, you found yourselves on a Land decorated with pirate ships and enormous stone structures. Apparently the humans called them Pyramids. Enormous caverns where royalty would leave their remains to show the decadence they had in life. Here you were met with a Witch dressed in Black. She was quite the wicked one, striking at you under the cover of a storm. The three of you fought for hours, devastating worlds which did not belong to you, at each other's throats with powers ill-gotten. She had grown to a humongous stature, twice the height of the Pyramids that graced the world. You’d put your everything behind your attacks, but they were nothing but a breeze through her hair. Even when you tried to abscond, she wouldn’t allow it. This strife, it seems, is to the bitter end.

“Eren!” You call down to your compatriot as you float high in the sky to meet the Witch’s glare. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep her at bay!” Up until now, you’d summoned a cyclone to detain the giant as your friend prepared an attack he assured you would defeat her.

“I understand, Paz.” He smiles, looking up from the ground. “But if it’s not too much to ask, do you think you could get her on the top of a pyramid?” You glance down at him to see if he’s kidding. You’ve found humans tend to be sarcastic a lot. He only smiles in return.

“I’ll try.” You nod. With a soft breath outward, you muster the last breeze within you, and channel a hurricane like none you’ve even made before. If you were a prideful troll, you’d say it shook the planet.

The Witch tries to fight the torrent of winds, but it’s too much to bear, even for her enormous stature, and she is sent spiraling across the cyclone, eventually landing posturepole first on the point of a nearby pyramid. She shrieks with a thunderous voice, the sheer size of her soundmuscle making her remarkably loud. With your task done, you feel your thinkpan start to numb, and you slowly fall from the sky, completely drained of energy. You crash land on the beach below, close enough to see Eren while half buried in the sand. He floats in the air, runfronds crossed as he chants to himself.

“Hark! Look upon thyself; halfling world, and hear these words; Born from myth and disorder, you hang in pilfered quarters! Ancient constructs plucked from seas of unmaking, alters ascribed to frozen gods upon thy skin! Wake! Stir, oh mighty and slumbered! Wake and see thy bloody torso torn! Strewn vivisected upon decree written in starlight, attested by the absence of all things made in this universe. Hear these words and know me, oh Warhead! Oh Titan among Titans. Heed my message and adhere my principles. For I shall lead you home, and there you will find thyself complete.” He speaks with a reverberation, his body trembling, eyes erupting in a blaze of sickly green power. “By my command, I invoke the Inevitable!” With that, Erin falls to the ground, catching his breath as the energy leaves him.

“Eren… Eren!” You call out, pushing yourself up and trying to crawl forward. “She won’t be stuck forever!” As you speak, a whirling begins to resonate deep within the core of the Land, making it hard to get your voice heard. “What do we do?!”

“Aha…haha.” Eren weakly laughs, flipping onto his back. “Pazuza… I’m sorry. I should’ve told you sooner, this strife was doomed to end in a stalemate. It is done now.”

“What do you-“ As you speak the whirling sound transforms into a hearduct-shattering explosion. “GAAAH!” You curl into yourself, rolling onto your side as you desperately clutch the sides of your head. Eren simply winces while remaining flat on the ground, carelessly staring up at the sky.

“I felt it when we first arrived.” He explains once the noise dissolves. “This Planet is not whole.” Suddenly, the sand begins to shake and tremor. “I had hoped we could pass through the Land without much fuss, but after that Witch kept us Strife-locked, I knew it was only a matter of time. But if she was going to be so persistent at killing her opponents, at least we can take her with us, eh buddy?”

“What did you do?” You wheeze. There’s a sudden jerk from beneath you, reminding you of just how shattered that fall has left you. It feels like you’re on the verge of falling asleep, but focusing on Eren seems to keep you awake. For now, at least.

“Let’s just say we’re in for one hell of a ride.” The force beneath you intensifies and transforms into a shifting sensation, slightly pressing you into the ground. Off in the horizon, the sky begins to shimmer with what appears to be the dark crest of the Incipisphere outside the confines of the Land, moving swiftly past the planet. Your head jerks back to Eren to gauge his reaction. He just keeps smiling, looking straight into the sky.

“Did you… a-are we…?” You’re having a hard time forming a sentence in your current state, but he seems to get the sentiment.

“This Land is not whole, Pazuza.” He tells you again. “We are all Doomed. Deaths unavoidable, Fates immutable. And yet… we are here, on this unfinished world. Not because Paradox Space has had some epiphany of compassion, but for a reason.”

“Why?” You weakly ask. He looks over to you with a chillingly sincere look.

“Because we are still useful.” He says with a hint of anger in his voice, look you in the sightglobe. “This Medium, our Arena, is special. Too special for everything not to be perfectly attuned. This Land is only one half of itself, one half of perfect. Unacceptable. It was always doomed to be whole, just as we were always doomed to be here. We are the tools sent to fine-tune these worlds for those who come after. The favored children of reality, whoever they may be. I was sent to complete this Land. That Witch, to force my hand. And you, my dear guardian, to protect me from her while I worked. We were always meant to be here. This… is our Doom.” He turns his attention back up towards the sky. You look ahead with him, noticing something twinkling in the distant heavens. It’s hard to make out exact details, but there’s no confusing what it is.

“The other half?” You ask, the now-visible Planet in the sky quickly grow larger and larger.

“Two parts made whole.” Eren mutters, resigned to his fate.

“If this is really the end…” You look over to him, studying that weak but knowing smile on his face with meticulous care. So that’s how it is, huh? Regardless of the choices you made, of the blood you shed, no matter how hard you fought for freedom, you were always bound to this one moment. Huh… “I’m glad it’s with a friend.”

With this last sentiment, you turn to the sky to face your Doom, content with the fate you’ve been dealt for the first time in your life.

 

***

 

“Holy Shit!” Ryder shouts as an entire Land rockets across the sky like a horrifically gargantuan Shooting Star. “What the fuck is happening?!”

“Aaaaah…!” Ragnaa wearily moans, still clutching her head.

“Seriously guys, what the shit is going on?!?” Ryder continues to flip his lid.

“Whooooa!” Gretel coos, staring up at the sky, starry-eyed. “I can’t believe I get to see another one!” There’s a triumphant fire in her voice as she throws her hands in the air, balling them into tiny little fists.

“Gretel, do-… do you know what’s happening?” You ask, kneeling down next to her on the ground.

“Well, duuuh!” She exclaims like it’s obvious. “It’s a Prophecy of Bombastic Change within the Realms! Remember? I told you about it.” She sets her backpack down on the ground and begins to dig around within it, retrieving the tome she was reading from earlier and opening it up onto the page depicting LOFAC. “See?” She holds it out. Everyone but Ragnaa, who’s still down on the ground, and Leah, who’s tending to Ragnaa, lean in to look at the tome.

“Wait, so those two lumps…?” Esspin pointing, her finger bouncing between the left and right half of the peanut shell-shaped Land. You look up to watch the planet as it races through the sky, a slight comet tail trailing behind it.

“Are two different Lands.” You mutter as the last traces of the rogue world leave the visibility range residential to LOHAN, disappearing into the void, off to the Land of Frenzy and Crash. “And they’re about to Collide.”

“What does that mean?” Frank asks, his attention darting around trying to gauge everyone’s reaction.

“Means two fuckin’ celestial bodies are gonna smash into each other like a couple of stickball spheres.” Haugrr grunts, still looking up at the sky like he’s expecting to see it again.

“There was a fight...” Ragnaa quietly mutters from below.

“What?” You glance back down at her. She’s clutching the sides of her head, still fighting the disturbance in her mind.

“There was a fight, and it escalated.” She continues.

“Quite an escalation.” Creed quips with an impressed whistle.

“A fight?” Sara asks, turning to Esspin.

“Does that mean a Titled is responsible for this?” Esspin looks back.

“What the hell happened?!” Ryder continues to panic, the distress beginning to shred his vocal cords. “I-I mean who the hell is powerful enough to throw a fucking planet at someone?”

“His name is Eren Coin.” Ragnaa answers. “And he didn’t throw the planet.” She elaborates while rapidly blinking to set her eyesight right. As she does, a faint crackle of energy arks from her lashes, dissipating into the ether. Finally fixing her vision, she looks back to Ryder. “He guided it.”

“Guided?” Leah looks around, clearly lost in what the troll’s talking about. “Out of orbit?”

“The scalebeast said there was a Prophecy.” Ragnaa begins to clarify, seemingly starting to shake the lingering effects from her fragile form. “Two planets destined to meet and merge into one. A foretelling as powerful as this would have an enormous sway over the paths these cosmic entities would travel. It formed an inherent attraction between these worlds, a kind of ever-present gravity pulling them to their eventualities. Eren was a Hero of Doom, and a powerful one at that. I had met him before the killings first started, when we were all still immortal. He appeared more intune with his Aspect than those around him. There’s no doubt he would’ve noticed the pull this Land had towards another, and capitalized upon it to win his strife. All he had to do was take hold of the Doom innate to the planet and lead the world to it’s final destination.”

“Are we gonna have to worry about this guy?” You ask her, thinking about all the other ‘prophecies’ this person could spring on you.

“I wouldn’t think so.” She says getting up from the ground and brushing her smock off. “He’s still on that Land… and they just Collided.”

“Are you sure you’re okay to be standing?” Leah rises with her, hovering in her space ready to catch her if she collapses again.

“I’ll be fine, I think.” She assures her. “Feels like a combustion stick went off in my thinkpan, though.”

“What was it you actually saw?” You ask her.

“All my other flashes would only illuminate a small part of the Gloom, a-an entire cloud at most, but this… it was like the entire sky erupted in light, filling my pan with thunder and death. It was… an overwhelming amount of stimuli, to put it lightly.” She winces at the thought.

“Boss.” Creed calls for you. Turning to him, you find his attention is on the horizon, watching the various mountains in the distance. “…We should go.” You follow his gaze and see… something peering out of a cave in the hills. Too deep within the shadows, all that’s visible is the glow of its piercing, hollow eyes. A chill runs through you as this moment of horror passes. Seeing that it’s garnered your group’s attention, the creature vanishes, disappearing deeper into the cave. For some odd reason, your eyes begin to water.

“Will you be fine to travel?” You ask Ragnaa, not taking your eye off that cave.

“As long as I’ve got a walking buddy.” She nods, nervously wrapping an arm around Leah.

“Good.” You look to Dallra, prompting her to start leading the way again. “I think we’re a bit exposed out here.”

As your group moves on, you can’t shake the sensation that you’re being watched. With those things in the mountains, you’re surprised you hadn’t felt it sooner. Or… maybe you did. Maybe that’s what numbed your mind in the first place. That becoming aware to the lurking abominations around you is akin to a fish taking hooked bait, and ignoring it is what reels you in. You’re not sure what’s more unsettling, that LOHAN has some sort of innate psychic force trying to invade your mind at all times, or that a gruesome hoard of monsters have actually manage to worm themselves into your head, leaving you their defenseless prey. It’s a sickening idea to think about. You would try to put the thoughts out of your mind, but something tells you that in doing so, you’d lose your mind once more. Perhaps it’s best you stay close to the group.

 

Jason, make your way through this World of Monsters.

Chapter 34: > Repose amidst Conflict

“Inside! Inside!” Haddock roars, funneling his crew off the boat and back into the Pyramid. You and Medeas quickly join him at his end of the dock.

“Haddock!” You call for his attention. He juts his head off the stern to look.

“Lass! Take yer vagabond ’n stuff yerselves inside!” He orders before disappearing back onto the boat.

“What’s going on?” You demand as you find your way up the ramp leading onboard.

“War, lass.” He growls, finishing tying down the knot he’s working on. He quickly brushes past you, down to the other end of the ship. He’s securing what seems to be the only unscathed sail of his vessel tightly in place. “Damn scaly bastards finally did it! Set the blasted Land on a crash course. Scalawags’d see us all dead fer they let bygones roam!”

“Haddock, I don’t speak swashbuckle, what are you talking about?” You twist and turn, trying to keep an eye on him as he darts back and forth from place to place on the ship, battening down hatches and tying up anything that moves. Seems they had just finished untying everything after the storm when that alarm went off.

“The bloody planet it about to slam into that snake pit!” He yells, pulling his sword from its sheath, aiming it up at the sky. Looking up, you find at the end of Haddock’s saber appears to be an entire other Land materializing out from the void and into the sky. From the brief moment you behold the calamity, you can tell just by eyeballing it, this thing is growing remarkably fast, looming closer and closer from behind the clouds.

“Then why the hell are you still out here?!” You look back to him to find him gone, off attending to another of the countless tassels on this boat.

“Ship’s still not ready fer impact!” He explains, ducking into the cabin at the back of the boat. You follow after. “Fer what’s commin’, we be needin' every last blessin' we had managed to scrounge till now.” He swipes different nicknacks from around what looks like his personal quarters, placing them into a single chest.

“You said there’s a war?” You ask from the doorway.

“Aye, been a sailor’s tale as old as the sea.” He explains while scooping up everything on his desk and dropping them into the chest. “Scalies’d make their move one day, throw somen’ at us ain’t no one’d expect. Somen’ that’d spark a war fer their own vain pursuits of honor n’ con-quest, lettin’ em run amuck on these watters as if they were they own. If this ain’t it, nutin’ is!” He slams shut his chest and starts making way with his plunder. Seemingly done with this room, he scurries his way outside as fast as he can with the coffer.

“Here, let me.” You insist, taking his loot from his grasp as he reaches the door.

“Tank ya, lass.” He accepts, moving past you.

“How can you be sure this is the… scalies…?” You ask, awkwardly try to ignore that you said the word scalies. “What if it’s something else?”

“Yer mama ever teach ye to trust a snake?” He asks back, stopping to face you.

“N-no.” You’re more than a little caught off guard by the question.

“Me point exactly.” He turns back, looking over all the preparations he’s done on the ship. “Iffin’ there be an attack on our shores, damn be sure it’s tanks to those slippery sons’a bitches.”

Before you have a chance to respond, there comes a roaring from the skies. The Land you’ve apparently been flung towards has just broke into the atmosphere of the Land you’re currently on. Shit. You shoulder the chest and scoop Haddock under your free hand. Leaving the ship, you move with a swiftness, vaulting over the railing of the upper-deck, off onto the dock. Here you’re met with Medeas who’s apparently been waiting for you this entire time. She’s currently looking up at the fast approaching world in the sky, her hand hovering just beneath her jaw, like she’s unsure if she should cover her mouth in shock or not. You jump in front of her view.

“Hey, Media Rez, snap out of it.” You order as you grab her attention.

“W-what’s-“ She begins to ask.

“No talk time, run now!” You rush past, barley phased by the full load you’re shouldering.

“Take a left and two rights, then another left.” Haddock barks as the three of you approach the pyramid. “Then go straight and left again.” Almost immediately as you pass the threshold in, the earth shakes with an unbelievable force, nearly throwing you off your stride.

“W-was that it? Are we safe?” Medeas asks, looking back to the horizon.

“Nay, that be just ta impact.” Haddock turns his head from under your arm to look at her.

“What’s that mean?” There’s a distinct fear in her voice. One you’ve yet to hear from her so far. Guess dealing with people is a lot different than dealing with cataclysmic events. Heart players, you swear. No proper locus of control with that lot.

“It means the fallout is still coming.” You answer for him, following Haddock’s directions deeper into the pyramid. Getting to a sort of central hub area, you’re met with a room full of Mongooses all murmuring amongst themselves, unsure what to do. Seeing this, Haddock loops around your back, crawling up onto your shoulder.

“Men!” He grabs their attention. “Get these halls barricaded! Mighty wind’s gonna be blowing through here. Strong enough to rock Poseidon awake again, and we best be ready when it does, doggone it! It be all our hides iffin’ we don’t!”

With that, the crew breaks into a furry blur, whipping around the room, prepping for what’s to come. The major entrances of the room have door-bolts built into them, like the one’s you’d find on the entrances to a school auditorium, except multilayered and made of steel plating. Clamping them shut one after another, the crew secure the last barricades in place. Guess this room is prepped for a siege at all times. That, or maybe they’re for this very purpose, meant to resist the full force of two planets colliding. Sburb Sessions are always chock-full of predestined bullshit like that. You’d normally be pissed off at the self-gratifying nature of a solution to a problem being given by the very thing causing the problem to begin with, but for now you’re glad there’s something between you and the blast of a pho-nuclear fallout.

There are several minor entrances at the sides of the room, likely leading out to the various tunnels within the pyramid’s labyrinth, which the crew works to cover up with whatever’s at their disposal. This being, at the current moment, all the furniture and fixtures in their dwelling. It’s oddly furnished in here compared to the other places you’ve seen in this Land. Modern looking futons and carpeting, completely different from the 1800s pirate theme you’ve been seeing. There’s even a flat screen… What the hell is this place?

With every entrance to the room thoroughly battened down or gummed up with ikea furniture, the crew scurried to the back of the room, either pressing their backs up against the wall or crouching down before their compatriots, gripping whatever they can on the floor to hold onto.

“Get ready men!” Haddock barks, crouching down at the head of the group. You join by his side, sinking Heed No Warning into the floor to steady yourself. Medeas follows your example, joining Haddock on his other flank and anchoring her hand tethers into the ground. She looks scared. Figures. She’s been running around with your conviction for the past week, it’s probably left her feeling vulnerable being without it, especially in a situation like this. You close your eyes and exhale. Milo had mentioned meditation helps for stressful situations, and you’re pretty sure kinetic annihilation counts as stressful. You take a deep breath.

It’s quiet. The tension in the room is oppressive, weighing on you all like a summer heatwave. You can hear it coming now, the aftershock. Vibrations traveling through the earth and up into your bones, the rumbling it leaves in your ears overshadowing your own heartbeat. It can’t be far now. Closer and closer, inevitably the force begins to consume you, extending past your own being and enveloping the entire room. At its absolute height, that’s when it hits.

 

***

 

Come and gone again, yet another day grueling across the vast emptiness of LOHAN has just about reached its end. You had walked for some time after Ragnaa’s episode yesterday, but hadn’t gotten nearly as far as you wished before that group’s exhaustion got the better of them. Fortunately enough for you all, you had happened upon a lone building sat in the middle of the valley, a single structure amidst the barren wastelands of this planet. It was rustic, with a strange charm akin to a fancy hotel on the frontier of the old west. Gretel had assured you it was somehow protected from the monsters in the hills, and sure enough, you weren’t bothered during your stay. The place gave you a strange feeling that you couldn’t shake, though. Like an omen of sorts you can’t get away from. Creeps you the fuck out.

You’re back in the middle of nowhere now. Walking maybe five hours at this point, and the group is getting restless again. Not that you blame them, being out in the open on a planet like this. That feeling of exposure has faded slightly, but never quite went away entirely, even during your night’s rest at the hotel, under you supposed protection from the abominations. It’s an entirely unpleasant sensation that puts your teeth on edge. It reminds you of when you’d turn the lights off at night before going up the stairs when you were younger. That underlying sensation telling you to run even though there was nothing there. Except there is something there this time, and that something is some horrendous monstrosity stalking you from the mountains.

Fortunately enough, you’ve arrived at another village, allowing your miserable band some form of sanctuary for the time being. At least, that’s what Dallra’s been telling you for the last mile or so.

“S-so are we getting close?” Sara asks for what seems like the millionth time, anxiously looking from side to side, unsure of which horizon to be keeping an eye on.

“Two hundred and thirty-seven more steps and we’ll be there.” Dallra confidently answers. “One hundred and fifty-eight if you bump up the length of your stride. Would you like me to count it down for you?” She seems a bit snippy. Which is fair, it’s been a long trip for everyone. Especially Dallra, having to juggle watching the Mage of Space and guiding the group, all while everyone asks pointless questions about how long the walk is going to be.

“Then where the fuck is it if we’re so close?” Ryder obnoxiously boars, kicking his legs up with each step. “We’re in the fucking flats and there’s nothing around for fuckin’ miles, so what’s the deal? The entire valley is fucking empty, where’s the damn village?”

“If you would kindly look directly ahead, a grueling task I’m sure, you’d see that the area is, in fact, not empty.” She says in the same level voice. You, along with everyone else you’re sure, strain your eyes looking ahead to see what she’s referring to. Sure enough, there’s a lone mausoleum standing off in the distance.

“What, that tiny fucking shit-shack?” Ryder sneers.

“Hm.” Dallra hums, seemingly losing her patience one jeer at a time.

“Hey, stuff it.” You order, shooting him a dirty look. “If she says something’s there, then something’s there.”

“Fine, the random fuckin’ hut in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere is a town.” Ryder sarcastically concedes. “But if you insist we’re so close, how about we hurry it along. Last one there’s a soft headed wolf-muncher.” With what you can only assume is a challenge to race, Ryder takes off running ahead. Jesus, you knew he was a year or two younger, but the dude’s acting like a toddler.

“He shouldn’t be running with his arm like that.” Esspin says to herself. Behind her, Creed jolts, like he’s realized something.

“Boss, I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” He reports to you. “He isn’t safe out there.”

“He’s right.” Dallra hums, watching Ryder speeding off. “Someone should probably go after him.”

“Why’s that?” You glance over to her.

“Because if he doesn’t watch where he’s going, he’s gonna run right off a cliff.” She explains, nonchalantly. Hearing this, Leah steps forward, a look of horror painted on her face.

“A Cliff?” She asks, unsure if she’s heard right.

“Yep.” Dallra confirms, keeping that same calm energy. “Quite a fall, too. Couple hundred feet, at least.”

“Why didn’t you stop him?” Leah shrieks.

“He doesn’t strike me as someone who listens very well.” She responds. Hearing her unapologetic answer, Leah turns to Ryder who’s surprising speed has taken him quite a ways away.

“Ryder! Slow down!” She calls out to him. Not looking back, he throws a middle finger up. How pleasant. Just as Leah’s about to take a step after him, you reach out and stop her.

“Don’t go running off as well.” You tell her. You can only imagine the field-day those monster’s would have if they saw your group starting to spread out in the middle of an open field like this. They haven’t made a move yet during your journey, so you can only imagine the size of your group has been the only think keeping them at bay so far.

“But-“ She begins to protest, looking back at you.

“I’ll go after him.” You cut her off. “Just stay with the others.” She seems to back down for now, but there remains a worried look on her face, unsure whether or not to trust you.

Trying to shrug off the uncertainty your team has in your abilities, you crouch down, striking a starting stance. It’s been a while since you’ve had to full out sprint towards something. In fact, you don’t think you’ve actually had to seriously run at all since you were in gym class back at school. Funny how the oddest things remind you of the past.

With the pads of your fingers pressed against the ground, you feel the energy building in the palms of your hands. The surging power briefly culminates into your cog constructs before quickly disappearing. As it does, the world around you slows. Time Dilation. (8 sec. your time =1 sec. local time). You take off with a blurring speed. Even with the power boost Arnimonemus mentioned, physically moving at higher dilations can be strenuous on your body, so you’ll have to take it easy here. Still though, this should be more than fast enough to catch the bugger.

“What the fuck?” Ryder mutters as he looks back to see you speeding after him. “Oh no you don’t, bitch!” Seemingly with a second wind, Ryder’s pace picks up nearly twofold. God damn it, the moron thinks you’ve accepted his challenge to race.

“Hey stop!” You yell, just barely out of grasp of him.

“You stop, I’m getting there first!” He says, still somehow gaining speed in his stride. Where the hell is he getting this energy from?

“This isn’t a game, jackass! It’s not safe to be running around out here!” In one last lunge forward, you manage to get a hold of the little bastard, grabbing him by the hood.

Digging your heels into the ground, you thought you’d be able to force him to stop, but somehow he’s pulling you, plow-mule style. What the hell? How is he this strong? You aren’t some hulking gym-rat, but you’ve got a solid thirty pounds on Ryder at least. The sheer weight difference should be able to stop him. He had nowhere near this sort of muscle when he punched you the first time you met.

“What the hell, dick? That’s cheating!” He protests, turing back to bitch at you, still pulling you along all the way.

“I’m not trying to race you, there’s a god damn cli-“ As you’re trying to warn Ryder about the drop, it seems you’ve already reached the ravine in question.

“Shit!” Ryder yelps as he lose his footing.

“Fuck!” You yell with him, the two of you beginning to fall down into the remarkably deep fucking pit you somehow managed to ignore up until now.

Reflexively, you shove your palm against Ryder’s back, placing a Full Time Stop on him before he can fall. Specifically, you freeze his clothing. Less energy to hold an object in place than a person. The maneuver seems to work well enough, suspending Ryder midair and halting his fall. You, however, have no such temporal anchoring to keep you in place, and the momentum of being pulled sends you flying forward. You hook onto Ryder’s frozen form as you go by, spinning back around, leaving your back to the seemingly endless abyss below as you cling to the boy’s leg.

“What the fuck is happening?!” Ryder bellows, trying to arch his head down to look at you.

“What do you think?!” You yell back, nearly losing your grip on him as your voice cracks. “There was a drop off, god damnit!”

“Why didn’t you fucking tell me?!” He starts to bark.

“Why the hell do you think I was running after you?! Jesus fuck!” Between having to hold the Time Stop on Ryder and having to physically hold yourself up, your stamina is draining remarkably fast.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?!” This is clearly going nowhere, and you are operating on a very limited amount of time. Perhaps starting a shouting match with a Rage player while hanging over a thousand foot drop isn’t the best idea. To be fair though, the situation you find yourself in is remarkably fucking stupid, and it’s reasonable for you to be irrationally angry about it.

“Okay, okay, just… hold still. I’m gonna try and…” You begin to kick your legs out, probing the area for solid ground to get your footing on, eventually hitting rock with toe. The only problem is it’s a bit of a reach, with only the tips of your shoes brushing up against the cliff’s ledge. “Common, common-“ Just as you’re getting a firm foot planted, the ground begins to give way, tearing away a huge chunk of stone and sending it plummeting down into the dark as your legs swing back with nothing to stand on. “Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.”

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Ryder calls as you helplessly swing from his heel.

“It’s a little… a little tricky. H-hang tight, I’ve got an idea.” You tell him, equipping Bane of All Mountains. “Alright. Alright, I can do this. Just gotta one, two-“ With one last swing from Ryder, you throw yourself off towards the wall, burying Bane’s pick into the stone face of the cliffside.

The section of the cavern you’ve anchored into doesn’t immediately break away at the stress of your full weight, so you suppose that’s a good sign. Still though, you’re a good foot down in the ravine. With the fatigue beginning to weigh on you, you sluggishly throw a leg up and over onto the edge of the cliff, and begin to clamber up. As you do though, you hear what sounds to be the stone that you first kicked off into the abyss hit the bottom of the ravine with a -clunk-. The sound echoes all the way up to you, clear as day. That was what, ten, maybe twelve seconds it took to reach the bottom? Time to distance conversions isn’t your exact forte, but you’re fairly certain that’s a pretty long fall. Best to not dottle then.

“oooah” Before you can get back to climbing up, you hear something bonechilling. At first you though it was just the breeze, but it sounds too… off. The way it bellows is too unnatural for it to just be the wind. You pause, looking down towards the sea of black beneath you.

“Did you hear…?” You look over to Ryder, who’s having a hard time looking back from his position in the air.

“ooooooaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh” The sickening wail comes again, permeating from the unknown. Holy shit… one of those things is down there.

“W-w-what was that?” Ryder tries fidgeting, growing more and more uncomfortable with being held above this cavern. Not answering, you frantically try to force yourself up onto solid ground.

“oooooOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH” The thing shrieks, sounding as if its just beginning to wake up. This is not good. In fact, in the grand scheme of things, this is remarkably bad. Managing to get back to level ground, you gasp while on all fours, thoroughly winded from this enormous strain on both your physicality and capabilities.

“What the fuck are you doing?! Get me down already!” Ryder bitches, still hanging over the cavern. Oh right, you’d almost forgotten about him.

“Just… haa…” You gasp, trying to catch your breath. “Just wait a sec.” You stand back up, moving over to the edge, carful not to fall in again. Ryder is rather far out still, and you don’t exactly feel comfortable leaning into the cavern to get him. You can’t exactly leave him out there though. Maybe if you just… reach over and grab him?

Only reaching your arm out over the ravine, you extend Bane of All Mountains and manage to hook the pick into Ryder’s shirt. You aren’t sure how much weight God Tier threads can bear, but for his sake, hopefully it’ll hold… what is he, 110 lbs? Anyway, you finally let go of the Full Time Stop, unfreezing Ryder from his place in the air and relieving you of the constant strain of an activated ability. However, whatever relief you might’ve enjoyed, given enough time, is quickly vanished as Ryder’s entire weight drops, pulling you down with him, slamming you to the floor. You know what they say, when one door opens, another slams into your face.

“Fuck, dude!” He cries, swinging from side to side as you desperately try to keep your grip from slipping. “What the fuck?!”

“Shut up and climb!” You order, trying to keep and eye on the dark below to see if anything is moving down there. It’s a pointless endeavor, however. You might as well be looking at the inside of your eyelids it’s so dark in the ravine. It stopped making noise, so you think that’s a good sign? Maybe it went back to sleep… Your teammate’s squirming reminds you of the more pressing matters at hand, though. With one last heave, you jerk backwards, slamming your back against the ground, practically tossing Ryder over your head.

“Hey!” Esspin calls over. Still lying flat on your back, you arch your head up to see the rest of the group’s nearly caught up with you, albeit upside down. “Everything alright?” Good question. You sit up to look at Ryder, who’s trying to calm himself from the exhilarating experience of nearly falling into a bottomless cavern.

“You alright? Your arm okay?” You ask him. He nods quickly, not saying a word while looking like he’s trying to choke down the urge to vomit. Seeing he’s relatively unscathed, you turn back to Esspin. “Yeah, we’re alright!“

As soon as the words leave your lips, an enormous torrent of wind and force erupts from behind you, and a horrible wailing consumes the sky.

 

“OOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAHHHHH”

 

You turn back to see, without a shadow of a doubt, the scariest fucking creature you’ve ever laid eyes upon in your entire life, taking flight to the vacuous skies above you, a great and terrible raptor of the night. With a clad-iron sense of certainty, you can say that you have spoke too soon.

 

***

 

You're eyes squint open, labored by the searing pain in the back of your head. Sitting up, it seems like you’ve been rested on one of the futons that the Mongooses shoved into the side hallways. How considerate. God, what the hell happened? Last thing you remembered, you were exchanging looks with Medeas by Haddock’s side, waiting for the impact of the Planet collision to hit. From the looks of the room, it doesn’t seem to have gone over too well.

The main doors are all open, although you can’t tell if they held against the storm or not. They’re bent in to all hell, so they definitely didn’t go unscathed in the event. Pieces of the walls and ceiling seem to have broken off and fallen to the floor, and it seems a majority of the side hallway barricades had their shit rocked when the shockwave hit. Not that you should be talking, as it seems like you had a rough go of it as well.

There are a few unconscious crew mates who’ve been lain out on the other futons and spare cushioning in a similar way you were left. Besides you, there’s only one other conscious person in the room. A scrappy looking mongoose in a sleeveless blue and white stripped shirt, quietly sharpening his cutlass at the entrance of the room. Seems he was posted up here to keep an eye on the injured.

“Yo.” You grab his attention as you approach. “What happened? Where is everybody?”

“World ended. Crew’s outside.” He grunts, lazily nods to the hallway next to him before turning his attention back to his sword. Seeing that the furball isn’t very talkative, you move on with a shrug, making your way out of the pyramid. You don’t exactly remember the path, but you find your way out anyhow. You’ve always had a knack for brute forcing your way to where you want to go.

Emerging from the cool dank of the pyramid for the second time today [it’s still today, right?] you’re met with an absolute shit show of a beachhead. The dock is in splinters, with only a few boards managing to remain where they were nailed. Enormous chunks of the pyramid’s face are missing, either gone completely or spastically scattered in chunks of broken limestone across the beach. And the boat… good lord, the boat. Its practically been folded in half. Entire sections have been caved in, the deck’s comply collapsed, with the main damage being an enormous crack through the middle of the it, leaving the entire thing half-sunk into the harbor. You thought the masts were missing, but you were wrong, they’ve just been torn off from the rest of the boat and blown up against the pyramid’s base. Good fuckin’ lord, what a mess.

Looking around, it seems the majority of the crew is attempting to cobble back together what remains of their lives. Half of them are working on the ship’s repairs, the other half seem to be scavenging for supplies. Haddock’s nowhere to be seen. Neither is that Thief. You aren’t sure if that’s a good thing or not.

“Oi’.” You stop a duo of mongooses carrying a bundle of planks as they walk by. “Where’s Haddock?”

“Round back.” One say before quickly moving on with their supplies. You look where one nodded, off to the coroner of the pyramid. Guess he’s round back.

Making your way over, you round the corner to the eastern side of the island. Funny enough, you see Medeas, sulking, sitting on a large chunk of pyramid debris. She’s currently poking at the ground with a stick, drawing something in the sand. You walk over, stopping just next to her. Seems she’s got her head in the clouds, as she doesn’t notice you as you approach. What’s got her so out of it? You look down at the sand she’s dragging her stick through. She’s drawing someone. Is that… is that Jason?

“What the hell…?” You mutter, forgetting that you’re speaking directly next to her. Appropriately, she jumps at the sudden whisper in her ear. Those horns of hers would’ve gouged your eye out had you not pulled back in time.

“Gah!” She yelps, falling off her seat to the ground. Seeing it’s you, she immediately flushing blue and kicking sand over her drawing to hide it.

“Whoa.” You hold your hands out, trying to calm her like a wild horse. “Easy girl.”

“What?” She hisses, pulling her knees to her chest.

“Jeez, just seeing what you’re fuckin’ doing.” You nonchalantly back off. “No need to bite my head off.” She looks off to the sea with a huff, taking meticulous care not to have you in her pretrials. Hm. So she’s making you pry again. God, you’re up to your fucking neck with shitheads who outright refuse to say what their god damn problem is. It’s a role the universe has cursed you with; Dealer of Bullshit. “Hff… Spit it out.” You order like you’re talking to a dog who’s got something in their mouth that they shouldn’t.

“Buzz off, human.” She says in grizzly embarrassment.

“Fine.” You sigh, moving past her. If the troll doesn’t wanna talk, who are you to meddle. “I’ll let you make ♥heart eyes♥ at your drawings of Jason in pease.”

“I don’t like him!” She bursts just as you’ve walked past her. You turn back and she’s blushing even harder than before. “If you’re gonna make accusations with such implications, at least get them right…!”

“So you… 'don’t like him' don't like him?” You ask. She doesn’t answer, but her shoulders drop down, like she’s trying to fold into herself. “Don’t trolls have a thing for that? Kiss-muh something?” The more layers you peel back, the more shades she deepens.

“It's not like it’s my fault I feel like this.” She points a finger your way. “It’s because of you and that poison you call your emotions!”

“You mean the one’s you stole from me?” You raise an eyebrow at her.

“Only because you would’ve killed me if I didn’t!” She sighs, defeated. You don’t exactly remember being the instigator in that fight, but if she wants to fudge the facts, that’s fine. “If I knew something so vile was floating around within you, I would’ve gladly died right there and then on the Forge.”

“So you hate Jason because you got a taste of my anger, eh?” You review the situation. “That seems about right. I hate Jay like nobody's business, so it makes sense that’d rub off on you.

“Revolting, isn’t it?” She says with disgust.

“Not really.” You shrug. “He’s a pretty hateable guy.”

“Tch. Please.” She rolls her eyes. “He’s not that hateable. I doubt I’d give him a second thought if it weren’t for your feelings contaminating my own. What is it you see in him?”

“Hm?” You cock your head at the question.

“Why do you hate him?” She clarifies.

“Uh, cause he’s a douche.” You say as if it isn’t the most obvious fucking fact in Paradox Space.

“That can’t possibly be all there is.” She shakes her head.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean if he was just some asshole, then you wouldn’t give him the time of day.” She begins to toy around with a bit of sand next to her, the blue in her face starting to fade. “But instead, you have all these feelings for him.”

“First off, never say I have feelings for Jason again.” You lay your ground rule. “Second, the reason I feel so strongly about not liking him is because I was forced to spend so much time with him.”

“Why didn’t you just kill him?” She asks a little too innocently.

“Wha-, l-look, Human society is a little different than the anarchist utopia you Trolls grew up in, alright?” You explain.

“But your society was destroyed.” She continues with her inquiry. “Why not kill him in the game? You’re rather strong, surely no one could’ve stopped you. You could’ve made it look like an accident, even.”

“…” You’re a bit speechless. Why didn’t you ever give that asshat the ax? Even back in that desert where you and Sara found him, you weren’t really trying to kill him. If anything, you were just blowing off steam.

“Well?” She presses.

“I guess… I was just always waiting for him to get better.” You almost ask, looking to see what her reaction is. She remains quiet, waiting for you to continue. “He was always so weak. And that was fine when we were back on earth, but… when we entered into the game, I realized I needed to be strong. And so I became strong, but he… he didn’t. He just went limp, making everyone else carry his weight for him, making them all crowd around him like he was some defenseless fucking child. I always felt he could’ve been awesome if he just gave a damn...! But he didn't... I can’t tell you how long I spent waiting for him to finally grow a pair. Thinking we could go… I don’t know, kill imps together? I guess just hang out, really. Like we used to when we were kids. I even ended up trying to push him here and there, maybe antagonize him into becoming stronger. Ya know, like out of spite? But he just… refused to grow. To become strong. To… to join me, up on the front lines!” You pause, feeling a bit strange letting this out all of a sudden. “So, yeah. That’s why I hate him. Because he chose weakness. Because he chose not to be strong.”

“Wow…” She fawns with genuine amazement, like it's the sweetest love story she’s ever been told. She’s looking at you all starry-eyed with her weird heart-shaped irises. “So thats what I’ve been feeling all this time. It’s all… rather touching.”

“Oh fuck off.” You groan. “Humans don’t have hate-love, so it doesn’t mean anything, okay?”

“Perhaps you just haven’t noticed because human culture seems to have disregarded the importance of black-rom,” She begins to posture. “but as someone who’s both grown up knowing what kismesissitude is as well as felt your feelings for herself, I can say without a doubt that you have very serious inclinations for him.”

“Hey, what did I just say about feelings and Jason?!” You remind her of your ground rule.

“But you do!” She exclaims.

“Yeah, well… now you do to.” You smugly smile. She physically shudders.

“Please don’t remind me.” She whimpers. A moment passes, where the two of you just look out at the water together, when a certain question starts pestering you.

“Why are you still hanging around this place?” You ask. “Weren’t you just here to give me my emotions back?” She mumbles something too quiet to hear. “Huh?”

“My sea skimmer got blown away in the storm.” She says louder.

“Ah.” You nod.

“I… kinda have no way of getting off the island now.” She bashfully admits.

“Have you considered asking for a ride? You know, from the people who own the big ass boat parked at the dock?” You point out. “Yeah, it’s broken now, but I can’t imagine it’ll take them long to get it fixed up.”

“They don’t really like me.” That’s fair, Haddock did call her a wraith so you can only imagine how the other mongooses feel about her.

“Hm. Well, I have to see the captain anyways.” You tell her. “I’ll put in a good word for you.”

“Why?” She asks, a confused look on her face.

“‘Why’ what?” You ask back, just as confused.

“Why would you do that for me?” Ah, that’s what she meant.

“Think of it as… a proper thanks.” You suggest. “Sure, you were the one who stole them in the first place, and you probably would’ve died if you kept them, but you did return my convictions to me, so… yeah. I’d say we’re on relatively good terms, so why not lend a helping hand?”

“… thank you, Mia.” She quietly says.

“Don’t mention it.” You wave her off, turning to continue with your search for Haddock.

The search doesn’t exactly take very long, with you seeing him almost immediately as soon as you round the corner to the south side of the island. He’s at the end of a small patio dock that seems to have survived the shockwave relatively unscathed thanks to it being in the shadow of the pyramid’s southwestern point. He’s looking out at the water, his hands in his coat pocket. His hat seems to be missing. You make your way over.

“Lass.” He addresses as you approach, keeping his eye on the water.

“Haddock.” You address him back, standing by his side.

“A fine day, is it not?” He asks. You were too caught up in the chaos left by the impact and conversations with bickering troll girls to notice, but the water is remarkably calm. Pristine, even. It’s a lovely scene to behold, after nothing but storms since you arrived in this Land. It also looks like the sun is hanging low in the sky, just about ready to start setting. Which is weird because this Land neither orbits a sun nor has a day-night cycle. Guess having a planet crash into you can do some weird things to your atmosphere.

“It certainly is, captain.” You agree. He finally breaks his stare out to sea to look at you, causing a soft smirk to come across his face.

“Seems ye be havin’ a matchin’ lump for the crack on yer head I gave ya.” He says in that jolly-roger way of his.

“What?” You ask, unsure what he’s getting at. He taps the side of his head while looking just above your eyes. You reach up and find what feels to be head bandagings. Guess that explains why you were unconscious. “Well, that’s fucking embarrassing.” He chuckles, shaking his head jovially while looking back to the sea in contemplation.

“Tank ya, Lass.” He says on the tail end of his laugh. “Ye saved me and me crew, takin' teh brunt of the impact, way ye did. Can't imagine much'ed survive somin' like thats. Not the way ye did. Ya’ve truly made the twilight of this world an interesting one fer me.”

“Twilight?” You ask him.

“We be goin' to War, Lass.” He calmly explains, seemingly already at terms with the situation. “Be a fool ta think this world’d make it through whats commin’ next.”

“War, huh?” You toss the word around a bit, trying to grasp what a war between consorts would look like. Normally, you’d think it would be nothing more than a bunch of lizards having a slap fight, but the consorts here seem much more intense than the ones back on your own Land. A war with these guys might actually be a bit fun. “Don’t suppose you’ll be needing to conscript a few extra hands, would you?”

“I’d never ask that of ya, lass.” He shoots the idea down. “Not yer burden to bear, not yer fight.”

“Yeah, probably for the best.” You agree. “I’ve got some people waiting for me, anyhow.”

“Good. Good.” He nods, sounding glad you’ve got somewhere to go. It’s cute, how he wants to look out for you. You weren’t exactly yourself when the two of you met, and it seems he’s grown protective of that little girl he thought you were. Paternal Mongoose instincts, you guess. “Hurry to em, soon as ye can.”

“… What happened to your hat, Haddock?” You finally ask after a moment of pause.

“Ah.” He smiles, running a paw over his head. “Cast it out to sea, I did.”

“Why’s that?” You look at him, slightly surprised. You’d just though he lost it in the shockwave.

“Hat’s a sign of’a captain.” He explains. “Now on, I’ll be leadin’ me men as their equal. Out on the battlefield, we be nothin’ more than mammals fightin’ fer our hides, each n’ every one’a us.”

“I see you’re still letting them rebuild the ship for you, though.” You remind him.

“Me last orders as captain, of course.” He slyly smiles with a wink. You smile back.

“Ya know, you seem rather calm for a man about to go to war.” You point out.

“A man must find his calm where he can. After all, tis be the last day of peace me and me boys a’d see fer a long, long time.” He sniffs in a heavy breath, taking in the majesty of the scene completely. “Aye. And what a fine day it be.” He repeats.

Haddock goes quiet, enjoying the sea that is his home one last time. You stand by his side silently, trying not to break the moment for him. It seems like he’s got quite the trial ahead of him, and could use a bit of repose. You’re fine enjoying the moment with him.

 

Mia, Comfort this Former Captain.

Chapter 35: > Interlude; The Grey Palace

Much like the last Interlude you read, you’ve fallen into a strange pitfall in the timespace continuum, and your perception is warped from Mia to-… Ragnaa? Huh, bit of an odd choice, but regardless, you’re her now. Specifically Thirteen-Hours-in-the-Past Ragnaa. Again, this is quite the leap in narrative structuring, so please try to adjust yourself the best you can to such a jarring shift in perspective.

Your sightglobes are beginning to sting. It’s been quite a few hours since you last bunkered down to rest and you can’t help but yawn every couple of minutes now. This day would feel long under normal circumstances, but after the eruption in your thoughtsponge earlier today, you’re just about ready to collapse. Luckily for you, rest isn’t too far off now. The new group of adventurers you, Leah and Ryder have begun traveling with have finally decided to stop for the evening. Discussions for rest began when one of your group, that Creed fellow, spotted a strange Hive off in the distance. It was a lone structure, positioned out in the middle of the valley you were in. The tree gnome, Frank, said it looked like ‘an old cowboy hotel from the old west’. You aren’t sure what a cowboy or old-west is, but you’re so tired you’d sleep in a ditch at this point.

“And you’re sure we’ll be okay with the hotel out in the open like this?” Jason asks of the Scalebeast on his shoulder, hesitantly looking to the nearby mountain range.

“Of course!” She assures, convincing him of the safety your soon-to-be shelter will provide. “Establishments such as these have histories that go back hundreds of years, having had special protection spells cast over them during their construction to keep the Horrors at bay. Every brick in a Lighthouse’s foundation could sear the hide off the toughest beast out there!” Fascinating, so these structures have a kind of amnesty from the demons. Some form of mystical ward against their presence?

“Hmmm…” Jason hums, looking on at the renthive, still unconvinced.

“Don’t worry, Mr Jason, I’ve only ever seen a Lighthouse be breached three or four times before. They’re perfectly safe!” She continues trying to put the human at ease.

“Hmmmmm!” He hums louder, thoroughly disconcerted by the information presented to him. Ignorance is bliss, after all.

Whatever hesitancy Jason might still have over these ‘Lighthouse’ edifices, the opportunity to voice his complaints comes to a swift end as you finally reach the premises of the renthive. Finding your way to the front, you all stand before the odd establishment at the base of its steps up to the front door, beholding it in a vague wonder. The Grey Palace the building claims, printed upon the sign above its entrance.

“…I’ve certainly stayed in worse.” Haugrr declares, taking the first steps towards the doors.

“Hey, hold up, we aren’t even sure if it’s safe in there yet.” Jason calls, hurrying after him up the zig-zag inclines. Seeing them enter into the hive, the rest of the group makes their way up after the pair as well. You follow suit, but stop when a question comes.

“Is that a winnebago?” Ryder asks. You look back to find the human glancing off to the left of the Palace, spotting a small buggyblock at the edge of the building’s premises. Under the thin tin roof of the block sits a sizable scuttlehive, parked neatly in the confines of the storage space.

“Winnebago is actually the manufacturer’s name.” The Frank creature informs him. “A generic mobilehome like that would simply be classified as a Recreational Vehicle.”

“Wow, what a stupid fucking fact! Why the fuck is that thing here?” Ryder emphatically insults, getting to the main inquiry of his observation.

“Expeditious travel is a common occurrence in this Land.” Jason’s consort informs Ryder, having crawled down from her human’s shoulder when she noticed part of the group was lagging behind. “Long journeys between towns can be quite deadly on LOHAN, so motor vehicles are sometimes used as a more safeguarded form of travel. Lighthouses are typically outfitted with garages like that to better camouflage vehicles from the Horrors who patrol the skies. I guess a town’s guard is passing through as well and decided to stay the night.”

“I don’t like it…” Ryder grumbles, huffing up the zigzags while glaring at the scuttlehive.

“You don’t seem to like a lot of things.” Frank cheerfully notes, following after him.

“Shut up!” He barks back. Now alone, you’re about to follow after the two Pageboys when you hear something that stops you in your tracks.

“nemesis…”

“W-who said that?” You ask of no-one in particular, scanning the empty yard for possible combatants skulking about the shadows.

“nemesis… is… hunting…” The voices continue to shroud your mind, as if whispering to you from every direction.

“Who’s there?!” You call, demanding this phantasmal stalker reveal themselves.

“nemesis… is… near…” With its final words, the disembodied whispers culminate from a single direction, creeping their way into your hearducts from the buggyblock.

Turning your attention to the source of the mutterings, you narrow its origin down to the scuttlehive Ryder had noticed. As your sightglobes settle on the vehicle, a sudden warp appears at it’s front. You startle at its unexpected emergence into the world, but like many of the anomalies you see, you can’t help but look closer. The warp flickers, expanding larger and larger until a small blackhole hangs in its space. Your breathing quickens, a sudden dread having found its way to your bloodpusher. Just as you go to call for the others, a hand reaches out from the void, and your body is overcome by a paralyzing chill. Crawling out from its abyss, the torso of a figure wrapped in shadows reveals itself to the world. Its head arcs and cranes as if twisting itself into proper place, eventually settling its awareness directly on you.

 

“ Can I tell you a secret ? ”

 

Choking upon your fear, you can do nothing but screech in silent horror as you remain powerless to escape. What is this?! Why are you seeing things again?! This wasn’t supposed to happen! This can’t be happening! This isn’t real! This Isn’t Real! THIS ISN’T REAL!

And then, with a blink of the eye, the apparition vanishes, as if it never existed at all. Seeing the yard now empty, your breathing begins to calm. You look around a few more times, to be sure you’re truly alone. There’s nothing. Tentatively, you hurry inside, back with the group.

“You just getting in?” Leah asks, seeing you appear in the doorway.

“There-…” Your first instinct is to tell someone, to warn them of what you saw, but as Leah looks at you, nothing but skepticism on her face, you find pause. She won’t believe you. She doesn’t believe in anything… “There was a cool breeze… a-and the air was nice.” You tell her. It wasn’t real… it wasn’t real. You don’t get those types of visions anymore. You were just hallucinating.

“Okay, well hurry in. It’s dangerous outside.” She tells you. You do so, making sure the door is firmly closed.

Looking about the foyerblock of the Palace, you find an antiquated decor that gives the front room of the renthive a warm and cozy atmosphere. Leather loungeplants by a marble flamerepository, large paintings of undoubtably old dead Scalebeast in distinguished military garb, a few fancy crystal ceilingilluminators hanging around the room. Quite a lovely place.

As you behold the designs of the entrance area, suddenly, Haugrr goes leaping through the air, swinging off the ceilingilluminators as Ryder pursues after him from the ground. Landing on one of the loungeplants, Haugrr turns back to face Ryder as he catches up. He spreads his grabbers out, making it seem like he could juke right or left. Seeing he’s prepared for his pursuit, Ryder ponders a moment, before snatching a piece of wax fruit from a bowl on a nearby end table and whipping it at Haugrr, pegging him in the side as he tucks to try and shield himself.

“Ah!” Haugrr exclaims as Ryder takes off running away from him. “Wha- That doesn’t count!”

“Does so, dickhead!” Ryder calls back as he continues his escape.

“Get back here!” Haugrr calls, giving chase.

“Hey, quit running around the lobby!” Jason yells from the front desk, watching the two in their strange game of tag. Seeing they aren’t giving him any mind, he turns back to the counter, impatiently ringing the bell to get the clerk’s attention. “Come on…”

“What’s going on?” You ask, walking up beside him at the desk.

“I’ve been ringing for like a minute straight, no one’s here.” He tells you.

“Perhaps they’re closed for the day?” You guess, looking around the small outlet built into the wall of the foyerblock where the clerk’s terminal sites. There are a few scraps of paper and trinkets on a small desk behind the counter, as well as what you assume to be a sign-in book for guests. Beyond that, the only thing back there is a small chair placed before the desk, a doorway to a back office, and a mail sorter placed against the rear wall.

“No, there was a sign in the window when we came in saying it’s open.” Jason reminds you. “I don’t get it, do we just hop over and grab a room key?”

“If you could refrain from climbing about my work station, it would be most appreciated.” A soft and unfamiliar voice calls from the back room behind the counter. You both look over and see as a consort in a dark robe with a gold broach at its collar appears through the threshold. At least… you think it’s a Consort? They’re a Grey Scalebeast, just like Jason’s companion, but they’re much taller than any you’ve seen on LOHAN so far. In fact, they’re much taller than any Consort you’ve seen at all, standing at nearly your own height, perhaps only a little smaller. “Apologies. I was finishing up on some rather important business. Now! What can I help you fine individuals with.”

“Oh… uhh…” Jason meanders, more than likely also put off by the consort’s strange appearance.

“We wanted to rent a room for the night, please.” Jason’s Consort answers as she crawls up and onto the counter, seeing the clerk has finally appeared.

“Ah, hello there, little one.” The Clerk greets. “The Grey Palace happily opens her doors to a child of LOHAN. As well as her many friends, of course. Our Standard Room here comes furnished with two beds and a loveseat, as well as a refreshment chamber attached to the room. Would this be of interest to you?”

“How large are the beds?” Jason inquires.

“They’re a Full.” The Clerk answers, informing him of the parameters of this mysterious ‘bed’ device.

“Hm.” Jason thinks, looking back at the ruckus going on in the foyerblock. Ryder has still managed to avoid Haugrr’s capture as of yet, racing around the room while everyone else meanders in their business. Leah, Creed and Dallra discussing the merits and medals of a General Scalebeast painting hung up by the stairwell, and Sara sits with Frank by the fire, petting the sleeping purple consort on her lap. “I suppose we could all squeeze into two rooms, if someone takes the loveseat…”

“Actually,” Esspin chimes, sneaking up on you all at the counter. “Sara and I don’t mind getting our own block, j-just so we all have enough space to stretch out and rest for the day.” Jason looks at her strange, confused at her sudden request. “If it’s not much bother.”

“We do offer a Resident Suite.” The Clerk notes. “Smaller space, but more comfortable amenities. Only one bed, however.”

“That, please.” Esspin nods.

“Uh… sure, then. Two standards and the resident.” Jason agrees, turning back to face the Clerk as Esspin goes off to inform her roommate of the arrangement.

“Very good, sir. Two Standard and a Resident…” The Clerk repeats, scribbling something down in a small ledger. “That’ll be ฿500 boondollars for the night, then.”

“Right.” Jason huffs, removing a small leather envelope from his pocket. “Do you mind if I wire you the amount? I forgot my porkhollow at home.” He asks, pulling a small card from the envelope.

“Of course, sir.” The Clerk agrees, placing the book you had seen earlier on the counter in front of him. “You’ll find the account number to transfer the funds to at the front page. Once you’re done, if you wouldn’t mind giving your signature to check-in, we need a name on file for party reservations. I’ll be right back with your keys.”

“Sure thing.” Jason nods, looking up the transfer account in the book. While your human friend is busy footing the bill, you watch as the Clerk walks back into their office in the back room, opening up a lockbox in the wall to sort through the keys to the renthive. There’s already one missing from the rack. Room #13…

“Whoa… Mr Jason, you’re rich!” The Consort with you exclaims, noticing the amount that pops up when Jason opens the holographic interface for his account to pay.

“Huh? Oh yeah, I guess so…” Jason shrugs, unconcerned with the loot he’s gathered on his journey. “Hey, Gret, tell me something, what’s the deal with the desk lady? Why’s she so tall?”

“The caretaker?” Gret asks, glancing back to the office. “It’s probably because she’s a Confidant.”

“A Confidant?” Jason quires. “What’s that?”

“A specially chosen Consort with a task of vital importance assigned to them within the Land of Horror and Nothing.” She explains as Jason finalizes his financial transaction. “Most Lighthouse caretakers are Confidants, because their role is so pivotal to the Land’s ability to thrive, but there are plenty of other jobs that can earn you the title as well. Some guard captains and archivists become Confidants and pretty much every Horror Hunter who ever lived became one at some point. Their height is a kind of regal symbol that lets others know of their status just by looking at them.”

“Pretty fancy stuff, kiddo.” Jason notes as he flips through the book to its current page, signing his name. Noticing his full empire-given designation, you wonder what ‘Greene’ means in human. “Are Confidants specific to only Lohan, then?”

“Not at all!” She happily shakes her head. “I only know of the roles they play on LOHAN, but there are plenty of other Confidants throughout the Realm. It’s even said that the Heroes destined to arrive and save the Lands will take a Confidant on as a personal deputy for their journey, transcending them into a Liaison as reward for their services.”

“There’s more?” Jason asks, impressed by the strange hierarchy of Consorts. He sets the pen down by the book, turning his attention back to his companion. In some strange compulsion, you can’t help but let your attention linger upon the open page of the ledger. “What do Liaisons do?”

“No one knows!” Gret excitedly answers. “None have ever existed before, so scholars can only speculate what their purpose within the Realms might be!” As you continue to look over the names listed within the record book, you take notice of two in particular. The last two who checked in before Jason. Ginnun and Ukulele. Strange… the names don’t stand out in particular, you don’t know the people yourself, yet still you remain transfixed on their placement in the page.

As you behold the names, the black ink they’re written in dyes a dark green. You feel that same paralyzing chill run down your posturepole, and your breath is stifled to a choking halt. Stuck in place, you watch the words as they begin to peel from the page, slowly rising into the air to present themselves before you. Thoroughly emphasizing themselves, the names then slowly morph and meld together, changing shape into an instruction.

Find Them

“Your keys, sir.” Someone calls, snapping you out of your trance, letting you gasp a desperate breath in.

“Thanks.” Jason says to the Clerk before walking to where the group’s gathered. You watch him stroll away before looking back to the ledger, seeing the two names one last time before the Clerk closes the book, tucking it away under their desk.

“E-… excuse me. Miss?” You say to the Clerk just as they’re about to retire to their office.

“Yes?” They turn back, seeing they still have business to attend to.

“The other guests checked-in tonight… do you know who they are?” You ask, unsure what you’re looking for.

“Who they are? Can’t say that I do.” They answer, coming back to the front desk completely now. “They were having some engine trouble and had stopped for the evening. That’s all that I know of them.”

“Oh.” You look down, unsure what to do.

“Is there anything else I can help you with, madam?”

“N-no, that was all.” You shake your cranium. “Thank you…”

“Alright, listen up people.” Jason calls to everyone in the block, garnering their attention. “We’ve got rooms eleven and fifteen, so we’ll be breaking into groups of four, with Sara and Esspin taking a smaller suite on the third floor. We’re only here for the night, so get your rest while you can, we’ve got another long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Hey.” Ryder calls as he comes trotting back into the foyerblock, breathing heavily as he eventually slows to a halt. Has he been running around this entire time? “We figure out the damn rooms yet-“ Before he can finish his question, Haugrr comes jolting from behind, tackling Ryder to the ground. “Ooah!” He groans.

“Boom, bitch! You’re it!” Haugrr triumphantly declares.

“Jesus…” Jason groans.

“Mind if I snag that key from you?” Dallra asks, tapping Jason on the grabberpeak while everyone’s distracted with the commotion. “I’d like to get a rinse through the ablution trap before it gets much later and I have a feeling this might take a while.” She glances over at the scene surrounding the now defeated Ryder.

“Sure.” He sighs, handing her the #11 key. “See you in the morning.”

“Ciao.” She bids him adieu, finding her way up the zig-zag incline. You watch as she disappears up the steps before glancing back to the rest of the group. Leah stands over the two juveniles as they wrestle upon the floor, barking madly about them refracting Ryder’s grabberpole.

Seeing the opportunity to sneak away without notice, you follow Dallra upstairs, spotting her just as she enters the block at the end of the hall. Quietly, you skulk your way down the corridor, carefully placing each step upon the creaking carpet, as to not alert anyone on the floor to your presence. Eventually reaching your intended destination, you stand before Room #13, the block whose key was already rented out. This has to be where they’re staying, the two who last signed-into the ledger. But what could you need to find them for? What’s so special about these two that has your sight acting up after all this time? Hesitantly, you raise a grabber to knock upon the finely carved wood of the barrier before you, but soon find pause. No! You’re being crazy! This isn’t real, it can’t be…! You’re just tired. Exhausted from walking all day in a Land brimming with ominous dread. Of course it would make you a little paranoid! Who wouldn’t be after what you’ve been through…

As you slowly talk yourself out of knocking upon the door, you notice as the designs carved into the entryway begin to shift and swirl, dancing upon the wooden stage as if it were a kaleidoscopic, and the world around you is left to unfocus. Well… in for a dollar, in for a buck. You grab hold of the door handle, twisting the brass and entering into the block before you can realize the insanity of what you’re doing. Your heartbeat jumps up a tempo once you fully understand the gravity of your actions, and your first instinct is to turn right back around and leave, hoping they didn’t hear you enter in the first place. However, you hesitate for the briefest of moments and realize something.

“Hello?” You shyly call, to no return. There’s no one here… More bold now, you venture further into the block, finding a normal looking renthive accommodation. Two windows at the back of the room, one shade open, the other closed, a small clothhoarder between them, what looks to be the entrance to an ablution arena, and two perfectly undisturbed human slumberplanks. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think this room was unoccupied. The only thing letting you know anyone has been in the block at all is the presence of a strange Orange Tome placed on the dresser by the window. Curious, you cross the room to inspect the unusual object. As you approach, the window with the open shade frosts over with a strange sigil that appears printed upon the glass. This must be the protection seal Gret was speaking of. The effect that wards the demons off. Giving the magyk no mind, you focus upon the strange book before you. There’s no title printed on the front or the binding, just a plain leather tome. Cautiously, you flip the book open to a random page in its middle, reading the illicit words printed upon the parchment.

 

misfortune noun (mis·for·tune)

1. bad luck

       - “you have undoubtedly experienced misfortune on your journey”

  2.  a distressing incident or unfortunate series of events

       - “misfortune will surely follow if you don’t change your ways”

 

Wait… it’s just a dictionary? A simple word archiver? Who would leave this out to read, let alone have it in their possession to begin with? How are you supposed to find those two mystery people with a lousy clue like this?!

As you’re busy question the line of thinking that brought you to room #13 in the first place, there comes a sudden noise from behind you.

“Hey!” Someone calls, causing you to nearly leap out of your skin. “Whatcha doin’ in here all alone, Rags?” Turning around, you find Leah in the doorway, having noticed you standing in the empty room as she passed by the open threshold in the hall.

“Oh!… uh… is this not the block we rented?” You ask, pretending to have wandered into the room by mistake.

“No, we got number eleven, this is thirteen.” She corrects, pointing to the right, towards the room Dallra entered.

“Ah, my mistake. The door was unlocked and I just figured…” You nervously continue on with your deception.

“Well, common then, we’re all hitting the hay pretty soon.” She waves you after her, preceding towards room #11. You pop your head out past the doorway, half suspecting the occupants of the room you just burglarized to be lying in wait, prepared for you to exit from their abode before springing some kind of trap on you. No such ambush comes, and you eventually fully exit the block, quietly closing the door behind you. Maybe no one rented this room after all, and you’re just imagining things…

You trot after Leah, catching up just as she enters into your rentblock. Walking in with her, you find Haugrr laid back in a small loungeplank, carelessly flipping through a magazine with a bored expression on his face. The sounds of an ablution trap running fills the room with a quiet hissing.

“What are you doing here?” Leah asks the revenant as he lazily peeks from around his periodical to see who’s entered.

“Boy’s room is full downstairs. I’m rooming with you lot tonight.” He answers, looking back to the articles on his page.

“Don’t they have a loveseat down there as well?” Leah continues to inquire, strangely perturbed by his presence in the block.

“Already occupied.” He shrugs. “Sara and Esspin apparently left their consort with Jason, and the little bastard claimed it before anyone could figure out who was sleeping where. Besides, I could use a night away from the boys. Nothing quite like a girl’s night to recharge the batteries.”

“I hope you realize there’ll be no funny business tonight, if that’s what yer after.” She informs him, moving across the room to a slumberplank, pulling the blanket out from its tucked-clutches. Haugrr lowers the magazine once more, looking at her up and down.

“…Don’t flatter yourself.” He says before going back to reading. Leah narrows her sightglobes at him, clearly perturbed by him now. Before she can say anything else, the door to the ablution trap cracks open slightly.

“Hey, anyone around?” Dallra asks from the other side of the door.

“Yes?” Leah asks back, completely dropping her squabble with the revenant.

“There aren’t any towels in here. Do you mind getting me one from down in the lobby?” She asks with a hint of embarrassment in her voice.

“No problem, Doll.” Leah agrees, getting up and heading to the door, giving Haugrr one last suspicious look as she goes by. “Be back in a jiff.”

As she closes the door shut, a sudden quiet falls over the room. Awkwardly, you meander over to the slumberplank that Leah had prepared, sitting down on the other half. A quiet scraping catches your attention as Haugrr turns the page of his magazine. Seeing he’s in no mood for conversation, you stretch your poles out on the strange human rest-apparatus, trying to get comfortable for the day. Sleep has been uneasy ever since Ryder tore a hole in your recuperacoon, forcing you to go without sopor on your journey. You can only imagine the sort of nightmares you might have this next slumber, with the catastrophe of LOCAR still looming in your head. The experience still puts your fangs on edge, having the entire world of Conflict and Repose pour into your thinkpan all at once. That hellish amount of data to comprehend in a single moment, it was like overloading a computer with countless inputs and spiraling code until it could do nothing more than freeze up. It was like you saw Everything on that planet, saw the dread paths all those present there walked upon. You try to put it out of your pan, but whenever you close your sightglobes, you see it all over again. An entire world Cascading with Doom. You see Eren Charvacious Coin as he shirks the world off of Atlas’ shoulders, resting in his final moments beside a Prince at the altar of a dying Witch. You see the Consorts of the Land fortify themselves, readying for the end of all things. You see a Knight and a Seer in search of someone dear, long lost to one of them, watched over by a wicked specter. A doting Bard observing the sanctity of his weaponry, a woeful Maid agonizing in her sweeps-long solitude. You see as a Thief and Maid contemplate their next move before disaster struck. Sifting through everything on LOCAR, you at first thought you had found a silver lining through such a horrid experience, discovering not one, but two Maids that might possibly be the missing friend your group so desperately mourns. The excited realization soon died when you saw neither wore White robes, as Jason and Creed had described.

“What’s up with you?” Someone asks, pulling you from your rapidly growing spongeache. You look over to see Haugrr, still in the middle of reading, address you from his loungeplank.

“Huh?” You mumble back, unsure what he wants, or if he even directed the question at you at all.

“There’s something bothering you.” He says, making it clear he’s speaking to you as he flips to his next page. “Tell me what it is.”

“…Why?” You ask, unsure why he would even want to know. Hearing your question, his sightglobes drift from his magazine over to you.

“Because you have this gloomy feel about you, and it’s annoying.” He clarifies for you. “I want to help you get rid of it.”

“Oh…! Sorry, I didn’t realize I was messing with the mood.” You apologize, realizing your brooding was ruining the relaxed atmosphere in the room. “It’s just been a long night, is all, haha…” You try to laugh his query off.

“You saw something.” Haugrr notes, not letting up. “Didn’t you?”

“No!” You quickly dismiss, making it obvious you speak to the contrary. “Nothing real, anyway…”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow at you, as if asking for you to continue.

“…I’ve been hallucinating.” You admit. “I get mixed up a lot, and it makes it hard to tell the difference between an actual premonition and something not really there… In the moment, the delusions feel so real, but when I try to act on them, try to find where they’re showing me to go… I just end up going in circles, chasing phantoms. When I tell others, they look at me as if I were crazy… perhaps I am…” You grip the edges of your robe tightly, trying to choke back the helpless feeling creeping over you. “I-… I don’t really know what to do anymore.”

“Don’t do anything, then.” Haugrr tells you, focusing back on his reading material. “If you’re trying to help the people around you and all you get is ridicule, then fuck ‘em. They aren’t worth the hassle.”

“Do nothing…?” You repeat, feeling the idea out for yourself, before ultimately shaking your head. “I can’t. Doing nothing, pretending as if I had seen nothing at all… it feels like the world is coming undone around me. Like everything will fall to ruin all because I failed to act.”

“Then wait.” Haugrr continues to advise. “If you feel like you have to do something, figure out what the signs mean first. Be patient, and fully understand what it is the world is trying to tell you. There’s no rule saying to have to act immediately.”

“Is that really okay?” You ask. “To act with no urgency?”

“The things you saw, can you make sense of them?” He asks back, looking at you once more.

“No…” The grip you have on your robes begins to loosen.

“Then don’t worry about it.” He shrugs. “I guarantee no one else on this team knows what to do with the information either, and if you tell them what you saw without knowing the meaning yourself, they’ll write you off as a crazy girl making up stories. Try to figure things out on your own first. Decide for yourself what’s important to share. And if you can’t find meaning in something you see, then it likely wasn’t important to begin with.”

“What if I see something important, but can’t figure out what it means before it’s too late?” You ask of him, worried you might not be able to do what he suggests you do.

“Be on your toes.” He advises. “Omens are like road signs, you see them ahead of time so you know what to do once you reach what they’re warning about. You’ve seen the signs, so just be ready to deal with them.”

“I don’t know if I can…” You sigh, feeling a failure of a Seer.

“…You wanna know something?” You perk up at his question, curious what more he has to say. “That planet that went skipping across the sky today? I saw it go by twice.” He informs you, much to your confusion. “Once, when everyone else saw it go by, but a few moments later, I saw a second appear out of nowhere, following after the original.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You inquire, baffled he would keep such phenomena to himself.

“Because they’d think I was crazy.” He nonchalantly declares. “The second planet was translucent. Ghostly, even. It was like an after-image of the first one, traveling in the exact same path, at the exact same speed, as if on playback. If I mentioned it, I’m sure all I would’ve gotten out of it was criticism, so I didn’t see the point in telling anyone then… but I do now. I believe what I saw; I saw so I could tell you about it, to help you better understand your skills and to grow past the mental rut you’ve trapped yourself in. To act as an example for you. The ghost planet was the road sign, you were the off-ramp. It’s simple, you just have to be ready to apply what you already know when the situation arises. You don’t have to immediately know what the things you see mean, just be prepared for when they come to fruition.” He finishes, looking you over to make sure his advice is setting in, before turning back to read again.

“…Thank you, Haugrr.” You show your appreciation, thinking over everything he’s told you.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re a a regular pair of Scourge Sisters.” He sarcastically rolls his sightglobes. “Don’t mention it.”

“I-I don’t know what that means.” You tell him, unsure of his simile.

“You aren’t supposed to.” He reminds you.

Before you can ask him to explain any further, Leah returns from the lobby, carrying a plethora of white fluffy towels. She knocks on the door to the ablutionblock, handing the goods to Dallra inside, graced with a quiet ‘thank you’ from the damp Seer. Her task now complete, she sets down on the slumberplank beside you, giving you a warm smile. You softly smile back. With someone else present now, you feel too awkward to continue with the previous conversation, eventually deciding to finally settle in for the day. You get comfortable on the human sleep device the best you can, eventually letting your sightglobes rest, drifting off to sleep. As your mind detaches into the dream world, and you find yourself flying through that endless ocean of black thunderclouds, the Gloom, for one reason or another, rescind ever so slightly, lightens into a silvery grey field of rainclouds, as a faint mist drizzles around you. For the first time in sweeps, it seems that you’ve been spared from the nightmares that have consumed your life.

 

Ragnaa, enjoy those Sweet Dreams.

Chapter 36: > Ballad of the Winged Earth Skimmer

Unfortunately, you can’t enjoy those Sweet Dreams, and you certainly can’t comfort that Former Captain because you’re too busy being Jason, running through a field of barren death from a flying monster hungry for Godtiers.

“Fuck fuck fuck shit fuck fuck fuck, oh Fuck!” Ryder screams as the two of you run across the valley, away from the monstrosity circling over you like a goddamn vulture. With you both so far out from the rest of the team, your first instinct was to regroup, but it now dawns on you that you’re running in the opposite direction of sanctuary, back to your party.

“Will you shut up?!” You yell, looking back to scold your brethren Page. As soon as you’ve got your head turned, a sudden gust of wind takes you off your feet. Glancing back, Sara’s stepped forward, with an open fan in her hand. Did... did she just knock you over? Before you can make sense of the maneuver, the enormous form of the monster comes slamming down directly in front of you with an earthquaking might. Ah, makes sense now. Sara is a really good friend.

“OOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAHHHHH” The monster bellows, sounding like a horribly broken storm siren, blaring-out it’s first of many warnings. It’s facing the others, so you can’t see the front of the creature, but even from behind, you can already tell this thing ain’t pretty.

Its skin is pulled taught against its spine, emphasizing each individual bump down its back, making it seem like its skeleton is too big for its musculature. You can see a set of hind legs, but its overall form suggests it should be an aquatic creature. Its main set of wings are v-shaped, similar to a giant manta ray, while there appears to be a set of minor appendages you can only assume to be auxiliary wings, which are much smaller and more moth like, located down towards the tail section of its body, a little less than a fifth the size its main wingspan takes up. It’s a sickly grey color with white splotches here and there, to the point of being almost transparent in certain places, creating a sickening mess of tapestry on the thing’s back. The wide berth of its upper half culminates down to a point at its tail with a sharply hooked pike-like stinger, stained ink black. Everything about this creature is wrong in the most heinous of ways. You back up, reaching behind you to silently find Ryder. Eventually, your hand locates its way to him, tapping against his shoulder.

“Run.” You whisper, not taking your eyes off the monster. From what you can tell by the swaying of its head, it’s assessing your group’s numbers. There’s a distinct clicking sound coming from its front, methodical and predatory, like it’s deciding which one to go after first. This isn’t good. You would have everyone retreat if you could, but this thing is too fast to outrun, even in the short distance it would take to get to sanctuary. Meaning you’re currently strife-locked with this abomination.

“Wha?” Ryder mumbles, not fucking running like you told him to.

“OOOOO-“ The monstrosity begins to wail, preparing to make its move.

“Run!” You repeat, jutting forward to the monster and slamming your pickaxe through the narrower end of its tail, nailing it to the rigid stone of the Land.

“GRAAAAAACKCKCKCK” It screeches at the sting of your sudden attack. Instinctually, the think tries jumping forward, away from the agonizing stimulus, but Bane of All Mountains keeps its pin on the beast, firmly anchoring it in place. However, seemingly having recognized that something is at its rear, the monster rotates to face its previously unseen opponent. Facing you now, you are brought to realize the true horror of this world as you behold the face of this putrid monstrosity, evoking a entire new wave of petrifying dread to sweep upon you.

The monster’s maw looks typical at first glance, with a noticeable mouth structure at the bottom of its facial region, but there lies a seam leading from the middle of its jaw spanning all the way down to the center of its torso, a horrid portal leading to the interior of the creature’s stomach. The under region of its main wings have what look to be hooked talons centered towards the crest of its joints, which you imagine to be designed for latching onto fleshier targets for a more secure grip while they feast. There are holes on the sides of its head region, contracting and expanding, evoking that clicking sound you had heard, a kind of fine-tuned hunting mechanism for assessing prey. And its eyes, good god, it’s eyes. Sunken and black, save for the pure white pupil at their centers, chilling you as you come to find they’ve fixated their sallow wrath directly upon your meager form before them.

Seeing you standing there, the monster lets loose another bellowing cry, engulfing you in a torrent of hot breath and gory spit. The sheer power of its voice is something to behold, emphasized now that you lie in the direct path of its roar. As you suspected, the seam on its stomach opens, revealing a much larger mouth that takes up a majority of the creature’s body, filled to the brim with countless razor-like teeth. You’d be lying if you said the sight wasn’t horrifying enough to throttle you in fear. Yet, despite your fright, the swiftly approaching swipe of the monster’s wing is enough motivation to get you to drop down, dodging out of its way. Not low enough, however, as you feel its claw racks across your back, its larger talon hooking into your shoulder and taking you off your feet.

You sail through the air for the briefest of moments, pulled by your muscle caught in the monster’s barbs, before the attack reaches the completion of its swing, and the momentum sends you flying off the hook and tumbling into the ground. You can’t say it feels good, but if you’re being honest, this is probably the lesser of injuries you’ve received so far since entering the Arena.

“Boss!” You hear Creed shout. You get a glimpse of him while you’re tumbling across the ground, but your vision’s a bit too blurry to make out what he’s doing. While you’re face down in the dirt, you hear a series of gunshots and the sound of whipping winds erupt across the silent skies of LOHAN, which you can only assume to be the sounds of everyone breaking out into strife all at once.

“Ah… god…” You grumble, beginning to prop yourself up from the ground, onto your hands and knees. That's about as far as you can push it with your shoulder torn up, unfortunately.

“Jason, you alright?” You’re asked as someone grabs you by the midsection to stabilize you. Looking up, you find that Frank has joined by your side, giving your injuries a once-over to determine the severity of the wound the monster had bestowed upon you.

“Yeah, y-yeah I’m good.” You assure him. “Give me a hand, though.” He kneels down, allowing you to throw your good arm over his shoulder. With some support now, you attempt that trick you learned after taking a nose-dive off the LOFAC pyramid. You recall the sensation that flowed through you when you first activated Damage Turn-Back, and emulate it through memory, evoking a cog construct to appear in your hand. You give it a turn, but whatever metaphysical constraints this power operates on is resisting you. With a little force, you turn the cog a number of notches back, managing to at least stop the bleeding for now, but there’s still a sizable gash in your shoulder. Guess your energy reserves are feeling a little tapped from all the power usage keeping Ryder’s dumbass alive. It’ll have to do for now. “Not a hundred percent, but it’ll live.” Getting a better look at the battle, it seems the group is doing their best to keep the monster’s attention divided, taking turns throwing long distance shots one after another at it. You start to get up, but soon find yourself collapsing back down.

“Whoa, not with that amount of blood, buddy!” Frank exclaims, catching your fall. “You want I should fill you up?”

“What?” You glance back at him, you vision starting to blur for the sudden overexertion.

“Your blood.” He says, grabbing you by the jaw to physically direct your attention. Looking now, to where he’s referring, you find that a sudden quagmire of crimson red has sprung up at your feet, the blood from your injuries mixing in with the dark gravel of the Land. When could you have lost that much blood? That attack must’ve hit an artery without you realizing… “If you’re woozy, I’ll top you off.”

“I… still don’t know what you mean.” Top you off? What are you, a gas tank?

“Go for its wings!” You hear Esspin coordinate to the rest of the group.

“Give you new blood.” Frank clarifies, completely ignoring what’s going on in the fight, as if the strife itself were secondary to your interaction together. “Here, I’ll do it real quick.” With his own go-ahead to do whatever it is he’s about to do, Frank opens out his hand and with a quick swipe of his thumb, he slashes open the center of his palm with his nail. It’s a clean slash, mimicking the symbol of his Aspect upon his palm. Instead of trickling down his arm, something rather strange begins to happen with Frank’s blood. It floats from his cut, out into the air, and begins to orbit around the slashed hand.

“What the hell are you doing?” You ask.

“Don’t get too close to it!” Ragnaa shouts as the battle continues on. “It’s trying to bait you in!”

“Put ‘er There!” Frank cheerfully instructs, holding his hand out for you to shake. You look between the proposed digits and Frank himself, unsure what magyk he might have up his sleeves. Hesitantly, you concede, taking the bloody mitt with your own. Grasps now clasped, the blood that was originally just circling Frank’s hand begins to circle your own as well. Its revolutions speed up, the individual globules of the blood forming a smooth ring that float around your handshake like the electrons of an atom. Reaching the apex of its speed, the ring breaks into two pieces faster than you can realize, both of which spiral around your hands one last time before worming their way in between your and Frank’s grip.

“Gah!” You cringe as you feel a slithering energy enter into your palm and up your forearm. Instinctually, you pull back, finding your palm with a slash across its middle, just like Frank’s. You run a thumb over the cut to see how deep it is, only to find it’s just blood, no actual laceration. “What the…”

“Neat, huh?” Frank asks, sounding excited to have actually shown someone his powers. “We’re Blood Brothers, now!”

“A-, o…kay?” You try not to let that comment weird you out too much. He seems earnest about helping out, so you don’t want to ruin it for him. Speaking of helping out, you’re feeling much more lively than you were. Enough to be able to stand on your own. Getting up, you test a few motor functions out, taking stock of the improvements; stretching your fingers, rotating joints, flexing a few muscles. Actually, feeling your body move around now, you think you’re feeling a bit better than you did before that hit. “What was that, Frank?”

“Nothing too fancy, just a Vitality Boost.” He tells you. “Amazing what swapping out your blood does for your energy levels. Any cold you might’ve been fighting off should be gone as well, not sure if you were wondering that or not.”

“Uh, I-I wasn’t, but that’s good to keep in mind, I guess.” You thank him, turning your attention back to the strife at hand.

It seems the monster’s still pinned by its tail, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to keep it down much longer judging by the way it’s thrashing. What damage the others have managed to do to the thing seems minimal at most, which has you worried about how you’re supposed to get out of this situation. Every so often, the monster tries taking off into flight, only to be caught by its tail and slam back into the ground. Perhaps if you simply let it go, it’d fly away? No, that’s just hopeful thinking! This thing’s a flying creature, so its main offense is likely dive-bombing tactics. If you let this thing free, the only reason it’d fly up is to get a better angle to attack from. You won’t be able to flee while it’s stuck either. The fact that you’d lose your Main Armament if you did withstanding, judging by the size of the creature, the second that thing isn’t being pestered by the group, it could figure out what’s keeping it grounded and tear itself free. So what the hell do you do?

“Hey, no-nubs!” Haugrr shouts over to you. “What the hell do we do?!” While he’s yelling at you, your focus shifts from him back over to the mausoleum just across the ravine. Every way you approach the problem, you always find yourself at the eventuality of having to abscond. You aren’t sure how much space that place has in it, but Dallra said it was some sort of village, right? Meaning there must be some subterranean area that it leads into. The only problem is getting everyone there.

“Shit…” You mutter before breaking into stride. “Everyone! Start running! Get to the building!”

“What about you?” Ragnaa asks as you reach the strife-grounds.

“I’ll keep this thing busy while you all run.” You tell her as you equip Clocking In Overtime. Your personal powers might be tapped, but you’ve still got your arsenal, which’ll be more than enough!… or so you hope. “Sara, can you take Gretel with you?”

“Of course.” She agrees without hesitation.

“Mr Jason, you can’t!” Gretel exclaims as she’s scooped up. “Winged Earth Skimmers are a Level 0 Horror! Even the smaller ones are capable of wiping out entire armies all on their own! Taking one on alone is suicide!”

“I know you’re worried, kiddo, but right now, all that matters is that you get to safety, okay?” You look at your daughter, distressed panic rattling her small frame, shaking as if she were out in the cold. Yet still she finds enough strength to try and fight her way out of Sara’s grasp to get to you. You go to her, her tiny hands taking hold of your own as you reach out to the frightened girl. “Down through the valley, or up to the Throne. Hunter who travels the Fastest…”

“… Is he who travels Alone…” She somberly continues for you, finishing the Horror Hunter’s Motto. A proverb belonging to a faction of monster slayers native to the Land. Gretel had gone on and on about them as you settled in for the night at the Hotel. Apparently, they’re a local legend to the townspeople in her village, and hearing those words seems to have calmed her like you had hoped. She still looks worried, but is no longer actively attempting to escape from Sara’s clutches. That’s the last thing you need, Gretel pulling a Mia and running after you in the middle of a strife. Christ, you’d almost forgotten about Mia. Hopefully she finds her way back soon. If monsters are gonna keep popping up out of the woodwork like this, you’ll need your powerhouse back.

“The Consort is right, though.” Creed joins by your side, snapping you out of thought. “You’ll need backup. I figure I’m one of the quicker ones in the group, only makes sense I help everyone get a head start.”

“I’m staying as well.” Esspin chimes in between shots with that enormous fucking rifle of hers. “I’ve never abandoned a friend in battle before, and now’s certainly no day to start!”

“Fine, fine!” You concede before anyone else can Spartacus you. “Just… keep moving and be ready to run when I say run.”

“Understood.” Creed nods.

“Fine-“ -Bang- “By-“ -Bang- “Me!” Esspin agrees, still throwing out her hail of bullets.

“Good.” You turn your attention to the rest of the group. “Dallra!”

“Yeh?!” She yells back, letting loose a shot from her sling. You swear, no matter what ammo she uses for that thing, it breaks the sound barrier every time she fires.

“Can you lead everyone to the town?!” You ask, pointing to the structure with your pickaxe.

“Anything to get me out of a strife with this thing!” With one last slinging shot from her slingshot, Dallra tumbles out of the way of the monster’s oncoming attack, cartwheeling off of her metal arm, away from the fight. “You heard the human, gang. Let’s get a move on!”

Hearing their cue, the rest of the group withdraw from combat, making sure to take a wide berth from the creature’s grasp. What did Gretel call it? A Winged… Earth Skimmers? Seeing the numerous opponents begin to spread out on either sides of it, the Skimmer’s attention bounces from left to right, likely thinking they’re rushing its flank. Eventually, though, the creature seems to grasp the idea that they’ve begun to abscond, as it notices none of them have taken another attack. Emboldened by the space it’s been given, the Skimmer starts to turn, making sure to keep its attention on the fleeing parties. It crouches down, ready to lunge after the group while it’s still got them in its range.

“Esspin.” You call out.

“On it.” She responds, the scope of her gun already up to her eye. With a quick shot, the monstrosity is reminded that it still has enemies to deal with.

“What’s the play, Boss?” Creed asks, as the three of you are about to renew this strife.

“I doubt we have enough damage output to kill this thing.” You tell them, going over the countless possible ways this fight could turn out in your head. “But if we can cripple one of its wings, we might be able to scare it off.”

“Good enough for the time being. Question is now;” Esspin begins, nudging her shoulder tucked close against your own, tightening the distance between your trio. As she does, the troll pops the used cartridge from her rifle, slamming in a new one as she replaces her mag. “Which wing do we go after?” Answering her question, the Skimmer raises its wing in an attack, almost offering it up for you to go after.

“That one, I suppose.” You put a hand out to aim with, before reeling back and tossing Clocking in Overtime at your newly given target. The pickaxe spirals through the air, twirling like the burning wheel of a locomotive, before sinking itself into the end of the Skimmer’s wing. On contact, the innate temporal powers of the weapon activate, locking the Skimmer’s attack in place before it can swing. The power stored within Overtime isn’t strong enough to freeze a target that big, only placing the end of the wing in the time knot, leaving the monster squirming around with its arm up like it’s got a question. “Aim for the soft spot under its wing, where the flesh meets the body.”

“We usually call that the armpit.” Esspin informs you as she takes aim. “I know troll dialect like that probably sounds strange to your alien vocabulary, but think of it like a cultural exchange.”

“I’ll get you a bigger opening.” Creed says, charging directly at the Skimmer, bat in tow. You aren’t sure what he’s doing, but damned if he isn’t running like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Ducking just behind the monster’s legs, he plants his feet underneath its frozen wing. “Say goodby to ya fuckin’ kneecaps, buddy!” Reeling his bat back, Creed swings like he’s going for the fences, cracking the thing right on the side of its hind leg.

With a sickening crunch, Creed’s strike reverberates through the Skimmer’s body, forcing it onto one knee like he just chopped down a tree. As he promised, the flesh under its wing is much more revealed with its body stretched out so widely. Esspin’s shots seem to be doing much more damage than they were, conjuring forth an enormous spill of black blood.

“OOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHHHHHH” The Skimmer cries, taking a labored strike at you and Esspin with its free wing. With the cumbered position its in, you see the attack coming from a mile away. You spot an opening you could’ve capitalized on, but with no weapon equipped, there’s not much you can do but dodge while unarmed.

Feeling a bit defenseless with both your go-to pickaxes keeping this beast in place, you pull yet another weapon from your Strife Deck, the I-Pick 12. Ooh! Looks like you’ve got a new message. Guess with everything going on lately, you forgot to check your phone alerts. You’ll have to look at that the next time you’ve got a moment. Right now, though, you’ve got a giant to slay!

Pickaxe in-hand now, you manage to get a few slashes in on the tip of the Skimmer’s wing as it retracts from its attack. One thing you’d forgotten about the I-Pick is that it makes a little -ding-message sound every time you swing it. It’s kind of funny the first few attacks, but the gimmicky nature of it quickly devolves to being just plain distracting after a while. With its wing reeled back again, the Skimmer goes for another attack. You bring your guard up with the pickaxe, but it seems to have slipped your mind that the I-Pick 12 isn’t nearly as powerful of a weapon as Bane of All Mountains is, and the attack barrels through your defenses like a truck. Luckily, you’re hit with the middle of its wing, nowhere near its claws, so most of the damage you take is blunt and slow. Unfortunately, though, you’re knocked over by the attack, tumbling directly in front of the Skimmer’s jaws.

“Boss!” Creed calls, practically leaping in front of you as the Skimmer’s abdomen opens. With another hearty swing of his bat, he slugs into the side of the creature’s stomach lips, closing the mouth shut and stunning the thing back. “You alright?”

“Probably cracked a rib, but other than that, I’m good.” You tell him as he helps you up. “Thanks for the save.” As nice of a moment the two of you are having, an audible -cracking- sound is demanding your attention right now. The time knot on the wing is beginning to break. How?! It’s barely been twenty seconds! Damn it, the size of that thing must be speeding up the time knot’s duration.

Dashing for the Skimmer’s right side, you peer up at the Pickaxe, keeping an eye on the time still left on the clock. Normally, there’s a recharge period before Clocking in Overtime can activate a time knot again, however, there’s an exploit to that mechanic you figured out way back when. If you captchalogue the pick while the minute-hand of the clock construct is on the 59th second, the power’s cool-down timer immediately resets, ready for use again. Hopefully you can time this right, you doubt you could freeze thing thing longer than a handful of seconds if you were to do it yourself. 55, 56, 57, 58-!

You captchalogue Clocking in Overtime back into your Strife Deck, freeing the Skimmer’s wing from its temporal snare. It didn’t seem to be expecting this, as when the wing comes falling down with a thunderous thud, so too does the rest of the monster, slumping over to the side as it horrifically moans in agony. Not giving it time to recover, you re-equip Clocking in Overtime and jam the pick back into its wing again, sticking it to the ground.

“Hey! I don’t have a shot!” Esspin calls out in protest, her target now hidden from her.

“Roll with it!” You call back. “Go for its eyes or something! Creed, with me, go for the top of the wing, where the bone’ll be!”

“On it!” He agrees with a hefty swing of his bat, slamming down onto the rigid form of the vast limb before him. You use the I-Pick to slash into the thinner end of the wing, tearing tiny holes in the gliding-skin of its appendages in an attempt to cause any sort of damage you can to the aerodynamics of the creature.

“GRRRRRAKAKAKAKAKAKA” The monster erupts in a guttural roar at the non-stop bombardment. You can’t help but cover your ears at the sound. It’s hard to tell if this is some sort of sonic attack the Skimmer has or if that’s just how loud this thing can shriek. Either way, the dreadful bellowing absolutely shatters your eardrums.

“I got its sightglobes!” Esspin joyfully cheers. Ah, guess that explains why it’s freaking out so much.

Glancing back at the rest of the group, it looks like they’ve all made it to sanctuary, waiting in the threshold of the mausoleum to watch the strife unfold. Between the damage to its one wing as well as blinding the Skimmer, you think now would be an opportune time to abscond. Who knows what sort of attention this thing’s shouts are attracting to this place. No point in pushing your luck more than you already have.

“Alright, let’s pack it up!” You tell the both of them. “Start running, I’ll be right behind you.” Thankfully the two don’t protest, ducking past the monster and taking their leave. They get maybe twenty paces to your rear before they slow dow to wait for you. Good enough, you suppose. With a quick one-two-three, you captchalogue Clocking in Overtime and absolutely book it for the Skimmer’s tail, where Bane is still anchoring it. You captchalogue that as well. No point trying to Sword and the Stone that shit, you’re got a seriously pissed-off monster directly behind you, no time to try and look cool. “Go! Go!” You start waving at Creed and Esspin, who still haven’t fucking moved.

“You think we’re in the clear?” Creed asks as you catch up to them, glancing back at the scene.

“I doubt it even realizes we ran yet.” You tell him. “No way it’ll figure out where we are before we’re-“ Before you can finish, there’s a soaring boom overhead, as the Skimmer’s form passes above you, landing directly in your path. It bears its teeth and releases a low pitch growling. “…home free.”

“What do we do now?” Esspin turns to you.

“Quiet!” You whisper-shout. “Just-… stay quiet. It’s still blind. I-it probably just heard us running. We just have to-“

“CKCK…CKCKCK…CKCK…” The holes on the side of its head begin spasming slightly, making that clicking sound again. Its head wobbles for a moment before seemingly centering directly on the three of you, black blood pouring from its blinded eyes. Oh fuck. It can echolocate.

“Run faster!” You exclaim, grabbing them both by the bicep and forcing them forward. “Quick, through its legs!”

Seeing, or rather hearing you make your move towards it, the Skimmer’s abdominal mouth tears open with an ravenous ferocity, screeching as it lunges forward into a bite. The three of you dive into the space underneath it, barely missing being shredded alive by its maiden of razors. Glancing back, you see that the thing’s ripped a huge chunk of the ground up, pulverizing the dense rock-heap with its gnashing teeth in a split second. You scamper back to your feet, only to find that any sort of traction has seemingly left your stride. Slipping around, you nearly fall on your ass, but you somehow manage to stay upright, finally able to get a move on. Once you do, though, you notice the monster’s tail coils back, like a snake about to pounce. You manage to duck down just as it begins to flail, striking wildly at anything in the area.

“Aaah!” Creed yelps, falling to the ground. Oh God.

“Creed!” You drop down next to him, taking a once-over on his injury as you drag him away from the Skimmer’s reach. He got hit in the side. It doesn’t look too deep, but there’s a viscous black fluid soaked into the cut. “You alright? Can you move?” He tries to sit up, but quickly falls back again with a frantic grunt.

“N-no.” He shakes his head. His tone sounds off, like he’s fighting his own voice to keep it from trembling. “Intense muscle cramping, erratic heart rate and profuse sweating. It has to be some sort of neurotoxin. My vision’s starting to blur, a-and my heads getting foggy. I-I-I think my nervous system is shutting down.”

“Shit… Shit!” You weren’t thinking! Up until now, Bane was keeping it out of commission, so the monster’s backside didn’t even register as dangerous to you, but you saw that thing’s tail when you first pinned it to the ground! You completely neglected how hazardous it would be. For god’s sake, the thing was practically a spear! Idiot! “Esspin! Creed’s down!”

“How bad is he?” She says, stopping in her tracks to find you both on the battlefield.

“Bad!” You answer. “He won’t be able to make it to the shelter on his own. You’ll have to take him.”

“What, and leave you?” She turns to face the Skimmer, a smoking brass casing flying past her face as she pulls back the bolt of her rifle back.

“He’s too heavy for me to lift.” You look back down to Creed, finding he’s drenched in sweat. “I’ll buy you some time, just get him there!”

“And what of you?” Esspin barks, retrieving a single bullet from her hoodie pocket. Cycling the ammunition between her fingers, the troll eventually jams the projectile into the chamber of her rifle, pulling the bolt shut and firing several more times. It’s an odd time to realize it, but you have absolutely no idea how that gun works.

“I’ll manage, just take him and go!” You order. She looks to the Skimmer, then back to you, trying to decide what she wants to do. Eventually, with a cuss under her breath, she slings her rifle across her back and jukes her way through the strifegrounds to meet you, effortlessly dodging past the Skimmer’s opportunistic attacks.

“Don’t dally.” She firmly tells you once she’s by your side. Without any more fuss, Esspin throws Creed over her shoulder and stands. “Fear not, friend. Ess’s got you, now.”

“Much appreciated.” Creed grumbles in pain as he’s jutted up. “Good luck, Boss.” He wishes you with a thumbs-up as he’s whisked away.

Alone again, you turn back to face the abomination. It seems the stomping of Esspin’s escape has grabbed its attention. That certainly won’t do. You equip Bane of All Mountains and begin slamming its metal head against the ground in a rhythmic beat. The Skimmer’s attention slowly drops down to you, its enormous body shifting low to focus directly on the source of the noise before it. It lets out a sort of hiss, emphasized by the clicking of its locators as its stomach begins to unfurl. With that wing so banged up, it probably can’t swing with either of its claws properly anymore, and has fallen back to its enormous jaw for its primary offense.

Like a fight with most predators, you find yourself waiting for the attacks to come. Even without eyes, the creature follows you, reacting to every little twitch. It’s become more cautious after the beating it’s taken, but inevitably, it makes its move. Lunging forwards, the Skimmer practically launches its razored mouth at you. In that instance, you activate a Full Time Stop. You’re still exhausted from chasing after Ryder, but that energy-boost Frank gave you was just enough of a pep in your step to muster one last ability. Much like Clocking in Overtime, you don’t have nearly enough power to freeze the entire monster, but you can stop the very top of the Skimmer’s skin, keeping it still by its epidermis. Its mouth ungulates, swelling like a sea of daggers, rows upon rows of teeth disappearing and reappearing from behind each other, like it’s trying to reach out and grab you in its limited movement. After a few seconds holding this position, you begin to feel a burning in your core. No doubt about it, you’ve reached your limit. Normally, the effect of the ability would dissipate at this point, with no power left to draw upon. Yet with no physical limiter in place, you’re free to extend your abilities for as long as you can manage. The only downside, it seems, is that the energy that powers your abilities is being sourced directly from your bodily strength. Even a few seconds using an ability past your limits has begun to ache your joints and tear at your muscle, making it harder and harder to keep your hold on your opponent.

You glance back just in time to see Esspin take Creed safely into the shack. Good. Now you just gotta figure out what to do from here… Huh… fuck. You’ve got nothing. Maybe if you just… kinda inch your way away from- OH FUCK! O-okay, it looks like Full Time Stop is a very localized power. As soon as you tried stepping away, it felt like a hot knife was suddenly plunged into your sides. Okay. Okay, okay, okay. It looks like you’ll just have to hoof it as soon as you put this thing down. You’re a bit winded, but that’s okay. You’ve managed worse. Just gotta count it down, right? Count to three and do it no matter what, that’s always a good way to get yourself to do something. Okay? Okay. Let’s do this. One… Two…. Three-!

 

 

 

KADOOOOSH!!!

 

.

..

…

…What just happened? You were about to run when something blew up somewhere. That was an explosion, right? You’re on the ground now, so some explosive shockwave must’ve pushed you over. No, it couldn’t be. If an explosion went off that close to you, you’d feel a lot hotter. It was like something whizzed by you, jerking you to the ground, kind of like that red flash back on LOGAV, but like… way more powerful. Scraping yourself off the ground, you push yourself up to find the Skimmer is a good foot and a half further away from you than it was. And it’s got… a rod sticking out of it now? A big one too, like twice the length of your arm, sticking straight out of its mouth. Its teeth clatter against the object, trying to break it down, but they bounce off the metal like they’re rubber.

You hadn’t realized, but the impact of whatever threw you down broke your concentration on the Full Time Stop, freeing the Skimmer. You’d be more worried if it weren’t for the fearful squawking the horror is doing while desperately trying to turn around, hopping up and down like some oversized seal. Seeing this god-given opportunity, you frantically crawl away, managing to get to your feet at some point, allowing you to break out into a full-on sprint. There’s a natural bridge over the ravine that you hadn’t seen before. Guess that’s how they all got across. You were worried you were going to have to jump.

By the time you reach the shack, your lungs are on fire, leaving you gasping for breath. You practically slide past the threshold like you’re going for home base, nearly slipping down the stairs that are just past the entrance. The other’s grab you by the nape of your god tiers before you can go tumbling down.

“Are you okay?!” Ragnaa asks, awkwardly keeping her arms wrapped around your own even after you’ve stabilized yourself on the staircase. She leans in close to look at you.

“Noo!” You gasp, falling against the stairs, pressing your chin against the top step. “But I’m alive…”

“Here.” Sara places a hand on your shoulder. “This should help you.” That beautiful sensation of getting a second wind flows through you. Sara, you are a Goddess! Weakly, you push yourself up more on the staircase to get a better view of the situation unfolding outside.

“Where the hell’d that thing go?” You ask, searching the sky.

“There.” Ragnaa points. You follow her direction, having to lean forward to see it. The Skimmer’s not too high in the sky, clearly struggling to fly from the damage it’s taken. It looks like it’s headed for the nearest mountain range. There must be another underground entrance there. That, or it’s just too frantic escaping to try and return to its original ravine.

Before the Skimmer can get too far, though, it folds over, like it’s been struck on its side. Practically crumbling into itself, the monster breaks into a downward spiral. Half a second later, there’s a metallic ripple sound, like the kind a tight cable makes when someone flicks it, that echoes throughout the valley. It’s too far away to make out everything, but there’s a distinct rod shape sticking out from the Skimmer’s left side, stapling the wing to its abdomen. That thing stuck in its jaw was a projectile, then. Meaning someone just shot and killed that thing just now. Meaning someone shot past you, close enough to knock you to the ground. That thing was unbelievably tough, and whoever killed it did so with two shots. It might be a stupid thought, but all things considered, it’s a bit chilling knowing you were in the crosshairs of something so powerful without even knowing about it.

“Who the hell could’ve done that?” You mumble as you watch the Skimmer crash to the ground, remembering just how powerful that creature was as it disappears behind the nearby hills.

“The Mage of Space.” Dallra answers. You turn back to face her. She’s looking straight ahead, at the stone walls of the passage down. It isn’t until she notices your gaze that she actually turns to look at you directly. There’s a worried look on her face, like she’s unsure of who you’re trying to bring into the group. Not horribly unreasonable, considering how startlingly powerful they apparently are. The moment passes quickly though, as you notice Esspin tending to Creed on a stoop lower down on the staircase.

“Shit…” You stumble down, forgetting how fatigued you still are. “Creed. Is that… thing still happening with your… thing?”

“Is my nervous system still shutting down?” He painfully whispers. “Yes, very much so, I think.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” Holding a hand out to him, hovered over the slash in his side, you activate Damage Turn-Back. Surprisingly, the power output needed for this is much smaller than when you used it on yourself, consuming a lot less energy. Guess it’s more of a support ability than a self-heal. The wound closes like it never even happened, but Creed’s still looking rough. “That should’ve…”

“The pain in my ribs is gone.” He wheezes, leaning back on his elbows to look himself over. “But it still feels like the neurotoxin is pumping through me.”

“Damn, okay. Uh, Sara, can you…?” You turn to her, seeing all the bewildered faces of the group looking down at you.

“I-I don’t… I don’t have anything that can fix poisons.” She breaks it to you, a look of fearful dread upon her face.

“I’m afraid this is beyond my experience as well.” Esspin adds when you turn to her as well. A panic starts to set in on you.

“I-is anyone-… does anyone know anything about poison, o-or antidotes?” You ask the group. They murmur amongst each other, looking around to see if anyone steps up.

“Uuh.” Frank pipes up from the back, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “I… know someone.” You can feel Dallra’s eyes on you. Glancing over to her, you see that unnerved look again, as it seems she already knows who he’s going to say as well.

“Let me guess.” You say, looking back to Frank. “Your mother?”

“Yeah! How’d you know?” He asks with genuine surprise.

“She’s good with poisons?” You ignore his question. He nods his head vigorously.

“She knows a good deal about toxicology.” He thoughtfully elaborates. “I’m pretty sure it was one of her hobbies before I was born, so I’m not certain if she’s brushed up on it, but I’ve never known her to forget a subject once she’s poured her heart into it!”

“You said she was the one who shot that thing down, right?” You look over to Dallra.

“Yes.” She nods. “Based on her trajectory, it seems she’s heading straight for where its body landed.”

“What? What for?” You ask, a little surprised to hear she’s following her kill. What the hell would someone want with a dead monster?

“A trophy, I’d imagine.” Esspin proposes. “All great kills need a trophy to commemorate the occasion.”

“That monster seems a bit too big to make a trophy out of.” Leah notes. “I mean, where would she put it? Its mount would take up an entire room.”

“You wouldn’t have to take the entire carcass as a trophy.” Esspin retorts. “A smaller part of its body could make for a good mantelpiece.”

“Sure, but wouldn’t it lose its grandeur if you don’t take the entire thing?” Leah continues to debate. You’d interrupt, but you’re rendered speechless by the fact that they’re having this conversation now, while Creed’s literally dying on the floor. “I mean, how would others know how intimidating the beast was before you killed it?”

“A fair point, however, that tail of its is certainly intimidating in and of itself, more than enough to warrant a respectful mount for the beast.” Esspin points out. “I mean, take poor Creed for example. One strike and he’s already on death’s doorstep.”

“Hey!” You finally interject. “Inappropriate, the two of you. Show a little sensitivity. The man’s right there, for christ’s sake.”

“No, no, they’re right.” Creed wearily waves his hand around. “The merits of trophy-taking is a topic we should hash out before we get ahead of ourselves. I can wait.” His voice is so weak and coarse that you’re having a hard time distinguishing if he’s being sarcastic, or if he’s just delirious.

“If anything, she’d probably be scavenging for body parts.” Frank contributes to the conversation.

“Alright, everybody shut it! It doesn’t matter what the Mage is going to do to the body. We need to talk with her regardless of whatever the fuck she’s doing there.” You take charge, pulling the conversation back on track. “Dallra, how far away from the body are we?”

“My vision’s still a little spotty, but best guess?” She pauses, running the math through her head. “Twenty minutes by foot. Fifteen if we really hurry.”

“Okay, so that’s twenty there, twenty back, plus however long it takes to convince her to help us.” You look around there room, taking stock of how big the group is. “Forty five, fifty minutes maybe. Creed, you think you can hold out that long?”

“Holy fuck… No.” He tells you, pained both by the poison as well as how stupid the question was.

“Okay, uh… ah! I think I’ve got something.” You go into your Ability Index, and skim through the new abilities, looking for one you’d seen a while back. Here it is, Damage Pause. You select it, hoping it is what it sounds like.

Thankfully, the ability activates without much agony, as it seems your energy reserves are finally starting to replenish. In your hands form two… clock hands? Long one in your left, short one in your right. Huh. What the hell are you supposed to do with these? You kneel down next to Creed and poke him a bit with the points of the hands, evoking a quiet groan in protest. Guess that’s not it. Oh! Maybe if you connect the ends over him?

As soon as the two ends of the clock hand constructs get near one another, you feel an attraction coming from them as they begin to pull towards one another, almost magnetically. It gets so strong that they’re nearly pulled from your hands as they connect. Once together, an entire clock face forms around the hands, creating a ward over Creed’s body. The time’s at 3:00, sharp, and begins ticking as soon as it’s formed. There’s a node at the fourth hour mark, so you assume the time limit is sixty minutes. About ten minutes of wiggle room to get there and back. You’ll have to be fast.

“What’s that do?” Ragnaa asks, closely observing the hands of the construct.

“In theory? Stop the poison from spreading… Hopefully.” You inform her. “How’s it feelin’ buddy?” Creed takes a deep breath in, pausing a moment to let his body tell him itself.

“Better.” He finally says. “It doesn’t feel like my nerve endings are on fire, so it’s a start.”

“That’ll have to do for now.” You say, getting back up. “Okay, I’m gonna find the Mage. We don’t have much time, so only me and Frank will go.”

“What?” Sara perks up at your plan.

“We are?!” Frank asks in excitement.

“Jason, that’s preposterous.” Esspin eloquently says.

“We’ll be able to move around faster with just the two of us.” You justify, trying to ease the tension in the room. “Plus, we don’t want to scare the Mage off with a group this size just jumping into her lap out of nowhere. I figure someone she knows with one other person should be non-threatening enough.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Dallra asks, bringing your attention back to her. “Isn’t there that… thing?” She ambiguously references. “Ya know, the mind thing?” Huh, so she heard you and Creed talking about that. You had originally kept the phenomenon secret because you didn’t want the group to panic, but after what just happened, you doubt a little brain-blasting would really daunt them.

“It should be fine, so long as there’s two of us, bouncing thoughts off each other.” You explain your Mental Exhaust theory. “Right, Frank?”

“I’ll try, but my hand eye coordination isn’t very good, so my bouncing won’t be the best.” He says while looking down at his hands, which mimic the dribbling of a ball two-handedly.

“… I have faith.” You say, feeling Dallra’s judging gaze. “See us out, would you?”

“Of course.” She agrees, beginning her ascent.

“Everyone, find somewhere safe to hide out down there while we’re gone.” You call, nodding towards the bottom of the stairs. “Frank, let’s get a move on. And Creed?”

“Yeah, Boss?” He looks up from the floor.

“Don’t die.”

“I’ll try not to.” He throws a thumb up as he lays back down.

With that, you ascent these steps with your fellow Page, to meet the Seer of Space at the threshold of Monsters. She’s staring out at the open scene with a determined look on her face, focusing on her sight omnifold. The look soon fades as she notices you’ve joined her.

“She’ll likely reach the body before you.” She updates you.

“Good to know.” You tell her, scanning the horizon for any more monsters possibly on their way. The coast looks clear.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with?” She offers again.

“I’m sure.” You nod, still keeping your eye on the horizon. “Frank’s mother doesn’t exactly seem like the compassionate type, so I’ve got no idea how this is going to go. You should be here to keep everyone up-to-date in case things go sideways.”

“So long as you’re sure.” She sighs before pointing off to the nearby hills. “There’s a gravel trail between those two ridges right there. That’ll take you just before the mountains, where it crashed.”

“Thanks, Dal.” You smile. She doesn’t see. “Come on, Frank. We don’t got all day.”

“Jason.” Dallra calls once you’ve taken a few steps into the open. You look over your shoulder to see what she’ll say. “Just-… be careful.” You nod, turning back to the open nothing of the Land, emboldened by her send-off.

 

Jason, Take a Walk with your Page Brethren.

Chapter 37: > Magi of the Universe

The landscape is barren and grizzly, devoid of any sort of life or activity. Besides the two blips of red you and Frank make up in this valley, the only sort of color on this planet is the sullen gray of the ground. You’ve just reached the gravel path Dallra was telling you about, leading through the undertow of the hills. It’s a bit unnerving with how quiet it is down here. There was the occasional howl of the wind while you were out in the open, but this path is eerily silent. You’ve been talking with Frank to try keeping your mind off it, but it’s still bugging you.

“And so I thought they would be nice, since the old man was kind to me, but they could actually see me, ya know? And I think my appearance scared them too much for them to want to talk with me like their grandpa did.” You tune back in as Frank’s wrapping up a story of his adventures back in his home town or something. You weren’t really paying too close of attention.

“Yeah, yeah, I know what you mean.” You nod, not knowing what you’re agreeing with. “Hey, Frank, is this place creeping you out? Cause I’m getting a bit unnerved here.”

“Ohp.” He swallows what he was about to say, instead looking around to see what you’re referring to. “Eh, I don’t think it’s so bad.” Guess he doesn’t scare easy.

“I just can’t shake this feeling.” You continue on, marching ahead of you. “I mean, I’ve never seen a Land so… empty before.”

“Really?” He looks back in surprise. “Almost all the Lands in my session were like this.”

“Is that so?” You ask, keeping the hill’s crest in your peripherals, cautious another monster might emerge from over them.

“Yep! My Mother’s planet was the only one in our session with anything happening on it. All the other ones didn’t have any consorts or quests or anything! Just a bunch of empty hills.” He explains, catching your attention.

“Wait, what?” You hurry to catch up to him. “Are you serious? Even your own Land didn’t have a quest?”

“Hahaha, I didn’t have a Land.” He casually tells you like you’re discussing a funny story. As if it isn’t the most nonsensical thing he’s ever said, which is really saying something because he has said a lot of weird shit.

“Oh, right, you got brought into Sburb alongside your mom, didn’t you.” You reason your way through the situation. “I guess it makes sense that you wouldn’t get a Land of your own, since you entered the Incipisphere through another player’s house. I hadn’t realized a detail so mundane could have such a drastic ramification for the way a session would play out.”

“I wan’t with my Mother when we entered.” Frank cuts your reasoning short. “In fact, I was quite a ways away from her when we did.”

“Wh- well then, where’d you spawn if you didn’t have a Land?” You ask him, becoming more and more baffled with the situation in his session.

“The Veil.” He nonchalantly says.

“The Veil?” You emphatically repeat. “What do you mean; the Veil?”

“That’s where my shack was transported when I entered.” He continues, still not making any sense.

“What about your other players?” You bring up. “Did they get summoned to the Veil as well or were they taken to their planets?”

“My Mother was brought to her Land.” He says before going quiet again, like he’s finished the conversation.

“And…?” You pry.

“And what?” He quizzically looks at you.

“What about your other session mates?” You clarify.

“Ah! It was only me and my Mother in our session.” He says, verbally slapping you in the fucking face.

“Okay, stop. Stop! Start over.” You demand, trying to get a grip on this enigma of a child. “It was only you and your mom in the session.”

“Yep.” He nods.

“And you didn’t have your own Land or quest. Nothing?”

“That’s right.”

“Even though there were other Lands in your Medium?”

“It’s really simple, I don’t see what you’re struggling with.” He yawns.

“But those Lands didn’t belong to anyone, they were just barren? No quests, consorts, players, anything?” He just shakes his head, obviously bored with this unbelievable abnormality within the Sburb setting. “Were there any other players you could’ve possibly brought into your session, but just didn’t?”

“Neither me nor my Mother had any associates that I know of.” He shrugs. “She kept to herself, most of the time. And I’m… well, you know.” He rotates his arms, showing off the scars.

“Well how many other Lands were there?” You continue looking for threads to pull on, trying to figure this mystery out.

“Besides my Mother’s?” He looks up, counting on his fingers. “Eleven.”

“Eleven?” You practically choke.

“Yeah…?” Frank looks at you weird.

“And they were just… empty.” You’re finding it harder and harder to stay composed with how flippantly he’s treating this. “Nothing? Just an Incipisphere full of nothing?”

“Not nothing, my Mother’s Land was active.”

“Okay, I think I’m getting ahead of myself here.” You take another step back. “You’re a Godtier. How the hell did you ascend without a Quest Bed? Did you use your Slab in one of the Carapacian crypts?”

“The what?” He almost laughs, like you’ve said something ridiculous.

“The Carapacians.” You repeat with emphasis. “The Denizens of Prospit and Derse. Their moons had crypts with Sacrificial Slabs in them.”

“Right, the gold and purple places.” He nods, realizing what you’re referring to. “Yeah, they didn’t like me very much, so I wasn’t really welcome there. They’d throw rocks if I ever came around!” He says with a laugh. At this point, you’re starting to think he’s physically incapable of identifying abuse. Like it’s an actual neurological condition he might have. “The chess creatures on the Gold satellite said I was an ‘Emblem of their Tragedy’, while those on the Purple space-station said I was an ‘Effigy of Blatant Mockery’. I’m not sure what all that meant, but they published me in the papers one time! It was soo cool, I even still have a copy. Look!” Quickly dipping into his sylladex, Frank retrieves a Dersite newspaper, holding it out for you to see. Printed is the headline “Effigy spotted in Lower Districts; Queen Gives No Comment” along with a Bigfoot-esc picture taken of Frank dressed in rags, digging through a trashcan on Derse. Judging by the wear-and-tear on the print, you can tell he’s had it for a while. “Can you believe it? This mug, the talk of the town.”

“Yeah, that’s… great…” You half-heartedly agree as he stares fondly at the picture, a warm satisfaction in his eye, as if he were proud of the print-piece. “Then how’d you Ascend? Where was your bed?”

“In the center of my Asteroid.” He answers, captchaloguing the newspaper again. That figures. Everything about his session up until now has made no sense. Why wouldn’t there be a Sacrificial Slab in an asteroid in the Veil? “All scuffed up and gross. But the kind man with the invisible text told me laying on it would help me. And it did!”

“Invisible text?” You repeat.

“Yeah, his text matched the color of my messenger application. So it looked invisible!” He explains with a laugh. You grab your head as you realize who he’s talking about. The same guy who brought you all here. Christ, Frank, your past is the definition of chaos. Thankfully, you reach the other side of the trail through the hills before you can get any deeper into this conversation.

Out in the open, the Winged Earth Skimmer’s corpse stands out like a sore thumb, a mass of flesh sitting in an enormous puddle of black blood and gore. It looks like when a whale would wash up onto a beach and explode from the gas buildup in its carcass. You can see someone by its side, fiddling around with what remains of the thing. Their black robes stand out against the white and grey of the creature’s body, but blend with the dark of its viscera. That must be her. The Mage of Space. No time to drag your feet, you quicken your steps, determined to get this done as soon as you can.

Walking this far out into the open as fast as you are, you begin to feel a numbing sensation in the front of your mind. Knowing you’re probably about to go all thousand-yard stare, you shake it off, refocusing on the task at hand. Quit it! You don’t have time for that shit. With a grit of your teeth, you thoroughly force whatever it is trying to get inside your head out.

As you attempt to focus your mind, warding your mental faculties from the strange affects afflicting you, something off in the distance catches your eye. There’s movement out on the horizon, far beyond the Earth Skimmer’s corpse, on the other side of the valley from you. It’s a good distance away, but you can just make out the finer details of the thing. It’s an RV, tearing across the flats at what you can only assume is a momentum well over the speed limit. As you ponder what the hell a thing like that is doing in a place like this, you remember that you’ve actually seen this vehicle before. Parked in the garage at the Hotel the previous night. You had wondered about it when checking in at the establishment, but hadn’t given it much mind since it was gone in the morning. What are those Consorts up to, driving that thing around out in the open like that…?

“Jason, look! It’s her!” Frank exclaims, drawing you attention back to the task at hand. You look around, finding you’re maybe thirty feet from the scene. Did he seriously not notice her up until now?

Having closed a good chunk of distance between you and the Mage, you can actually make out some details about her now, and it’s not exactly what you’re expecting. The outfit is definitely Mage, so you can be sure this is who you’re looking for, but when Frank said “Mother”, you were thinking Mid-thirties. The person knelt down, elbow deep in the side of that monstrosity is 18, maybe 19 tops. Her hair hangs down around at the mid of her neck, and is tied in a half up down style, with a messy bun keeping her bangs out from her face. She seems a bit too preoccupied to notice you’ve approached.

“She’s your mother?” You ask, just to be sure. It doesn’t seem like he notices.

“Mom!” He shouts, running forward. The Mage noticeably tenses up before straightening out, looking straight ahead with her back still to you both.

“oh god…” You barely hear her mumble over the silent nothing of the Land. With a nauseating sloshing sound, she extracts both arms from the Skimmer’s chest cavity, before rising up from her workplace on the ground.

“Mom! It’s me! Frank!” Frank continues to yell, almost skipping up to her. She glances back with the coldest fucking look you’ve ever seen. She’s wearing something over her eyes. They look like some sort of glowing goggles, but there isn’t any sort of strap holding it to her face. She turns around completely to face you as the two of you reach her, looking none too pleased with your sudden appearance. Already off to a good start.

“Hello, One Eighty-Seven.” She formally addresses in an annoyed tone, looking directly at Frank. “You’re looking well, considering your pacemaker should have run its charge by now.” Pacemaker? Frank has a pacemaker? Did he mention that before…? You can’t remember. You look over at him, hoping to exchange glances to see how he’s taking the situation, but you don’t even seem to appear on his radar right now. He has this bright smile on his face, oblivious to the chilly atmosphere in the air.

“Here.” He hurries before her, grabbing her still blood-covered hand and placing it against his chest. She visibly cringes at the contact, nearly pulling back from him. Odd… if anyone in that exchange should be uncomfortable, it’s the guy getting covered in monster muck. “I got my blood pumping all on my own!”

“Well that was… unforeseen.” She almost sounds disappointed. Slowly, you approach behind them, silently watching this play out. On closer inspection of the Mage, you find that what you initially thought were just goggles are actually her eyes. They’re mechanical, bionic looking, with a blue LED iris in the center of a black casing. This family keeps getting weirder and weirder.

“Are you proud of me, Mom?” He excitedly asks, like a giddy puppy.

“Don’t call me that!” She immediately snaps at him. “What did we talk about?”

“Oh, r-right.” He sorrowfully apologies, straightening up his posture. “Sorry, Miss Mary.” So Mary’s her name.

“Very good.” She calms, the tension in her stance loosening. “Now I see your stitches are holding up quite nicely, so I can’t imagine you’re here to get sewn back up again. What is it you need, then, One Eighty-Seven?”

“Ah, right!” He exclaims, seemingly remembering you’re still here. “Jason, you wanna?” He steps aside, prompting you to come forward and talk. You’re a bit too awestruck at their dynamic to say anything though.

“So, you’ve brought in a stray.” The Mage says, bringing your composure back.

“U-uh, right. Sorry.” You clear your voice, stepping forward. “Hi. Mary, right?”

“Hello. You’re One Eighty-Seven’s new friend, are you?” She takes a step forward herself, wiping off the blood staining her hands onto her shirt. The black of the dark liquid blends into the black of her God Tiers. With moderately clean hands, she holds one out for you to shake. You half-gladly take it, happy to see you’ve made it to a formal greeting, but still dubious of the gore that remains caked to her hands. “I imagine that you’ve taken note of his… social lackings. I appreciate you not killing my creation out of frustration. Not many others here would have given him that same courtesy. I suppose a thank you is in order.” Did she just say creation?

“Um. Yeah, no problem… I guess?” You tell her, a little weirded out at being thanked for not killing someone. “B-but, we aren't just here to make introductions. Sorry for skipping the pleasantries, but me and Frank are sort of fixed for time at the moment. We need your help.”

“Me?” She lightly presses the tips of her fingers to her chest in a dignified surprise. The center of her eyes fluctuate like an aperture at you.

“Frank said you were good with navigation?” You ask while wiping your dirtied hand against your leg. “And, uh, toxicology?”

“Yes, I’d say I’m well versed in both fields.” She says, putting her hands behind her back. “Why do you ask?”

“For the first part, we have a, uh… a job we’d like to offer you.” You try to find a proper wording for it. “For the second, we have someone who’s been poisoned, and we don’t have much in the way of medical treatment.” She pauses a moment, looking at you funny.

“A job?” She finally says.

“For lack of a better word.” You try to spruce up your pitch. “It’s sort of like a position in a team. We’re in need of someone-“

“A team?” She cut you off.

“Y-yes.” You try to recover. “Me and Frank have a few others with us and-“

“Is it a job or is it a team?” She cuts you off again.

“Ah… both, I guess?” You wish Creed was here to help you with this.

“Well, Jason was it?” She talks before you can get back to the proposition. “Look, Jason, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I’m not in need of employment at the current moment. Economic status isn’t exactly top priority for me at this current junction in my life, so I’ll have to politely decline. I do thank you for the offer, nonetheless.” She turns back to the Skimmer's corpse, getting ready to plunge her hands back into the cut in its side. “And as for your friend, it’s remarkable what the human body can get over so long as it’s getting liquids consistently fed into it. Give him some water, I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

“Mother, I-“ Frank begins to say, stopping at the sudden arching of Mary’s head. “uh, Miss Mary, please. If you’d hear him out, I’m sure you’d reconsider Jason’s offer.” With a quiet huff, she turns around and folds her arms across her chest.

“Alright, One Eighty-Seven.” She begrudgingly agrees. “Five minutes. Don’t waste my time.”

“No need to worry about that with me, I’m the Page of it.” You try joking. It doesn’t seem to land. “R-right. Ahem, uh… so our group, right? We’re gonna be embarking on an… expedition in the near future, and we were looking to bring on board a Navigator, someone to chart a course for us. We’re in need of someone who can keep track of an ever changing environment of physical spacetime, and Frank here says you’re perfect for what we’re looking for.”

“You’re talking about the Furthest Ring.” She points out. You nod. “While yes, I can keep track of the changes there easily enough, that’s about the extent of my abilities. Navigation is simply out of the question.” She begins to explain, slowly raising your concerns over your exit-strategy. “Changes in the void are anomalous, with so many different factors contributing to its geometrical makeup, a single misplaced step could land you lightyears in the wrong direction. I could certainly document the various changes I observe there after they’ve already transpired, but there’d be no way to capitalize on the information I could gather. Conditions wouldn’t stay stable long enough to seize any windows of opportunity I’d find. For an operation as complex as proficiently traveling through nonsense space, navigation would require predictive measures. And to do something like that, I would need to gather enormous amounts of raw data on the fluctuations in the Furthest Ring’s geofolds, enough to formulate an algorithm that could reliably determine the conditions of the environment there. I’m speaking zettabyte upon zettabyte of information. And that’s just developing a method to calculate a course, actually applying it to a spacefaring vessel would require indescribably intricate machinery dedicated to monitoring every minor detail contributing to the fluctuations in the spatial tapestry there. Dimensional size, mass, inertia, every single facet of our vessel would all be a contributing factor, and I’d not only have to measure that by their speed and destination, but also their entire course along the journey. A simple maneuver taken days beforehand could result in weeks more of travel to adjust course, same as how an action taken later on in the journey could retroactively complicate navigation in the present by entire magnitudes. Not to mention calculating this entire mess would undoubtably take years, if not decades to work through correctly. No, simply no. It’s a ridiculous feat to expect of any one person. There’s no feasible way to predict the spatial changes, and without knowing exactly when and where they’ll come, there’s no navigating past the Veil.”

“Well…” You begin, sifting through all the possible ways to get around Mary’s resounding rejection. “If you can’t predict the spastic nature of the Ring through calculations, would you be able to work off data gathered from the temporal influxes that sway three dimensional space in the areas outside the vessel?” You’re gonna be honest, when you started that sentence, you had no idea where you were going. You just kind of let those strange thoughts takeover for you.

“Hmm… Perhaps.” She partly confirms. “I suppose with a few specially trained instruments, a constant feed of telemetry could be established with the time stream, providing ample enough analysis of the various effects taking place. In theory, one might be able to deduce oncoming changes in the environment with some degree of accuracy using both data sources from Time and Space. Although I confess, I never could grasp the mechanics of chronologic disjunction. I’ve tried my hand at the study, but the most I progressed in the field was theoretical physics, nothing practical in my application. Temporal influence is just a little out of my field of expertise. In fact, I’d go as far to say that I know nothing about it.”

“If that’s the case, we’ll find you a partner. Someone who can handle the temporal aspects of the job for you.” You try to ease her doubts. “It might take some doing, but I’m sure we can find someone who fits the bill.”

“You can, can you?” She lifts her chin up at you.

“There’s plenty of people who’d know all about temporal causality who we could find to help you.” You explain. “Just tell us what you’ll need to do your thing and we’ll find someone who can do it.”

“What’s the point of all this?” She finally inquires. Seems you’ve enticed her enough to peak her curiosity. That’s good, you think. “You want to get out to the Furthest Ring, but for what? Paradox Space isn’t the most compassionate to those who go against its will. What exactly are you trying to do?”

“It’s not set in stone yet,” You preface. “but we think we’ve figured out a way to neutralize the mark of death that comes along with a Doomed Fate. The general idea of the plan is to replicate the prize promised to the survivor of the Arena, without, you know, having to kill everyone. Then, we get on a ship and escape through the Furthest Ring. That’s where your assistance would be needed.”

“This all seems rather dubious, if you don’t mind me saying.” She folds her arms again. Not the best response, but she hasn’t outright said no yet.

“Please, Miss Mary.” Frank urgently steps forward, apparently picking up on something with her mood souring, which you had missed yourself. “I know you’re rather skeptical when it comes to… others, but we need you. Your help is invaluable, and can mean the difference of whether we’re able to get our operations off the ground or not. We need you. I-I need you. Please… be there for me. Just this once!” You don’t think Frank’s ever spoken like that to her before, given how scared stiff he looks. Mary stares at him with a stern look, clearly unhappy with her son speaking so flippantly with her. She takes a step forward to him. You’re not even really involved in this dynamic and even you are feeling the pressure. Suddenly, she grabs his face and starts shaking his head. You’re caught off guard by the act, so you aren’t immediately sure what to do. After a moment of awkwardly watching what could very well be child abuse, you realizes she isn’t actually violently shaking his face, rather she’s pinching his cheek.

“Alright, Frankie.” She finally says, sounding noticeably more compassionate. There’s a sort of pained smile on her face, like she’s just come to terms with something tragic.

“Reawy?!” Franks asks while she stretches his mouth to the side.

“Tell you what.” She says, finally letting go of his cheek. “Retrieve the Undulation Sack from this guy for me, then sure, I’ll help you and your little friends.” She tilts her head to the side, gesturing towards the horror carcass.

“Right away, Ma’am!” He exclaims, practically jumping into the Skimmer’s slashed open side.

“…Is that all it takes?” You ask, joining her by her side to watch Frank feverishly rummage around the insides of the Skimmer. “A giant monster’s organ and you’re with us?”

“No, I was just getting sick of trying to get that damn thing out of there, and Frankie’s always been a good helper when it comes to gore.” She explains.

“Does that mean you’re not joining?” You hesitantly ask, not wanting to dissuade her. She sighs, a quiet mechanical whirl coming from her eyes readjusting.

“Don’t worry, young man. I’ll join your little venture.” Young man? You’re like three years apart in age. “I figure if One Eighty-Seven’s this passionate about this group of yours, I owe it to him to help out. His existence is still a torment to my sanity, but not much isn’t these days. So why not?”

“I don’t mean to be a dick, but you don’t strike me as the doting mother type.” You glance at her to gauge her reaction. Stone as a statue. “What’s with the change of heart?”

“Mother. Feh.” She scoffs, furrowing her brow. “Giving me that title is a bastardization of that word.”

“That’s… an intense way of saying something.” The Victoria’s keep getting stranger and stranger. “What’s the deal with you two? I mean, he’s your son after all, isn’t he?”

“You don’t seem to be an imbecile, Jason. Am I correct in that assessment?” She asks. Frank’s disappeared up to his torso in the Skimmer’s cut, kicking his legs around in the fold.

“Uh. Y-yeah?” You stammer, yet again being caught off guard by this person. “Not to sound pompous or anything, but I’m pretty quick with it.”

“Then I’m sure you’ve noticed One Eighty-Seven’s unique appearance.” She brings up, referencing his scarring and stitches.

“He said there was an accident when he was young.” You say, recalling your talk with him on LOSAD. “Something to do with his heart, I think.”

“Quite.” She gruffly agrees, dipping a hand into her pocket to pull out a flask. Unscrewing the cap, she takes a hefty swig from the metallic bottle. You almost say something, feeling the social constraints of a society that no longer exists. Thinking better of it, you let her drink in peace. “Frankie isn’t my child, Jason. He’s my creation. Stitched together by my own hands, brought to life with nothing more than a mixture of chemicals and a thousand volt current.” Her words send a shiver through you, and your attention bounces back and forth between her and Frank, trying to determine if she’s serious or not.

“Are you… R-really?” You stammer. She closes her eyes, giving you one solemn nod as she shoves both hands into her pockets, along with her flask.

“It didn’t sink in right away, when I first gave him life. The true horror of what I’d done.” She begins her story. “He was so perfect, lifeless on his operating table. A practical Adonis in every regard, lacking but a single spark of life. Every part of him meticulously pieced together, every piece selected with care. Never in my most feverish of nightmares had I thought he wouldn’t be my greatest creation. But I began to notice things about him. Small details. The way he’d lurk. The way he’d stare and stalk. Silent, barely even breathing. The shrieks and cries as he’d writhe under the examination table while I put him back together when his stitches came undone. It was maddening. Oftentimes, he’d find his way behind me, quiet as a wraith, and I’d only ever notice once I turned around and found him there, towering over me.”

“Towering?” You look at her. Frank can’t be taller than 5’ 4’’, while it seems she’s bordering on 6’0'' even. She seems to notice the nature of your confusion.

“While One Eighty-Seven isn’t the tallest of creatures, there was a time, some years ago, when his physical form was quite the fright to me.” She explains with a sigh. “I made him at a rather young age. No older than eight. I had needed assistance with heavy lifting and thought a larger set of hands would help, but in the end, it just exacerbated my fears of him.”

“So… what happened?” You prompt her to continue, completely enthralled now.

“When I realized the true gravity of my actions, I was disgusted. Not rightfully with myself, but with him. It was cowardly, to condemn him for simply existing… but what is adolescence if not horrible regrets wracked upon ignorant cowardice.” A bit too poetically contrived for your tastes, but you’re not one to criticize someone’s troubles. “I tried abandoning him more than a few times, hoping he’d take root somewhere else, maybe terrorize some poor farming community for the rest of his days, but he always came back. Every single time. After a while, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to accept the responsibility that he represented. I couldn’t. It all came to a head when I woke one night to find he’d snuck into my room while I slept. I found him at the foot of my bed, silently watching as I slumbered. There I was, a girl of twelve, too scared to even breathe, tormented by the atrocity she’d brought upon herself. I ran. Right there and then, out of my room, my house. I don’t think I ever stopped running. But he always found me. Always caught up. Even now. That’s actually how I ended up here in the first place. When I found the game, I thought I’d finally found a way to escape. To leave all my mistakes behind. Turns out, the stranger I had gotten to agree to be my server player was none other than the thing I was trying to escape. If One Eighty-Seven is one thing, it’s persistent.”

“Whoa, that’s… whoa.” You aren’t sure what to say to all that.

“I always asked myself why he followed. Why he couldn’t just leave me alone.” She continues. “But deep down I always knew. He didn’t have anywhere else. We were just two scared children running from the things we were afraid of. Me of him, and him of being alone. I was so angry and exhausted with him when he first revealed himself to be my session partner, I lost my temper and ended up saying some rather unwarranted things.”

“Not for nothing, but most things seem to roll off Frank’s back.” You try cheering her up. “I doubt he’s holding any grudges, if that’s what you’re worried about. In fact, he speaks quite highly of you.”

“I don’t doubt it.” She sighs. “He was always such a mama’s boy. I really do appreciate you taking him as a companion. His social skills certainly have flourished immensely since last we met. He’s matured a lot…”

“You sound proud.” You tell her. She glances at you from the side, her eyes make that shuttering sound for a solid three seconds.

“Maybe I am.” She looks forward again. You both go quiet, letting the awkwardness of what you’ve discussed be overshadowed by the sounds of Frank practically swimming in the Skimmer’s insides.

“Just to be clear.” You break the silence. “All of what you said was pretty intense. About being a scared kid not being able to accept consequences. Like... that’s kinda heavy.”

“Oh… My apologies for laying that all out at your doorstep like that.” She anguishes, lazily looking off to the side. “It has been quite literally years since I’ve had someone to talk to. I suppose I’m a bit out of practice.”

“N-, it’s fine.” You assure her, not wanting to shame her for opening up. “I’m fine listening if you want to talk, but just so you know, not everyone’ll be ready to hear something like that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She says, a small smile forming on her face. It feels kind of weird talking with someone older than yourself again. It’s been so long since you’ve interacted with someone ahead of your age range since playing Sburb that you’re getting that little-kid feeling. It reminds you of the holidays, when your older cousins were forced to sit at the kids table with you during dinner, and you’d struggle to keep up with their conversations. That’s a bit of a sad memory now, with the ending of the world and all. You wonder if they found Sburb as well...

“I found it!” Frank’s muffled voice shouts, his head completely submerged in the Skimmer’s body. He pulls himself out with a sickening -pop-, breaking the vacuum of gore that’d formed in the cut. “I found it!” He trots up to Mary, holding out a blob of dripping pitch-black flesh.

“Very good, One Eighty-Seven.” She commends, taking the organ without hesitating to touch it with her bare hands. Deploying some sort of medical cooler, she places the bloody mess into a chilled environment, preserving its freshness.

“What is that?” You reluctantly ask, pointing to the mass of flesh sitting neatly on the ice pile in the container.

“An undulation module.” She plainly answers, closing the cooler and activating her captchalogue. Doing so, an even larger identical cooler construct appears, and she places the smaller one inside, closing it neatly before it disappears into her deck. Hm… Neat modus.

“It’s an organ that allows something without aerodynamity to fly.” Frank elaborates for you. “Almost all creatures that possess flight capabilities with non-hollow bones have one.”

“How does that work?“ You’re not a scientist, but you don’t think that’s how anything works.

“So, about that poisoned friend of yours.” Mary brings up, ignoring the question.

“Oh right, Creed.” You say, suddenly remembering your dying companion. “You can do something about that, right?”

“That depends.” She says, straightening up. “What was he poisoned with?”

“Uh, that thing’s tail.” You point to the dead Skimmer. Mary walks over to it, crouching down to observe the barbs on its stinger. Her eyes are going absolutely crazy, shuttering and whirling and other such mechanical noises.

“Huh.” She utters, sounding baffled by the thing.

“What? What is it?” You step next to her, observing like you’re even remotely qualified to help diagnose what this thing is alongside her.

“It’s a venom, that’s for sure.” She says, swiping her finger across the tail to gather a small bit of the fluid coating the stinger. “But there’s something strange about it.” She mutters as she get a closer look at it, holding her finger up to her face to observe.

“Well it’s some alien monster, right? Wouldn’t it make sense you don’t recognize it?” You suggest.

“That’s the thing, this is conotoxin.” She says, rubbing her fingers together to get the liquid off. “Technically an incredibly concentrated variant of conotoxin, but there’s no mistaking these chemical compositions.”

“What’s con…conotoxin?” You ask.

“It’s an isolated neurotoxin found in the glands of marine cone snails.” Frank answers for her. Where the hell is he getting all these organ and gland facts from?

“Fascinating. I’d originally thought this creature only appeared to outwardly mimicked certain traits of Terran sea-life, but it seems this goes much more deeper than that.” Mary stands up, shoving her hands back into her pockets. “Are their evolutionary chains simply parallel to terrestrial life forms, spastically interchanged and spliced together into one species? No, that’s nonsense. Everything in the Medium is brought into existence in a single moment. It would’ve never had the chance to evolve in the first place, let alone in a manner reminiscent of terra wildlife. Perhaps earth’s lifeforms hold some relevance to the Land’s owner?”

“Hey, uh.” You grab her attention out of whatever she’s hypothesizing. It’s strange being on the other side of breaking someone out of a mumbling rant to themselves. “Can you make an antidote or like, get it out of him or something?”

“Certainly, but your friend’s likely dead.” She plainly says.

“A-ah, huh?” You're almost too surprised by the monotone of her voice to understand the gravity of what she said.

“No way anyone could last more than… say twenty minutes with this pumping through their veins.” She explains. “Maybe thirty if they’re more heavyset, but still, I imagine the time between the actual injection of the toxin and the time it’ll take for us to reach them, our window to save him will have long since passed.”

“Ah, okay, no worries, then.” She looks at you funny, unsure of your sudden levity about the situation. “I did a little-“ You wave your fingers around for emphasis. “Time magic. Put the poison on pause. He’ll be fine.”

“Right…” She skeptically narrows her eyes at you. “Well, if you’re sure, it can’t hurt to bring this along.” Mary declares, grabbing hold of the stinger and holding it out. In her free hand, she equips a sizable looking bone saw from her strife deck and kneels down again next to the tail, sawing the very end of it off from the rest of the body. “I’ll need a sample of the inflicted’s blood to know the exact balance of neutralizer to administer, but I’m sure this’ll have more than enough venom to act as a base." Cutting all the way through, the detached limb of the Skimmer falls with a -splat- to the ground. "One Eighty-Seven, would you?”

“Of course, Ma’am.” Frank says, picking up the severed tail for her.

“Now. I’m assuming the rest of your group took shelter in the town on the other side of those hills, yes?” Mary asks, walking towards the path you came from, beginning the trek back to the others.

“Yeah, but how do you… oh, right! You saw us fighting out there.” You walk behind her, remembering the enormous rod shooting past you. “Hey, what the hell did you hit that thing with, anyway?”

“A high yield, reinforced, steel-lined tungsten rod.” She says, equipping an enormous sniper rifle to show off. Christ, you thought Esspin had a big gun, but this thing’s longer than you are tall. It’s military looking, boxy with a tan finish. Even with its enormous size, the barrel makes up a majority of the gun’s length. “Electromagnetically propelled and with a kinetic payload equivalent to ten pounds of C4 explosives. I call her Bertha.”

“A Railgunkind strife specibus?” You say in awe, looking the weapon up and down. “How does that even constitute as an interpersonal combative utensil? That thing’s a weapon of mass destruction!”

“It did take some… heavy modifications to downgrade the actual apparatus to the point of fitting into a specibus.” She says, rotating the gun around to inspect it in her hands. “But once it was in my actual strife deck, it was delegated to a selectable Abstratus Kind, and I was able to go from there.”

“What kind of downgrades?” You ask, hurrying to keep pace with her.

“It used to be the size of a planetarium telescope.” Frank answers, poking his head out from her other side.

“What?” You look to Mary to see if what he’s saying is true, but she doesn’t emote at all.

“We broke into a government facility and stole it.” He adds.

“What?” You repeat, unsure if you’re being fucked with or not.

“Well…” Mary bashfully looks off to the side. “One Eighty-Seven has always had a particularly uncanny ability to go undetected by most people, and even certain sensors don’t register him, given how low his body temperature is. Naturally, the temptation of directing him into more… protected areas the general public wouldn’t have access to, to simply take what I needed for ongoing curiosities has always been a vice I’ve struggled with.”

“That is horribly irresponsible, illegal a-and kind of extortive.” You scold, finding yourself struggling to keep up with this ever complicating mother and son duo.

“Oh please, spare me your recitations about the misdeeds according to the laws of an extinct civilization.” She rolls her robo-eyes. “And besides, an assistant has to be made useful somehow. Otherwise their time goes to waste having been left taskless.”

“Taskless, huh…” You repeat. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

***

 

“Hey.” The Psychotic one angrily grunts, walking over the Sloth one. “Wake the fuck up!” He kicks him in his side. The Sloth doesn’t so much as groan.

“Leave him alone.” You boredly sigh, not bothering to intervene. No point. Might as well keep staring at the ceiling, doing nothing. The Psycho marches over to you, staring down as you rock back and forth on the heel of your chair.

“We’re supposed to be standing guard.” He lectures. “And this piece a-“ He walks half way back to the Sloth one, scuffing his shoe on the floor in another kick in his direction. “Is sleeping on shift!”

“There’s nothing. To guard.” You calmly explain to him. “Nothing but a whole bunch of bleak fuckin' rocks and lizards.”

“Robin gave us a task.” He reminds you. “And we’re supp-“

“And Robin didn’t realize how piss-bloody boring it is out here.” One of the consorts walks by with a crate of fruit. You snag one as he passes you. “So lay off him. Let him lie.” You say with a mouth full of gecko fruit. “Aren’t Pages supposed to get along with one another or somein’? Have a heart, mate.”

“Oh haha, very funny.” He grabs the heart symbol on his shirt, flicking it out as he paces in front of you. “Prick.” He mumbles, peering out from under the terrace you’re bunkered down beneath.

You blow air out your lips, leaning back even further than you already were. The chair creaks under your weight, threatening to fall back as you think. Robin’s been going on about some asshole for a couple days now. She had a dream or some shit, and now she’s got you hunting this guy down for some reason or another. You’ve got no idea what’s gotten into her. She’s got the others doing some voodoo shaman bullshit, communing with the enigmatic powers-that-be to try and figure out where this guy is hiding. In the meantime, you’re left to meander around outside, playing look-out with a couple of miscreants. God you’re bored.

“God I’m bored.” You lazily moan, starting at the ceiling of the awning you’re under. The fruit is bitter and tough. It dawns on you that it might need to be cooked or prepared in some way. You keep gnashing anyway. Eventually, your eyes close, feeling the dullness overtaking you.

“LJ, we got a hit.” A voice comes just as you’ve gotten comfortable. You open your eyes back up to see the Quiet one standing beside you. Just as you’d finally settled, too. Something’s wrong with this one. She has three irises clumped together in her left eye, four in her right.

“Are you sure?” You grumble, closing your eyes shut again, trying to ignore your obligations.

“Robin’s words, not mine.” She crosses her arms. “She wants to talk.”

“Fine.” You push the chair forward, slamming its feet against the ground.

“Isn’t he supposed to be standing guard?” She asks, thumbing at the Sloth.

“Fuck off.” You sigh, moving past her into the shack your little group had commandeered from the local township. The house’s just one room, but it’s got a cellar or a bomb shelter or something. What a town full of lizards needs with a bomb shelter for is beyond you, but it makes for a good den to keep all the freaks and weirdos you’ve collected so far. Just isolated enough for them to do their thing without causing a scene.

You peak into one of the rooms as you walk by. Seems the peons have bunkered down after what you can only imagine to be a rousing afternoon of channeling the winds to find them more children to murder. Whole lot of colorful characters in there. You aren’t exactly qualified to diagnose the amount of mental FUBAR going on in that room, but you think it’s safe to assume most of them are basket cases. Couple aliens. Some say they’re trolls, few say they’re elves, like you’re in a German fucking fairytale. Robin seems to think they’re useful, so who are you to complain?

“LJ.” Speak of the devil. You look over and see her sitting in the room at the end of the hall, waiting for you. Mustn’t keep her highness waiting. You lumber in, finding your spot in the chair sitting across from her.

“Anshal said you've got a hit.” You say once you’re comfortable.

“We did.” She confirms. “Due west. Maybe a couple miles away.”

“Maybe?” You raise an eyebrow at her.

“We aren’t exactly working with precise instruments here, LJ.” She scornfully informs you. “They can figure out general directions, but that’s about it.”

“… What are we doing, Rob?” You finally come out and ask. “I get forming a group, keeping the bigger fish away with numbers, but singling people out? Hunting them down like they’re god damn animals? A-and for what, cause you had a dream about this guy?”

“It wasn’t a dream.” She corrects, missing your whole point. “It was… a parlay or something, I don’t remember what that thing called it, but it was real. And what this guy is doing could mess everything up.”

“What, trying to escape?” You sarcastically ask. “All the assholes in this shit show are trying to escape. Of course people want an out, opposed to the alternative. What the hell’s got you so up in a tizzy about this one douchebag?”

“What’s got me in a Tizzy,” Her temper’s reaching its limit. You can feel her tone running impatient. “Is the fact that this one douchebag’s somehow actually figured out a way to fuck us. Fuck all of us.”

“How?” Your voice strains, feeling exacerbated with the conversation despite how short its actually been. Talking with her can be so exhausting sometimes.

“The weird monster-“ Oh good, she’s talking about monsters again.

“The one with the three heads.” You inquire, making sure she isn’t making up monsters off the cuff now.

“Yes, the one with three heads.” She smarmily confirms, like you’re the one saying crazy shit right now. “It said he had a ship, and that he was going to leave the Arena.”

“So he dies out in nowhere space.” You shrug. “Big whoop.”

“All the deaths have to be in the Arena for it to count.” She breaks it down for you. “If he somehow gets out, then we’re all up a creek. No one gets saved.”

“Did the monster tell you all this as well?” She doesn’t seem to like that question, judging by the glare she’s giving you.

“As a matter of fact, it did.” She tells you, trying to keep her voice level. “Is there something you’d like to say about that?” Well that’s obviously bait. She’s always giving little shit-tests like this, trying to goad you into starting fights with her. Honestly, you think she gets off on wrapping you up in pointless arguments for hours at a time.

“… You wanted to talk about something?” You know better than to bite. Especially with something she’s so neurotically fixated on, all of a sudden.

“Right.” She straightens out, seeing you’re not taking the challenge. “We’ve got a lead, but I’m not gonna send everyone out on just a cardinal direction. Take Kai and Hekter out and scout the nearby towns west of here. Radio back if you find anything. Hekter’s seen this guy before as well, so he can confirm if you’ve found him or not.”

“Got it.” You passively chew the inside of your cheek. Suppose you asked for this, complaining about how bored you were. Something to do, at least. “I’ll get right on it.” You get up from your seat and head for the door.

“Wait.” Robin calls. You oblige. Her arms wrap around your chest from behind, tightly hugging you. “Be careful out there.”

“Always.” You sigh. She eventually lets you go and you walk out. You aren’t sure if she wanted you to look back.

“You get a mean talking to or something, LJ?” The Preppy one asks as you exit into the hall. She’s one of those elf aliens. Don’t know where the name comes from, they look nothing like actual elves. If anything, they look like plant creatures. Green skin, very vegetative and lush looking. Black scleras and blazing orange irises. She’s got red flower petal-looking hair too. Not exactly what you’d call an elf. “You’ve got a funny look on your face.”

“Mind your own business, thornbush.” You make sure to not brush past the plant. She likes to give you muscle cramps every time you bump into her.

“That bad, huh?” She giggles.

“Boy-scout, Windsock. You’re with me.” You call into the room full of psychos.

“I’m boy-scout, right?” The horned one in green asks.

“Yes.” Windsock groans as he stretches out of his seat. “What’s on today’s menu, LJ?”

“Walking for miles in unending wastelands.” You turn, heading for the stairs.

“Riveting.” He complains.

“Hey, at least we’ve got a task.” Boy-scout trots up beside you as you get up the steps. “You know what they say, you’ll do nothing but waste time if you go taskless.”

“I think that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say.” Windsock sneers at him.

“Hey, the fuck I say about messing with him!” You snap at the Psycho when you see him trying to put a firecracker under the Sloth’s stomach as he sleeps. Judging by the dark burn spot where the Sloth’s green wisp symbol is supposed to be, it seems he’s already lit a few off. “Get the fuck inside, and take him with you.” The Psycho grumbles at your orders, throwing the Sloth’s arm over his shoulder and pulling him inside. You push him forward as he goes by, hurriedly forcing him past the threshold of the shack. “Christ.”

“So are we going?” Windsock pokes into your field of vision.

“Yeah.” You turn out to the village buzzing with lizard business. “Boy-scout, take us west.”

“Can do.” He leads the way. You follow after

“Taskless.” You mumble to yourself as the three of you walk through town. “You only waste your time when your taskless, huh…”

 

***

 

“Hey, so I don’t want to make a bad first impression, but I’ve got to ask,” You say, stepping next to your group’s new Mage as you exit back out through the gravel path between the hills. “What’s up with the eyes?” Glancing at you with a side-eye, Mary’s ocular hardware chime and chitter as they focus on you for an uncomfortable amount of time.

“…There was an accident in the lab.” She finally says, directing her attention back forward. “I was still new to chemistry, and ended up mixing some rather corrosive and volatile chemicals together without realizing the danger. The glass flask ended up exploding when the pressure built up, and I just so happened to be closely observing the reaction at the time.”

“Jeez, so you lost your sight?” You ask, realize just how insensitive your question is only after the words leave your lips.

“Not completely.” She sighs. “I was eighty percent blind in my left eye, ninety-five percent in the right. Serious tissue damage to the point of being nearly out of commission.” Running her fingers against the bags of her eyes, you notice Mary has a lining of scars everywhere around that area, with notable damage around her sockets. “Fortunately, I still had enough vision left to put together a prototype that these bad boys would later replace.” She taps the side of her orbital cavity.

“Replaced?” You prompt her to elaborate.

“Well I couldn’t exactly craft something this intricate with only an eighth of my total eyesight.” She nearly laughs. “No, the first model I was able to make was more akin to a webcam jerry-rigged into my optic nerves. Very crude work, really, but it got the job done.”

“It was soo gross seeing the inside of her face when she had them in.” Frank adds.

“That’s very rich coming from you, One Eighty-Seven, with the amount of times I had to re-bond your skin whenever you tore yourself open crawling under the fence posts back at the home compound.” Mary scolds. These are nightmare people. You have associated yourself with nightmare people.

“Wait, so those aren’t actually your real eyes?” You hesitantly ask.

“Of course not.” She glances at you funny. “What did you think they were?”

“I don’t know, like… techno-contacts or something, not actual synthetic sight globs.” Something in her eyes readjusts several times, making a series of chirping and whirling sounds. Likely her trying to emphasize your stupidity, if you were to guess. “Alright, take it easy.”

“My real eyes were too damaged to be modified in any substantial way, so I figured removal and replacement was the best course of action.” You shiver at the term ‘removal’. “Anyway, these replacements have twice the clarity of their biological counterpart and are capable of micro field analysis as well as thermal imaging, so I’m rather content with the substitution.”

Trying to get your mind off of eye surgery, you focus your attention on the scenery. The valley is still just as uneventful as when you left it. A rather large black mark stains the ground where you fought the Earth Skimmer, dyed by the blood of the slain creature. Other than that, this place is still pretty barren. There’s a tingle on the back of your neck, the same one you got when you were being watched. You scan the horizon, but you don’t see anything out there. This place is really starting to get to you.

“Here we are.” You say, crossing the land bridge to the small mausoleum. The stairs down have a fair bit of blood spattered about. Guess Creed made more of a mess than you initially realized.

“Hellooooo?” Frank calls down, echoing through the corridor. Time to traverse this motherfucker.

As your band of dysfunctional family members makes their way down the dank steps of the stairwell, you’re treated to the sounds of a town’s hustle and bustle. Rounding a corner, you find an entire plaza nestled away beneath the earth, occupying a sizable underground cavern. Brick and mortar buildings fill the cave, forming a kind of urban area teeming with Geckos going about their day. A natural light shines over the town through a large rift in the eastern face of the cavern, which opens up into the ravine you had crossed up on the surface. Feels a little close for comfort, settling up this close to where one of those monsters lived. Although, maybe they’re hard to detect when the Earth Skimmer goes in and out of the chasm, essentially camouflaging the town from predators. While beholding the quaint little city, there comes a whistling, drawing your attention. Dallra’s peeking around a corner, motioning for you to follow. You can’t help the goofy smile that comes across your face upon seeing her. Without realizing, Dallra’s become something of a respite for you. Everything’s been so crazy, having someone like her to rely on has been an absolute boon. She reminds you of Lex in a lot of ways. Dallra’s easy to talk to, just like she was. Confident like her, too.

“This way.” You instruct Mary as Frank skips ahead with the stinger. “Dal, how’s Creed looking?”

“He’s still alive, so that’s pretty good.” She puts it lightly. “That clock thing you made is still around.”

“Good.” You say, the sense of urgency lessening its press on you. From the edge of your vision, you notice Mary waiting. “Ah, Dallra, this is Ms Victoria. She’s Frank’s… uh… life giver.” You know she doesn’t like the term ‘mother’, so you’re not sure what to call her.

“Nice to meet you.” Dallra smiles, offering her robotic hand to shake.

“Ms. Victoria’s a bit formal. Mary is fine.” She assures her. Her eyes dart down, feeling the cold touch of Dallra’s metal hand. “Titanium Neural-mesh. Impressive work.”

“Oh! Thank you.” She glows green. “Not many people can recognize it at first glance. Usually they need to take a look inside to figure out how it works.”

“I’ve got some impressive work, myself.” Mary says, her eyes clicking and humming as she smiles slyly. Dallra blushes even more. “Now, which way to the dying boy?”

“First door on the left.” Dallra directs her, nodding back. “Behind the crates.”

“Right.” She nods, moving past her. Now just the two of you, Dallra steps forward.

“Everything go okay?” She asks. “I tried to keep an eye on you, but this place is still messing with my vision. I lost you in the ink at some point along the way.”

“I was in Ink?” You inquire.

“Yeah, this Land is shrouded in this dark, inky blackness.” She explains. “Covered in it, almost like patches of fog, moving around, obscuring huge sections of my vision.”

“That’s… disconcerting.” You can’t believe such a sweet girl like Gretel used to live in a place like this. No wonder she went off-world. “But anyway, yeah, it went fine. I doubt she would’ve come if it was just me, though, so I’m glad I brought Frank.”

“And she can make a cure for Creed?” She brings up.

“She said she’ll take a look.” You preface with a sigh.

“Well, she certainly seems sharp.” She turns, walking down the alley. You follow. “I’m sure our friend is in competent hands.”

“I hope.” You sigh, working a knot out of your neck.

“So who’s next on our list, dear leader?” Dallra half-teasingly asks, glancing out of her peripherals at you.

“For the plan? Uhh.” You hum, thinking over the variety of Godtiers in the Arena. “I’ll have to check to see who’s still actually alive, but someone to help with the Undooming’ll probably be our next target. Either that or someone to size up the ship. Probably another Space player. Seems we’re starting a bit of a collection, huh?”

“Yeah, we go quite well with all the Pages running around here.” She ribs back.

“There are a lot of us.” You agree, making her chuckle quietly. It’s a nice moment. Light hearted, and jovial. Refreshing, even. Like you said, she’s become a respite for you. Despite the graveness of your current predicament, you allow yourself to think on the bright side. Things might finally be coming together!

 

Jason, Enjoy the Moment.

Notes:

Something something Homestuck something something Labor Day, I don't know. How about 'It would be our pleasure to have you this Labor Day, so Transportalize your way over to the Land of Labors and Hardships and enjoy the fruits of your Totem Lathe' ...Nah, that's super lame. Anyway, happy Labor Day!

Chapter 38: > Contact. Repeat; Contact

Entering into your newly claimed hideout, you notice your team is relatively calm for the seriousness of the situation. There's a typical murmuring of people unsure what to do besides wait for something to happen, but beyond that, nothing much else is going on in the room. The structure your group has appropriated for a temporary base appears to be some kind of warehouse, with crates and barrels stacked about the place, some of which your team has allotted as furniture. All heads in the room seem to turn your way as you enter with your new companion.

“You brought the mount!” Esspin’s the first one to speak up, seeing Frank standing there with the Earth Skimmer’s stinger.

“Not a mount.” Mary says, stepping forward, hands digging into her pockets. “I assume the young man lying on the boxes is the inflicted one?” You notice that they’ve stacked Creed atop a makeshift bed of crates, leaving him flat on his back in the middle of the room, nothing but that same small slime pillow they gave you when you were comatose to support him.

“Mmhm, this is him.” Sara confirms for her, sitting beside the wounded boy.

“Yessum, iz meh.” Creed pipes up, starting to wave his hands around wildly in the air. Gently, Sara takes hold of him by the wrists, guiding his arms back down to his side. “Iiiiiiiza me… witha muh big blue hands…” Looks like Dallra forgot to mention Creed seems to be hallucinating. There’s still poison in his veins, after all, regardless of if it’s damaging his organs or not.

“Right.” Mary pulls out her flask, taking a deep swig. “One Eighty-Seven, take the specimen sample and pull a vial full of its venom.” She instructs, handing the Page what looks to be a test-tube, which she apparently keeps in her hood pocket.

“Yes ma’am.” Frank dutifully goes to work, placing the glassware at the tip of the stinger. He fidgets with the rest of the trophy, pressing his arm into the mass and twisting. Seems to do the trick, as the tube fills with that black liquid coating the rest of the tail.

“Suppose it could make for a fine mantle piece, after all.” Leah mutters to herself, observing as Frank works the tail.

“This is the time magic you were speaking of, yes?” Mary asks, knocking one of her knuckles against your Damage Pause construct. “Quite the little trick.” You join Mary by her side next to Creed.

“Uh… th-thank you…” You aren’t sure if that was supposed to be demeaning or not. “Hopefully you’ve got some tricks yourself. For Creed’s sake, that is.” She deploys a doctor-y looking medical bag on the crate beside the injured Heir and unfolds a metal rack from inside. It holds a number of medical utensils that Mary rotates through, looking for one in particular.

“Tricks are fine and dandy for delaying the inevitable, momentarily.” She tells you, selecting a syringe from her display. “But science is about finding solutions to your problems, not just postponing them.” Oh okay, so it was definitely supposed to be demeaning.

“Who’s are you, strange lady?” Creed asks in a sweating state of delirium. His head is rocking around like he’s a newborn as he tries to focus on his new physician. “You have such lovely eyes. They can see the subspace…”

“Where was he first injected?” She asks you, ignoring Creed’s ravings, pushing his hand down when he tries to touch her face.

“His left side, right about here.” You go to touch his ribs, but Mary stops you before you can, firmly grabbing you by the hand.

“You shouldn’t go touching someone’s wounds so flippantly.” She scolds, letting you go when you pull away from Creed’s side.

“Hm!” Haugrr huffs with satisfaction. “At least somebody’s smart enough to realize that.” Is he still sore about that? Christ, man, get over it.

“W-well I already closed the injury, so it should be fine, right?” You try to defend your mistake, feeling the childish embarrassment that comes with being called out by someone older than yourself.

“You closed the injury?” She skeptically asks, raising her eyebrow at you.

“Yeah, another little trick.” You say, the faintest bit salty having your powers downplayed this much. They’re bomb-ass, god damn it! And nobody’s gonna bring that into question! Using a single finger, Mary lifts Creed’s shirt up, exposing his torso, and any gusto you had about your abilities goes completely out the window as his entire side is completely necrotic. You should probably test out the limits of your bomb-ass powers more, you might avoid shoving your foot in your mouth like this as often.

“Hoooly Fuck!” Ryder howls from the upper rung of a storage rack, peering down at the appalling sight from the scaffolding.

“Did you clean his wound first?” Mary asks, legitimately surprised at the state her patient’s in.

“Uh…” You hum like an asshole.

“Right.” She says again, furiously rubbing the side of her temple with two fingers. “One Eighty-Seven, I’ll need you to drain the liquid while I work on the neutralizer. Do you have that sample?”

“Right here, ma’am.” Frank trots up, hands and clothing slick with black liquid.

“Thank you.” She nods, awkwardly taking the test-tube from him with her pinkie as she fills her needle with Creed’s blood. “Use one of my spare syringes and take care to extract slowly. There’s likely a fair amount of pressure built up, and you don’t want to rush it.”

“Understood.” He nods, going to work under her instruction. You feel… nonplussed. Yeah, it’s nice having someone around who indisputably knows what they’re doing, but seeing how effective competent leadership can be is sort of highlighting just how rickety your whole operation has been so far… Fuck.

“Ow… Ow… Ow… Ow…” Creed peeps every time he gets stuck with the needle.

While you’re busy being insecure about your inability to lead a band of assholes, and Frank’s busy getting blood and venom all over the place, Mary begins to work with her blood sample. Deploying a few more items to work with, she places the reddish liquid she extracted from Creed in one of those spinny things doctors put blood into. What are those things called, again? Those blood-spinny thingies? Whatever. The lid closes and the machine hums to life, spinning all kinds of blood within. As the spinning commences, Mary holds up the test-tube of venom directly in front of her eyes. You can see now, how that lab accident might’ve ended up happening.

“Bollocks.” She mutters, looking the tube up and down. “Lot more potent than I initially thought. Ah well, what’s an experiment without a few variables?”

“Experiment?” Sara pipes up, concerned with the clearly flippant attitude towards saving Creed’s life.

“Oh most certainly.” She nods, tearing open a pack of white powder and pouring it into a pedantry dish. “Everything about this is uncharted. Well- not toxicology, that’s actually a rather fleshed out field of practice, but for one; conotoxin has no real antidote, which is why-“ She tears open another package, dark grey this time, pouring it over the white powder. “we’re using a neutralizer and not a reverser.” She stirs the powder together with her finger. “The goal is to stop the toxin from killing him, but the only way we can do that is to have it keep working its way through his system without completely ravaging it. I can render the toxin benign, though he still has to expel it naturally. Through sweat, urine, maybe bile if the mixture doesn’t agree with his stomach. However, that’s the other factor to keep in mind, there’s no way of knowing how his body will react to a neutralizer this strong.” She pours a small stream of the venom onto the powder mixture, causing it to violently -fizzle-. She grimaces, sucking air into her teeth. “That’s not good.”

“S-so there’s no guarantee he’ll live?” Esspin asks, nervously looking at the fizzling dust pile.

“Never was. I only said I’d do what I can.” Mary frankly informs her. Esspin give you a look. Great, looks like you’ll be getting a lecture on this some time in the future. “But what I can do is just about the best option you’ve got, given the circumstances.” She says, tearing open a larger square looking package with her teeth, pulling a pinch of thick yellow dust from it. Sprinkling the substance onto the powder-pile seems to quell the bubbling from the venom. Seeing that’s done the trick, she places three more pinches of the yellow stuff into the mix, stirring it with her finger again. “Alright, two parts cream-strained sulfate, one part negative-sodium blend, one part characterized aluminum oxide. God bless alchemized substances… Now the question is; just how much is needed…?”

“Twenty cc's! Stat!” Creed blurts, shooting up from the floor. His side looks better at least. “Finest morphine the boss can buy…”

“One Eighty-Seven, please keep him still.” Mary directs while pulling the blood tube from the blood-spinny-thingy. It’s all broken up into segments now, the reds on the bottom and some gross looking yellow liquid in the middle. On top of all of it is a thin line of black goo. Guess that’s the venom? “Hm. About one-eleventh, one-twelfth. Alright, I can scale that.”

“Whasowhasowhasowhasoooooo!” Creed begins to bellow as Franks presses him down. “Hey, hey hey hey…. boop.” He taps Frank on his nose with an arc of green electricity from his finger, giving Frank a bit of a jolt from the sudden stimulus.

“One Eighty-Seven, can you provide a blood sample?” Mary calls as she works with her various powders. “I’ll need a base of antibodies to culture the mixture with before feeding it into him.”

“Don’t you already have one, ma’am?” Frank asks back, brushing the static from his face.

“A sample of your blood, not the patient’s.” She clarifies, stirring the various mounds she’s poured out into a hodgepodge powder. “I’ll need a donation, if that’s acceptable to you.”

“Right away.” He agrees, flipping the needle he’s been sticking Creed with towards himself.

“Aht-, clean needle, Frankie.” Mary scolds after noticing what he was doing from the corner of her eye. “God’s sake, we’ve talked about this. Standard sanitary procedure.”

“Sorry. It’s been a while since I was last your assistant.” He apologizes, grabbing another needle from the bag. He slips it into his vein like nothing, and yanks out a fair bit of blood in a second or so. “Here you are, ma’am.” He hands it to her.

“Thank you.” She accepts the donation, dumping it all into a beaker-looking glass. Next comes the powder mix, which she whisks into Frank's blood with a stirring rod, turning the whole concoction a sickly pink. Busting out an empty IV bag, Mary begins to ferry the soup from the beaker into the bag via a syringe. “Alright, you’ll need a primer shot to get the works flowing.” She turns to Creed, taking his wrist in her hand and slapping the fleshy vein-highway at the inner of his elbow with two fingers in a very doctorly manner. “The rest’ll be fed into you through a drip.”

“Bluuuuuuue eyes. You got blue eyes.” Creed mumbles as Mary pushes the needle into his arm. “Heay, what’s with the third degree, maan? I’ve got rights you know…”

“Hmm.” Mary hums, taping a knuckle to her chin. “One Eighty-Seven, make a note of the patient’s delirium for me. Such a rather unique situation to see the cognitive degradation of a toxin this potent without being paired with the negative side effects, I don’t want this to slip my mind.”

“Understood.” He nods, grabbing a journal from the bag.

“Okay.” Mary huffs with a tone of satisfaction, brushing off her hands as she finishes hooking Creed up with an IV feed. “This’ll need to be kept up for about twenty minutes as it drains.” She tells you, moving away from Creed’s crate-bed to hand you the bag.

“Right, um… does anyone have anything for this?” You look around the room, pink sack in hand.

“Here.” Esspin steps up, taking the bag from your hand and leading it to the other side of the room from Creed. With a quick jerk, she harpoons the barrel of her gun into the wall, making a makeshift post to hang the drip from. “We’ll just have to shift him over first, but this should do.”

“Y-yeah, yeah…” You’re getting that feeling again. Like you’re the only one not doing something to help out. Like you’ve been upstaged…

“Jason?” Dallra grabs your attention.

“Huh?” You look over, realizing you’re just been staring off at the wall in a sort of self conscious fugue for a minute as Esspin and Ragnaa haphazardly move the crates Creed’s resting on towards his IV, nearly dropping him a few times.

“Mind if we chat?” She thumbs for the door. “Now that thing’ve calmed a bit?”

“Sure, sure.” You nod, nervously scratching the back of your head as you follow her out.

“I can’t imagine there’s much more longevity to this… thing.” Mary taps on the clock construct hovering over Creed. “But a majority of the toxin within him should be half as damning by then, and he’ll be able to fight it long enough for the rest to be neutralized.” She explains as the others flock to see her work.

Stepping out back into the alley, you take note of how dank it is in this little subterranean out-cove. You hadn’t noticed before, probably too occupied with pressing matters. It’s actually kinda relaxing. Cool, without being chilly. Must be nice for all the geckos, going about their business without having to worry about their scales chafing or something of the like. Is that something to worry about? Maybe you should ask Gretel if that’s something you should keep in mind for her.

“So.” You mosey over to Dallra at the end of the alley, stuffing your hands in your pocket. “What’s up? Something going on, or are we just chilling?”

“There’s a storm coming, thought I’d tell you about it before the area’s covered.” She informs you, the look in her eyes making it clear her gaze is somewhere else.

“W-wait, a storm?” The mellow feeling of the moment suddenly evaporates.

“Not a physical one.” She clarifies. “That ink I was telling you about, a big front of it is headed our way.”

“Should we be worried?” You ask, stepping into her peripherals, which you realize is kinda pointless as soon as you do it.

“I wouldn’t know.” She shrugs. “Doesn’t seem like anything sinister, just a larger one of the clouds that’ve been around. It might be something, might be nothing, either way I can’t keep an eye on the immediate area in this mess. We’ll be riding blind, more or less.”

“Damn. Alright, uh… yeah, thank you for telling me.” You nod, thinking over all the complications this ‘storm’ thing could cause for you. “We’ll have to have some people keep look-out then. Take shifts till you get your sight back.”

“That’s fine and all, but I was actually wondering, since I’ll be out of commission here, you want me to start looking for our next person of interest?” She suggests, seemingly snapping back to the moment to gauge your reaction. “Maybe save on some time once Creed’s off the mend?”

“Sure, that’d be great. Uh, thanks.” You lean against the wall facing behind her. “Why are we having this conversation out here, though? I thought this was gonna be a serious talk, or like… I was gonna get chewed out for something.”

“I just figured everyone needed a few to decompress and all.” She explains, pulling her arms across her torso. “I doubt they’d say it, but the general consensus in the room after you left was that we were gonna lose Creed.”

“Quite the vote of confidence.” You scoff.

“I’m just saying. It was scary.” She offers a worried shrug in her defense. “Creed’s been with us for only a few days and we already almost lost him. He was only hit once and that was nearly the end. I figure it’s best to let them calm down first, but in the meantime, why not get our next search underway in case it takes a while?”

“I don’t know… We should probably figure this out as a group.” You tell her.

“Please, with how long it takes for this party to get our quackfiends in a row, Creed’ll be right as pain by the time we come to a decision.” She complains. “Besides, I doubt anyone in that room is gonna be thinking with a level-head right now.”

‘Right as pain?’ You silently mouth to yourself.

“Come on, you’re the leader, right?” She nudges you, evoking the faintest blush to appear on your face. “It’s like you said before, it’s just an executive decision.”

“Haaa…” You huff, begrudgingly taking out the Trans.Temp. Camera. Let’s see who’s still kicking. “Huh…?”

“What is it?” Dallra inquires, glancing at your screen.

“Nothing, just… a few more casualties than I was expecting.” You say, flipping through the records. “Guess people are getting serious about all this.”

“Will we be able to get who we need?” The concern in her voice is subtle, but still present enough to notice.

“If we hurry.” You assure her, despite not being entirely sure yourself. “Even then, though…”

“Alright, then let’s be quick about it!” Dallra nods, a new wind of determination in her voice. “Who’m I looking for?” You pause, thinking over the main needs of the mission. Mary said she’d need someone to chart the temporal changes in the Furthest Ring, so she’s only one part of the Navigator crew. Although you won’t need the entire crew till you’re actually leaving, so this could be put off for the moment. There’s always getting the ship to a usable size, but that’ll more or less be the last step of the mission. It’ll likely be too big to fit in your inventory, so making it full size will be more of an endgame move, establishing it as a final home base for this operation. The real important task in all this is securing the Undooming ability. You’ve already got Haugrr, but you’ll need one, maybe two more people to synthetically replicate the power, and another to transfer it. Creed had that weird reaction when you mentioned finding a Rogue for the transfer, and you trust his intuition, so maybe hold off on that as well? That leaves just the Development of the power. The question still remains though… who?

“The Maid of Light.” You finally say. “Yeah. Definitely the Maid of Light.”

“What’s she for?” Dallra asks. You glance at her, cock-eyed. It’s an executive decision, isn’t it? Why do you have to explain yourself? “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Hopefully, she’ll be able to design the Undooming power for us.” You elaborate. “She’ll only be the architect, so we’ll probably still need someone to bring the ability into fruition, but she’ll be our opener regardless.”

“Sounds like a plan then, human.” Dallra cheerfully declares with a smile. You spot those golden teeth of hers again. You never found out why she has those, did you. You’ll have to ask again some time.

“You know what to look for, right?” You ask, getting back to the task at hand. “Outfit like Mia’s, but it’ll be orange with a sun symbol.”

“Got it.” She confirms. “I’ll get right to it, then.”

“Good.” You sigh. “Let’s get back inside. I don’t feel good being left in the dark, so hopefully this ink thing’ll pass soon.” Dallra nods, pushing off the wall with her shoulder-blades and heading back into the alley. You take a moment to look over the subterranean town. A bit of light is coming through where the ravine breaks into the cave. It’s peaceful. “God, I hope nothing more goes wrong.”

 

***

 

“This it?” Boy-scout asks.

“God, I hope so.” Windsock whines. “We’ve been walking foreeever.”

“Stop talking.” You boredly order the both of them.

“So this is the individual that’s causing Robin to behave so erratically?” Boy-scout continues to talk. “Does that mean if we get him, she’ll stop making us march from planet to planet the entire day?”

“Please, Robin’s a psycho, it isn’t just because of this guy.” Windsock quips. “Guarantee she’ll have us hunting down some other sap as soon as we ice this clown.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask, Kai, what can we expect from our quarry if he decides to fight back?” Boy-scout asks.

“Ugh, this again.” Windsock groans, lazily glaring at the troll. “I’ve never fought this guy before, I don’t know what your weird obsession is with this idea of yours.”

“Of course you fought him.” Boy-scout dismisses with a laugh. “The two of you were caught in a strife back on that Forrest planet. You were all bloodied and running away like a hopfiend from a fangbeast, then he tackled and started to beat you, don’t you remember? Robin saw this as well, she can attest to it. You even called to us for help.”

“Never happened, crazy.” He sighs. “Have you ever considered it was one of the other dozen fucking Time players running around here you saw? That ever cross your door-stopper of a brain?”

“Hm. Maybe the beating he gave you knocked the memory out of your pan.” Boy-scout theorizes as he taps his chin.

“Alright, listen here you candy-horned asshole, I don’t care what you or that crazy bitch think you saw! I didn’t-“ You stop in your tracks and wait for Windsock to pass you. As soon as he does, you jerk him back by the cloth of his ridiculously long hood, forcing him around to face you.

“Stop. Talking.” You reemphasize, speaking through your teeth. He’s bewildered at you. “And watch where you’re walking.” You step past him as he notices the bottomless pit he was about to walk right into. They’re quiet after that. At least for the next thirty paces. You reach a small passage leading underground. Perhaps some sort of bunker community? Regardless, you’ll have to search it, just like every other god damn landmark you’ve come across. As the three of you begin your descent down, you stop short, noticing something spilled along the stairwell. You crouch down to get a better look.

“What is it?” Boy-scout asks, peering over your shoulder to watch.

“Blood.” You say, feeling the bit you sponged up onto your fingertips.

“Could it be you-know-who’s?” Windsock suggests as he shoves his hands into his pockets. He’s nervous. Getting jittery the closer you get to your target. You close your eyes, focusing on the substance that stains your hand as you bring it up to your mouth. The familiar metallic taste numbs the tip of your tongue.

“Creed Lederman.” You pull from the blood. “Not him… but he knows him. Something happened, he’s injured. Gravely. Probably dead, if I were to guess.”

“And you call us freaks.” Windsock scoffs. “Meanwhile you’re licking up any muck-puddle you can get your hands on.”

“Quiet.” You order again. “Even if this Creed character is dead, there are still several other individuals traveling with our target.”

“What?” Windsock bursts, starting to let his nerves slip. “What do you mean ‘several others’? I thought we were just after the one guy?!”

“Calm yourself, Kai.” Boy-scout consoles the spaz. “We only had intel about the one individual, but we always knew there was a possibility he was forming alliances.”

“Oh, well if we always knew then-!” Windsock sarcastically mocks.

“Hey now, I’m only trying to put you at ease.” Boy-scout continues trying to calm him.

“Well you’re not, you screw-skulled dope.” Windsock puffs.

“Quit bickering.” You repeat yourself like a broken record, pushing the two of them forward to get them walking down the stairs again.

Reaching the bottom of the steps, you find yourself entering into quite the plaza. An entire underground town, nestled right up against the cavernous pit you saw outside. The blood on the stairs ends just before the last few steps. It flowed down from where the majority of it was pooled at the top of the stairs. No trails. You find that odd. No body, and no signs of anyone carrying a body. If someone had managed to get the bleeding to stop, they should’ve made a bigger mess than this. It’s almost as if this Creed just sat down down on the stairs, expelled a majority of his blood, then got up and walked away, careful not to get any on his shoes. Whatever it is going on here, it doesn’t sit well with you.

“This place is beautiful.” Boy-scout says, awestruck.

“This place is a hole in the ground.” Windsock grumbles.

“Spread out.” You instruct them. “There’s a good chance Jason’s been here, but no guarantee he still is. See if you can find anything indicating where he’s gone. I’ll stand guard at the exit in case anyone tries getting in or out.”

“Oh yeah, sure, we’re the one’s who’ve gotta go searching.” Windsock complains under his breath.

“Get to it.” You snap a few times, directing them forward. Once they’re gone, you walk over and pull a chair out at a table of some kind of lizard cafe. A waiter offers you a complimentary grub. You politely decline.

 

***

 

Creed seems to be taking to the mend rather well, according to him at least. Once he came out of his delirium, he assured you he’d be good to move within the next day. In the meantime, you’ve decided to take first-shift on watch while Dallra’s vision is obscured. You’re cooped-up on the roof, looking over the village. The building your group’s burrowed into is closer to the back of the cave, so the rocky ceiling is only a few feet above you, making it rather claustrophobic up here.

“For the last time, I don’t want your damn grub.” You hear someone complain from down below. “No-… no, I don’t care if it’s free.” Must be some kind of dispute down at one of the store fronts. Carefully, you lean over the edge of the roof, hoping to get a look at the scene down below. You think you know which of the stores the argument is taking place in front of, some sort of restaurant. There’s definitely something going, but you can’t see anything since there’s an awning obscuring your view. Wait, why the hell does this place have an awning? You’re underground. “I will not ‘just try it’, it’s a damn bug!” Huh… what kind of lizard doesn’t like bugs? With your curiosity completely peeked, you start to lean ever further out over the edge of the roof, hoping to get a glance at what’s going on.

“What are you doing?” A voice comes from behind you, nearly causing you to slip. Catching yourself, you turn around to find Creed climbing up from the fire escape.

“Ah-, nothing, just… heard some talking down there.” You explain, scooting back onto the roof. “Hey, are you sure you should be moving around so soon? Shouldn’t you be bedridden or something?”

“Mary said I’m good to move.” He assures you. “Gets the neutralizer moving through my system faster and all that.”

“Right.” You concede, looking back out to the town.

“Girl is a wiz with those chemicals, really pulled me outta the fire back there.” Creed says as he joins you at the edge of the roof. “Figure I owe her big for that.”

“Probably owe the person who found her, too.” You nonchalantly suggest. “Just a thought.”

“Dallra?” He misses your implication. “Yeah, I guess so. Pretty handy, that sight of hers.”

“Yup.” You drop it. “Dallra’s definitely something.”

“… Boss, you feeling alright?” He asks, leaning into your peripherals. “You seem a bit off. And this comin’ from somebody a’d just banged knuckles on the great beyond half a day ago.” You look at him, a little caught up in his phrasing. His accent is much more prominent than it was. Near-death probably has a way of bringing you to your roots like that.

“No, no, it’s nothing, just… schedules getting tighter by the minute.” You confide in him. He is your right hand man, after all. “The people here, they’re like animals. Not even waiting to see if things can be worked out, just tearing each other apart, hoping they’ll be the lucky survivor.” You grow more and more frustrated with each word, remembering just how many people on the Roster were snuffed out when you checked the Stone Slabs on your camera. It’s barely been two weeks since the Immortality switch was flipped and already so many people gone. Counting through the darkened Slabs, it wasn’t quite half, but it was damn-near it. Probably around the high fifties, mid sixties of the total God Tiers in the Arena. All dead. “If we don’t act fast, Creed… pretty soon we’re gonna find that the people we need are six feet in the dirt.”

“Crabs.” Creed tells you.

“What?” You look back.

“You put one crab in a bucket, it climbs right out. You put two in that bucket, ain’t neither of em going anywhere.” He explains. “They keep each other down, stop one another from escaping since they weren’t the ones that were getting out. They’re their own guards. Wardens of their own kind.”

“So we’re crabs now?” You half laugh.

“The Arena’s one hell of a bucket, don’t you think?” He smirks.

“Heh, you said it.” You sigh, finally relaxing. “Ya know, it’s funny. I knew another guy who called the Arena a bucket as well, but he was rambling about gene soup at the time. I think he was trying to make a sex joke or something?”

“Teh.” Creed laughs with a quiet grunt. “Sounds like a weirdo.”

“You can say it again and it still wouldn’t be enough.” You sigh, leaning against the guard stoop, resting your elbows on the stone and spreading out your back against the brick. God, you’re still so tense, even a slight moment of decompression like this feels like a deep tissue massage. “… Hey, can I ask you something?”

“What’s up?”

“Do you think I’m a good leader?” You glance at him.

“Pfh.” He scoffingly laughs.

“Gee, thanks.” You sigh.

“No, Boss, hey I’m sorry.” He begins to apologize. “You just caught me off guard, is all.”

“Oh, so you were just being honest, is what you’re saying.” You whine at him.

“Look, you’re fine, alright?” He lightly knocks your shoulder. “We’ve made it this far, haven’t we? Notwithstanding a few casualties, sure, but you’ve got a plan, and you’re putting it into action. What more can you ask of a leader?”

“Competence, I guess.” You mumble, still lamenting on just how put together Mary was with her craft in comparison to someone like you.

“Yeah, not exactly your strong suit.” Glancing at him, you expect a smug grin, but there’s a serious look on his face. “There’ve been some blunders, no denying. And maybe if you’da been completely competent as a leader, there wouldn’t have been so many bumps in the road, but… you’re here, and you’re trying. And I mean hell, you’re still new to leading, aren’t you? It’ll come with time.” He assures you.

“Huh… thanks, Creed.” You think that’s the most genuine encouragement someone other than your Dad has given you.

“Anyway, your shift is up. So if you wanna head inside and get some sleep, feel free.” Creed informs you.

“Wait, they sent you to take watch?” You ask, gob-struck.

“Are you kidding me? I had to talk my way up here.” He informs you. “I might not be travel-ready just yet, but you don’t exactly need working legs to keep watch on a roof. That, and that room smells like death. My death, specifically. So yeah, I was jonesing for a little fresh air.”

“Well… so long as you’re alright with it.” You shrug, not sure if you should be trying to persuade him into going back down to rest. “I’ll send someone up in a couple hours.”

“Sounds like a plan, Boss.” He waves, looking out at the town as you make your way to the fire escape. You awkwardly descend on the noticeably consort-sized ladder, tucking your elbows in to be able to hold on with both hands.

With a slight thud, you drop from the bottom of the scaffolding down onto the concrete floor of the alleyway, dusting off the bit of rust that’s pressed into your palms on the climb down. You’re about to turn back towards your hideout when you hear something come from the end of the alleyway, out within the plaza.

“Piss off, bloody grub-pushing bastard! I didn’t want it the first hundred times, what makes you think the hundred and first would be any different?!” You hear that one lizard from before grumbling from down the way. Re-igniting your curiosity, you begin to creep forward towards the plaza’s entrance. Before you can get very close, you see your eavesdropping target walk into view. Only, it isn’t a consort like you’d originally thought it was. This is a person. This is a player.

Instantly, you freeze where you stand, hoping your presence blends into the crates and clutter populating the alley. Unfortunately, just as they’re halfway across the gap, they stop in their tracks, and their attention snaps directly to you. You can make out their God Tier more clearly now. They’re the Mage of Blood.

Time slows to a crawl as the two of you look at one another. He seems to be just as baffled to be seeing you as you are with him. That is, until his mouth curls to a sly grin and he chuckles to himself, walking off with a shake of his head.

“What the hell?” You mutter to yourself. Out of all the chance encounters you’ve had with other players in the Arena, this is by far the most off-putting. You could understand why he’d avoid you if he didn’t want to strife, but why’d he walk off so nonchalantly? Laughing like he knew something.

With all the caution in the world, you creep forward to the corner leading out of the alley. You peek an eye out, expecting some sneak attack to get sprung on you, but there’s nothing of the sorts. He’s there, casually walking down the street, hands in his pocket, like he’s got nowhere better to be. There’s a sort of sway in his stride, a kind of subtle pep in his step. He definitely knows something. This can’t be good.

Feeling your stomach turn, you step foot out of the alley, still half expecting an attack of some kind to be flung your way. And yet again, nothing. Just consorts walking about as the Mage gets further and further away. He’s a Blood player, right? A Mage, no less. There’s no way he hasn’t made any sort of allegiances in the Arena. Meaning there’s bound to be another group taking refuge in the same town as you. Far too close for comfort… You’re about to pursue after when a voice comes from above.

“Boss.” Creed calls to you from the roof. “What the hell, where are you going?” Frantically, you gesture for him to be silent, pointing towards the street the Mage went down. You figure he’s spotted him when his eyes widen and he ducks down to where you can barely see him. “Who the hell’s that?” You hear him frantically whisper.

“How the fuck should I know?” You whisper-yell back. “Look, keep watch, I’m gonna follow him.”

“Why?!” He asks like it’s the stupidest thing he’s heard.

“Anyone this close during Dallra’s blackout can’t be good.” You explain. “We need to know who’s drifting around our hideout when we’re exposed like this.” With that, you turn and hurry down the street before this asshole can get too far away.

“Wha-, Boss, that’s a horrible idea!” Creed protests as you scurry off.

It isn’t exactly hard to catch up with the Mage, given that he’s strolling down the block without a care in the world. The two of you stand out like sore thumbs in this place, not only due to the height difference you both share in comparison to the consorts populating the streets, but the fact that you’re both dressed in varying shades of red in the middle of the muted landscape that is LOHAN.

You linger back a ways, keeping one of the alleys between buildings to your immediate right, bursting forward to the next one as soon as the Mage is far enough ahead. No telling if he realizes you’re behind him or not, but better to have a hiding spot ready for if he turns around unexpectedly. While you’re hot on his tail, he pulls out a cellphone, bringing it to his ear. He’s too far away for you to make out what he’s saying, but he’s definitely talking with someone, still just as calm as ever.

About seven or so blocks from where you first started following him, the Mage walks diagonally across the street, opening the door to a garage-looking building and disappearing inside. Is this his own hideout? Or maybe this is some sort of impromptu ambush… Is it possible he saw you following? He never looked back, but it’s not like he was trying to be evasive, even though he knew there was another person in the area without ever confirming if you were hostile or not. You could be walking into potentially anything here.

“What’re you planning, you smug bastard…” You mutter to yourself.

“I was just about to ask you the same thing.” A voice comes from behind you, nearly making your heart jump into your throat. Turning around, hand half dipped into your Strife Deck, you find Creed, arms crossed and breathing heavier than normal.

“Jesus man, fu- make yourself known when sneaking up on a guy.” You wheeze, gripping your chest.

“Are you out of your mind?” He scolds, evoking an eye roll from you.

“What?” You shruggingly defend yourself. “I fought that crazy flying nightmare on my own, no problem! What’s following one asshole back to his garage?”

“And if there’s a whole group in there waiting to jump you?” He asks, gesturing to the shack the Mage went into.

“Do you really think I’m that dumb? I wasn’t exactly planning on knocking on the front door to welcome him to the neighborhood.” You correct his concerns. “I was just gathering information. And be thankful I did, cause now we’ve got their home base scoped out and know for a fact that there’s more than one of them lurking about.”

“Wait, how? Did you spot more of them?” Creed immediately checks your surroundings, searching for some sort of tell of a set-up.

“No, no.” You wave your hands slightly, pulling his attention back to you. “That Mage was on his phone, talking with someone.”

“…What?” He pauses. “He was making a phone call? And you saw this? Like actually saw it? He wasn’t just putting it to his face to maybe make it seem like he wasn’t alone?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” You assure him, somewhat put off by his sudden curiosity about this guy. “He was accepting a call, hit the little green phone icon and everything.”

“That shouldn’t be possible.” He says, chewing on his cheek.

“…Whyyyy?” Your voice stretches in confusion. Impossible to make a phone call?

“There’s an interference of some sort going on in the Arena. Messing with the connections. Cellular, internet, even radio, I’m betting. Anything that’d get a message out is going nowhere for anybody.” He elaborates, moving the two of you into the alley to your right.

Interference? That can’t possibly be true. You saw a new message when you had your I-Pick 12 out in your fight with the Skimmer. Unsure whether Creed is trying to bullshit you or not, you dive into your Sylladex, looking for any sort of messaging device. Rummaging through your mess of an inventory, the easiest item to find is your Phone. Catalog #116, Section 4x29. Straight, Right, Left, Right, Straight, Left, Left, Right.

With a quick puzzle solved, you gain access to your trusty telephonic device. Like you’d seen before, there’s a tiny ‘1’ icon within your messages. What the hell is this guy on about, making shit up about… about… the message… Lex sent it…

Without even checking to read through the content of the message, you frantically mash a response into the text box of the phone and send it off to-… not sent? What the hell? You retype the response, send it and yet again ‘not sent’.

“W-w-w-what’s the fucking deal?” You demand, slapping the phone in a vain hope that hitting it will somehow help.

“See?” Creed gestures to your device as an example. “So if that Mage has some kind of-“ The Mage! He’ll know something about this. Ignoring the rest of what Creed has to saying, you march over towards the garage. “What- oh jesus fucking christ, Boss. Wait up!” He hurries in front of you, stopping you in the street. “Stop!”

“If he’s got some way of breaking through this interference, then I need to know how.” You tell him, trying to move past. He halts you once more, forcefully putting his hand against your chest.

“I’m not exactly in fighting condition here, Boss.” He informs you with an arm pressed against his still-injured side, trying to mitigate the pain. “If you go in there, you’re going in without any backup.”

“I’m not looking for a fight, I’ve just got a few questions i need to ask him.” You attempt to put him at ease. Judging by his face, he doesn’t appear very convinced, but he’s not actively deterring you from proceeding forward. You give him a nod as one last attempt to assure him you know what you’re doing and step forward.

Stepping up to the door of the garage, you instinctually raise a fist to knock, stopping short when you realize announcing yourself might not be the best idea. Lowering your hand, you grip the doorknob and open the entrance. You stand at the threshold, looking into a room of darkness, when hesitation finds you. Creed is right, there’s no telling what could find you inside. But something’s not sitting right about all this, and it’s your job as the leader to find out before it has a chance to bite your group in the ass.

With a tightening of your fist, you swallow your fear and step through. Creed trails behind a few paces, determined to stay by your side even if he can’t directly help if things go sideways. You appreciate his presence regardless, more likely to deter a strife from breaking out when you’ve got numbers, however useless.

The dark lighting of the garage is surprising. Although the town is in a cave, it was still relatively bright out from the rift at the east side. It seems the windows of the building have been boarded up, with only the occasional beam of light peeking through the slots between planks. From what you can make out in the room, it looks to be a mechanic shop, with chains and car-parts scattered about the place. You find that odd, seeing as you’ve seen nothing around town that would necessarily require an artificer’s touch. There haven’t been any cars driving about the subterranean village, and none of the houses had any sort of garage that might store them. You never quite got the mechanics behind Sburb’s World Enrichment and how it would seemingly add meaningless details to town designs on a player’s Land. Grub-related shops and miniature residences made sense, consorts and all that, but places like this that have no real feasible use always gave off the same feeling as those fake buildings in film lots they’d use for movies.

“Well, well.” You hear someone call from above you. Looking up, you see the Mage of Blood, draped in shadows, his wingspan spread, leaning over a guardrail from a second floor you hadn’t noticed in the dark. “Look what the cat dragged in.” Okay, apparently you’re dealing with a 80’s TV tough guy, judging by that cheesy line.

“Hey… pardon the intrusion.” You say, turning to face him directly. “We saw you a few blocks back. Wanted to ask you a few questions, if that’s alright.” Through the dim light, you notice the skeptical glare on his face shift into a smug look of satisfaction.

“Curious one, huh?” He finally says after staring you down a moment.

“I suppose.” You try to force a laugh, hoping to keep things lighthearted with this unknown quantity you’ve happened upon. “I noticed you were using a phone on your way here. Thing is, no one else seems to be able to get a signal out. So I was wondering how you got yours working again.”

“Oh this?” He leans his elbows on the metal guard-bar, flashing his phone in his left hand, carelessly holding onto it like it isn’t the center of the room’s attention. “Well see, how I make calls is my business, so… I’m afraid I’ve got no answers for you.”

“Come on, now. You’ve got something we need, so I’m sure we have something you need as well. I think we can come to a friendly agreement.” You move your chin to the side. “If we all remain friendly, that is.”

“Oh, you have something I need alright.” He grunts. You pause a moment, waiting for him to propose a trade, but instead his eyes shift beyond you. “Who’s the stiff?” He nods to your companion.

“Creed.” He answers firmly, not wanting to get too comfortable in this environment. “Didn’t catch your name.”

“Creed Lederman.” His eyebrows raise, amusingly surprised by the information. “In the flesh. Now that, I find very surprising.”

“You know me?” Creed shifts his weight, cautious of the sudden recognition.

“Not personally,” He shrugs. “but you left quite the mess on the steps coming into town.”

“Boss, I think we should scram.” Creed leans in to whisper to you, the urgency in his voice barely contained by his calm inflection.

“And you.” The Mage turns his attention back to you. “Judging by those red threads you’ve got, I’d say you’re a Time player. I’ve never seen an outfit like that, but if I had to guess, and I’m no expert, but if I had to guess, I’d say you’re a Page. That makes you Jason Greene, doesn’t it.” In an instant, your body tenses, stiff as a board and cold as ice.

“What’d you just say…” You mutter, realizing that your hand’s begun drifting towards your strife deck again.

“Boss, really. We’ve gotta go.” Creed whispers again.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” The Mage says, clearly satisfied with himself.

“Alright, asshole, cordiality be damned, you’re going to tell me how you got your phone to work.” You demand, brushing off Creed’s advice. The Mage’s weight shifts to the side, and his chest puffs out in a scoff. “Or I’ll come up there and force it out of you through a shattered jaw.”

“Maybe we don’t start flashing our fangs at the stranger we know nothing about, yeah?” Your unless companion continues trying to reign you in.

“Listen to Creed, Jason.” The Mage says through tapping teeth. “You’ll live longer.”

“You watch your fucking mouth.” You order, committing to pulling from your deck. The Bane of All Mountains manifests within your hands and the only change in the room seems to be how apparent your nervousness has become. The Mage doesn’t so much as twitch at you brandishing your specibus.

“Heh.” He laughs, reaching into his own inventory. If you weren’t sure you’d miss, you’d have thrown your pick his way. In place of the weapon you were expecting to appear in his hands, instead comes a… yo-yo? He drops it down into the light and it -hums- like a propeller before flicking it back into his palm. “So you’re itchin' to get a peak, huh?” He drops the yo-yo again, snapping it up with a little more force this time. “Tell you what, phone’s all yours. Just come up here like you said you would.” He drops the yo-yo once more, letting it buzz like a saw before you. “And see if you can take it.” When he pulls the yo-yo back up again, it snaps with a -crack- of thunder. So it is a specibus.

“Smug-“ Before you can finish your insult, the door creaks open, and in comes two more players. The Heir of Time and-… and the Knight of Doom. “Prick…”

“Hope we’re not late.” The Heir boastfully walks behind you, around to your right as the Knight takes the left. While the Knight feels comfortable enough to get relatively close to your personal space, you notice the Heir had taken a wide berth around you, taking care to stay well out of you or Creed’s range of attack. Interesting… “Seems these rats are better at hiding than we thought.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” The Mage tells him, eyes still on you. “All it takes is a little cokesing and they come running right into your lap. Boy-scout, he the guy?” The Knight of Doom steps forward to get a better look at your face.

“…Yeah, this is him.” He nods after a moment, confirming your identity. Were-… were these guys hunting you?

“This is getting out of hand-“ Creed whispers, taking a step closer till he’s practically overlapping you.

“Quiet.” You order, continuing the stare down with the Mage.

“What say you, Jason?” The Mage asks. “Regret following me yet? If so, the door’s right there. You could probably make it if you run.” Falling for his invitation, your eyes tear away from him, over to the door, curious if he’s baiting you. But he’s right. The door’s unguarded, and both his cronies aren’t close enough to grab at you if you abscond. “But it seems ol’ Creed here isn’t in the best of shape, seeing how much blood he’s been leaving around town. You’ll probably have to ditch him if you want to get away.”

Creed tenses up behind you, feeling your contemplation of the possible escape. The muscles in your hand begin to fatigue as your nails dig into the skin of your palm. At the same time, you feel those familiar tugs of fear, ones you haven’t felt since you were mortal, slowly pulling you towards absconding. It’s as if you’re at the bottom of your echeladder again, too scared of the enemies before you to even move.

The Mage’s smirk widens, casually flicking his yo-yo back and fourth from his hand as he watches your breath devolve into a frantic panic. Your eyes dart crazily around the room, desperately trying to figure out what to do, where to go, for any inkling of how to handle the situation you find yourself in. Damn it! How could you be so stupid? You knew this was a trap, and even still, you went waltzing in without a care! What are you supposed to do? What the hell are you supposed to do?!

“We only need the one in red, yes?” You hear Rich-, you hear the Knight say. “Perhaps if we dispose of the other, he’d be more compliant?” Creed places a hand on your shoulder, almost to assure himself that you’re still by his side.

“Who cares if he complies.” The Heir snidely chimes. “She never said we had to bring him back in one piece.”

“Boss.” Creed murmurs, slipping something into your hand. Glancing down, you find he’s given you a baseball. “Grit your teeth.” As the words leave his lips, the hairs on the back of your neck raise, and all thoughts in your mind slow to a crawl, as an electricity fills the room.

“Wh-what the hell is he doing?” The Heir stammers.

“Hey, don’t move!” The Knight barks. As the two scramble in your peripherals, the Mage remains the center of your attention. The look of startled puzzlement on his face is captivating, enjoyable even, as the smug prick finally doesn’t seem to think he’s got everything planned out. In that small moment of joy, something hits the back of your head, and your mind is lit ablaze.

 

Jason, Become One.

Chapter 39: > Ad Idem

“Have they made contact?” She asks you, an annoyed anxiousness buried within her sounds.

“They’re all in the same stone-pile, so one would think.” You sound back, talking into the little noise-box she gave you. “Seems they’ve drifted into widespread knowledge, so I doubt Anshal has sensors on them right now.”

“Christ, would you just speak english for once?” She’s making frustrated sounds again.

“I don’t know what that is.” You return the sound in kind.

“Just-…” She seems to brood, momentarily. “Say it like a human would.”

“Ah, the Thief can’t see them right now, yez?” You ask.

“Yeah, she’s been saying her tracking on them has been going in and out.” She simmers back down.

“There you go.” You sound, satisfied with thoroughly bridging the gap between your species.

“How is it going, then?” She continues.

“No idea.” You transfer to her. “I already told you, they’re in the stone-pile. Oh, sorry ‘building’ ” Your noise has a healthy node of insincerity hidden within. Hopefully she discovers it. “All the glass is blighted. I can’t get my sensors to pick up anyone inside.”

“Fucking elves…” She rustles to herself.

“Unfold yourself, Robin.” You assure her. “He has his totem. If your bud-buddy knows how to follow a plan, I’m sure he’ll put up the target-sign when he needs to. Everything’ll go fine.”

“I know that…! Regardless, start making your way back here, alright?” She instructs.

“Are you certain? If things dry up here, won’t they need help?” You inquire.

“They have the pricks three-to-two. If anything happens, it’s their own damn fault.” She rather harshly furls. “Besides, you’ll be out in the open when Anshal pulls the totem back. Hurry up and get a move on.”

“Understood.” You say, turning the noise-box off. Looking back to the stone-pile, you notice an intense green light beginning to glow from beyond the glass. You’re tickled something funny, seeing this. “Their own damn fault… Hmm!” You turn on your heels with a gusto, beginning to fly towards the large crack in the cave. “Good luck, boys.”

 

***

 

The back of your skull feels like the center of a bonfire. The front of your brain feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. In the infinity between zeptoseconds, you remain a phantom of stasis, caught at the cross sections of Thought and Ego. You are tired. You are so very, very tired. And all you wish for… is to be able to go home. Without Rhyme and without Reason, the weight in your brain multiplies, and your head is forced to arch forward, breaking you from this moment in time. Down and down it pulls you, until, in a sudden release, the weight snaps, and you go arcing back. You float through the air, light as a feather, crashing to the soft pillowy plane beneath you. You’re in a hammock.

“Hey, so… can I ask you something?” Lexie asks, rocking back in her roller chair.

“Shoot.” You say, taking a sip from your soda. The two of you are in a replica of your room on the fifteenth floor of your house. Since its creation, you’ve modified it into a sort of hang-out den for when you’re chilling with friends.

“You’re a godtier.. right?” She asks so nonchalantly you almost forget to choke on your drink.

“Gah- w-what?” You cough, trying to get the sugary liquid out of your lungs. “Godtier? Where did you-“

“One of your future selves.” She answers, already knowing what you’re asking.

“What? Damn it, me…!” You curse to yourself, turning to let your legs hang off the hammock.

“Yep.” She sighs smugly. “Got all flustered when he realized he let something slip that he shouldn’t’ve. Time-Jumped right outta there while babbling something under his breath about him being 'the bastard who did it'.” With a laugh, she sits up straight in the chair. “So. Godtier. What’s that about?”

“About? It’s not about anything, just a… just an endgame sorta thing.” You say, trying to play it cool. She narrows her eyes, staring at you with a skeptical look.

“Endgame, huh?” She raises her eyebrows exaggeratedly. “So you’re finished with your quest, then.”

“I’ve made…” Your thoughts lingers, trying to find the word for it. “significant strides.”

“But not endgame?”

“Uh… no.” You admit.

“So what’s the deal? You find some sort of hack or something?” She continues to question. “I didn't take you for the cheating type, Jay. Thought natural progression was a big thing for you, but if you want to go skipping to the end, that’s fine.” She emphatically shrugs, trying to keep her soft chuckling from breaking her straight face.

“I didn’t cheat!” You defend yourself, causing Lex to let loose a laugh. “In fact, I didn’t really have a say in the matter.”

“Ooh, forced on you, eh?” She jeers.

“Yeah… causal obligations, ya know?” You brush off her taunt. “I’ve bitched to you guys enough about how my obligations work, but… that’s how it works. It was just my time. If I didn’t ascend, I’d just be dragging us all into an offshoot.”

“Ascend...” She repeats. “What, is it like a power boost?”

“I-uh, yeah. Kind of.” You stumble over your words, not wanting to get too deep into what happened to you with her. “I can hop back way farther in time than I used to be able to. And I mean way farther.”

“Oh?” She perks up, fully engaged now.

“Yeah. My other powers got polished up too.” You get a bit bashful, talking yourself up like this. “Temporal knots are child’s play now, and my time dilation doesn’t fatigue me at lower levels. Pretty handy for power-reading through scrolls.”

“That’s awesome!” She congratulates. “You gotta tell me how to do it.”

“Hmm?” You pretend to hear her wrong.

“How do you god-tier?” She repeats.

“H-how? Oh, um…” You itch at your chest, tracing over the phantom-wound your future self gave you. You can still remember how it felt when the pick pierced your heart. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure if it needs to happen, you’ll get there.”

“Huh.” She nods. “Alright, I understand.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. You wanna keep all the cool power-hacks to yourself.” She says, misunderstanding your hesitation. “I get it. Everyone’s been pretty flashy showing off their own powers. Only fair you get a little payback and flaunt your own.”

“No! That’s not-, I wouldn’t-,” She cocks an eye at you. “I-it’s not like I’m hiding some secret or something.”

“Oh, no?” She sarcastically pulls back.

“You can figure out how yourself. The answers are up in the libraries of Prospit and Derse.” You tell her, hoping the obstacle of research would deter her from pursuing this.

“Come on, Jay.” She moans, leaning back in her chair. “You know only you and Lucas can sift through that drivel. I’m already up to my neck with my own Land’s lore, I’d fry my brain just trying to navigate those bookshelves before I’d ever find anything useful. Pleease…? Let little old Lex in on a few of your secrets.” She smiles warmly, trying to butter you up.

“I don’t know.” You mumble, feeling your resolve slowly being worn away. She’s always had that effect on you. Damn it, you’re blushing!

“Don’t be like that.” She waves off your indecisiveness, rising from her chair to pace in front of you. “Think of it like this; What if some ultra powerful monster swims out of my pond, looking to scrap with me?” She says, tacking on a playful -gasp- for emphasis. “Don’t you think I should be at my prime to fight it?”

“Uuuh…” Your shoulders deflate. You’ve always been a pushover when she starts acting goofy.

“I mean, danger’s around every corner. We’ve gotta stay sharp, right?” She notes, pulling out all the theatrics.

“… alright.” You finally concede with a sigh.

“Yesss!” She celebrates, throwing her fists up in the air. “Spill then, what’s the secret ingredient?”

“J-… just gotta find your quest bed.” You shakily answer with a twinge of cringe. Lex didn’t take her first death all too well. In fact, she apparently still has nightmares about it. No telling how she’d react if she knew Ascending involved dying. She’d probably have a melt down even knowing you’ve died twice now, let alone doing it herself.

“Quest bed?” She says, glancing at the stretch futon in the room before flopping down on it. “What’s that?”

“It’s like a stone slab with a symbol on it.” You explain.

“Oh, I’ve seen that.” She chirps.

“Y-you have?”

“In flashes, yeah.” She nods as she twists to lay on her side. “When I was rising up my esheladder, I would get visions of a bed made of black stone with a white spiral on it all the time. They stopped when I… passed away.” There’s an awkward pause that hangs in the air a moment. “Anyways, I figured it just had something to do with my dream self, and that it had lost its significance after I became her. But if that’s what it’s for, I’ll have to stop by there on my way home. I think I’ve got its general location marked down somewhere…”

“W-well, I doubt it’s still there.” You lie through your teeth. “It’s pretty common for Derse agents to take the beds at some point or another.” You remember how your future self explained it, and how the slab on your planet only works if you’ve still got a dream self. It’d be pretty disastrous if she went to her's with the idea in her head that it’s still functional.

“What? Why would they-“ She begins to inquire, already pulling on the loose threads of your BS.

“It’s just… what they do.” You quickly justify. “Makes it harder to level-up, so you can't challenge the Black King as fast.”

“Where is it now, then?” She tilts her head to the side, obviously still incredulous of your off-the-cuff tale.

“Pfff!” You blow air up from your mouth, making it seem as if you’re thinking hard over it. “No clue. I mean, it could be just about anywhere in the Incipisphere by now.” You click your tongue. “Yeah, that’s some tough luck.” You can practically hear her eyes rolling.

“Don’t clam up on me, Jay. I know your tells.” She playfully scrutinizes, folding her arms and tilting her chin up. “You know exactly where that bed is, don’t you?” You sigh in defeat. She’s got you read like a book.

“It’s in the Crypt on Derse.” You tell her. “Beneath the towers where our dream selves lived.”

“Derse, huh?” She mulls over the thought. “Crafty bastards. Never would’ve thought of it… Can’t say I ever saw myself setting foot back on that trash-heap, but if they’ve plundered the treasures of my Land, I guess I’ve got no choice but to steal it back from those beetle-boys.” So she’s still determined to go for it… shit. “It’ll be tricky sneaking back into our old dreaming grounds, then? If they’ve gone to this length to steal the thing, I can only imagine what kind of security they have for that bed.”

“I could… tag along.” You suggest. If she’s really set on doing this, she’ll need a guide through Ascension anyway. You’ve already convinced her it’s a harmless process, or rather, you left out the important details of how it words. The least you could do is make sure it’s taken care of properly. It’d be fucked up to string her along this far, wouldn’t it? All because you didn’t want to get yelled at for dying again. “I might have a few ideas that could get us into the Crypt.”

Seeing you’re finally committed to helping, the thoughtful look on Lexie’s face breaks out into a wide sly smile. She opens her mouth to say something when the door opens. Huh? No one else was planning on stopping by to chill today. You look over and see Creed standing in the threshold, a look of frustrated relief upon his face. Like the one a tired mother would wear after finding her lost kids in a mall.

“Christ, Boss, this place is a fuckin’ labyrinth.” He grinds his teeth in a pissed-off annoyance as he rubs the side of his temple, fully entering into the room now.

“What are you talking about? It’s just a series of rooms stacked on top of each other, how hard could it be to navigate?” You protest, somewhat fond of the way Jess built your house.

“What? No, not the building, your subconscious, what are you-, oh Jesus Christ you’re still Torpid.” He babbles, not making sense. “Look, we’re not really here right now. This is just a memory you fell into when your conciseness folded into your mind.”

“…What?” You’re even more lost now. Wait a second, what’s he even doing here? Since when was he in your session? You thought you met Creed after you… after you…

“Think hard, Boss. Isn’t this a little weird?” He says, gesturing to the room as a whole. “Don’t you remember this situation happening differently?”

“Not really, me and Lex were just about to go… to her…” You look over to where Lexie just was and find she’s gone. “Wha… where’d she…?” There’s a sudden shake in the room, like the whole house is being rattled.

“Feel that?” Creed says, wagging a finger at the ceiling. “We’re in combat right now. Those three guys. Remember? We can’t stay in here with your body on autopilot, so you’ve gotta-“ In the middle of speaking his nonsense, Creed’s corporeal form slowly begins to fade away, like a vanishing apparition. “Oh, god damn it, Boss you’re folding into a new memory! When I find you again, you better be Sober!” And with that he disappears, along with the room you’re standing in. With no floor to perch upon, you’re left falling through the void.

“What is that?!” You hear someone laughingly ask as the world begins to reform.

“It’s…” Your mouth moves before you realize who you’re talking to. “my god tier outfit.” You huff in exacerbated despair. Your body comes into being, and you’re wearing your legless god tiers. God, what you wouldn’t have done to have gotten pants for this damn outfit. The two of you are at the base of the chain leading up to Derse’s crypt. After a few close calls sneaking into the purple city, you were finally able to make it to your destination, however along the way, Lexie was badgering you about all the minor details of God Tiering. What immortality feels like, if there’d be any new powers, if you still get hungry, if you could still get sick. When she found out godhood comes with an outfit, there was pretty much no way this wretched thing wasn’t finding it’s way back onto your body. She’s always had an eye for fashion, and practically demanded to see the immortal uniform.

“W-w-w-w-wh-w-“ She stammers, her lower lip quivering trying to hold back laughter. “Ahahahahahaha!” She finally burst. “You’re… you’re…”

“Wearing a tight red speedo with socks hiked-up half my ankle, all brought together with a dinky little cape and pointy elf cap. I know.” You say, trying to hurry through the humiliation. “Look, Lexie, this outfit is all kinds of embarrassing, so please don’t tell any of the others about this. Especially not Mia. It’s kind of the main reason I haven’t told anyone about my godtier thing yet…”

“You… you have my word.” She assures you, still catching her breath as she does. “But you’re really not gonna tell them because of this?”

“I’ve been fiddling around with my alchemiter, trying to see if there’s any variant outfit I can create to make this mess more presentable.” You explain, tugging on the tighter part of the shirt’s collar. “Maybe one without a hood, or a cooler cape. Or at the very least one with some god damn pants. Future me’s won’t say a peep about it, so I’ve got this looming feeling-“

“That you’ll be stuck with… this? For all eternity?” She nails on the head.

“Yep.” You confirm with what little masculinity you have left. “Anyway, come on, let’s make this quick. I don’t want any of the Derse paparazzi getting a shot of me in this for one of their political rags.” Looking up the chain leading to Derse’s Moon, Lexie seems to be daunted.

“How are we supposed to scale this quickly?” She huffs in astonishment.

“Ah, right. I forgot to tell you, we won’t be climbing.” You inform, turning your back to her. “Here, hop on.”

“Wha…?” She looks on at you.

“No, no, just trust me!” Unsure of what you’re planning, she skeptically climbs onto you, piggyback style. Once situated, you take off, flying up towards Derse’s satellite, running parallel to the chain to make it harder for the two of you to be spotted.

“Whoa!” She exclaims. “You can fly now?”

“Kind of, yeah.” You turn a bit red at her amazement. “It’s a lot more impressive when I’m up here, in the void of the Medium. I’m way faster up in space than I would be if I was flying down in one of our Lands.” You explain, knowing she’d probably ask all these questions anyway. “Don’t get me wrong, I can zip around at a pretty respectable speed down there too, but it wouldn’t be much faster than if I were to just run, only, you know… if I could run in the third dimension.”

“You already can run in the third dimension, ya dope.” She playfully corrects you. “That’s where we liiive.”

“Well, yeah, but… gravity is a thing, so it’s kind of a restricted experience, don’t you think?” You propose.

“Ah yes, that fickle mistress; Gravity.” She plays along with your idea. “Always meddling when it’s least convenient. Not anymore though, right? Man, I can’t wait to be a godtier!”

“Y-… yeah…!” You stammer, reminded of what you’re about to do.

“Hmm…? Power of flight really that disappointing, huh?” She asks, picking up on your sudden sour attitude.

“N-no, it’s pretty great, actually.” You snap back to the moment. “I mean, I can go rocketing off from the planet’s surface at a moment’s notice, flying like a man on a mission, pickaxe in hand. Once I’m up here, too, I’m pretty much off the leash.”

“There’s a leash?”

“Yeah, Gravity, remember? Just got done talking about it?” You remind her. “Being godtier doesn’t exempt you from the forces of gravity all together, it’s more like…”

“Like what?” She’s looking closer over your shoulder, becoming more and more intrigued with what you’re talking about.

“It’s hard to explain… it sort of feels like flexing a muscle.” You elaborate. “You flex it hard enough and you start to fly. Up here you don’t really have to flex all that much to get going. All you need to do is send a twitch to the imaginary muscle and it’s like ‘oh shit, I guess we’re flying now’. That’s kind of a shitty explanation, but it’s the best I got.”

“You said you could feel it, right? So there must be some physical transformation to the ascension into godtier, then.” She theorizes. “Where would you say this imaginary muscle is, in relation to your body?”

“Uh, my back, mainly.” You answer.

“That’s a very general area, Jason.” She admonishes with a pinch of your cheek. “Your lower back? Upper? Middle? The nape? The length of your spine? What are we working with here?”

“Jeez, sorry.” You sarcastically apologize. Taking a moment to think on the feeling, you realize you’ve never really focused on this sensation too deeply before. It’s much more present of an experience than you realized. “My shoulder blades, I guess.”

“Huh… so you’ve got wings, then.” Lex suggests.

“If they were wings, wouldn’t we be able to see them?” You retort.

“Maybe Paradox Space figured you suffered enough with that outfit of yours.” She snickers to herself. “Adding wings would just be adding insult to injury.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” You agree, realizing just how worse you could’ve had it.

“…Although.” She begins thinking.

“no…” You woefully groan. You can already tell where she’s going with this.

“It would draw the whole look together quite nicely.” She continues.

“No.” You repeat, firmer this time.

“I could fashion you a pair, if you’d like.” How charitable of her. “Maybe sprinkle a few handfuls of glitter onto them, or maybe-“

“No!” You finally set your foot down. The sounds of her playfully dramatic sulking aren’t lost on you.

“Well I think it’d look quite dashing.” She mumbles to herself.

“Here we are.” You announce, finally reaching the end of the chain.

Once close enough to the moon, you enter into the satellite’s miniature gravitational field, allowing you to place Lexie down on her own two feet again. You look up at the four purple towers that stick out from the small planetary structure. Hopefully none of the others are sleeping right now, otherwise you’ll have a hell of a lot more explaining to do.

“It’s been so long since I’ve been here…” Lex mumbles, looking around the place, almost bewildered to be back on Derse.

“Come on, Crypt’s this way.” You gesture towards the nearest tower. The two of you travel through the umbral streets, doing your best to dodge any carapacians that happen to be roaming around the area. Eventually arriving at the base of what used to be Lexie’s Dream Self’s tower, the two of you enter into the building and are met with an enormous cathedral-like foyer. Chess people sure do love their grandiosity.

Already having been through this process yourself, you lead the way, venturing down one of the numerous hallways that litter the average Derse building. At the end of it, you find a long and winding staircase spiraling down, at the bottom of which you're met with a large vault door.

“Is this it?” Lexie asks, her voice echoing in the cavernous room.

“Yep.” You confirm, giving the hatch wheel a spine and opening it up. The steel door swings forward, and revealed before you is a floorless room, a breach in the moon leading to a lightless pit. “Grab on. What we’re looking for is down there.” Following your instructions, Lexie drapes herself behind you, wrapping her arms around your neck once more. Carrying her is a bit more taxing within a gravity-well, but you try to make it seem like you aren’t phased by it.

As the two of you dive into the darkness, an uncomfortable chill envelops you. The occasional purple chain passes through your field of view as you descend past them, before vanishing once more as they rise up and out of sight. It’s… a lot deeper than you remember it being.

”Whoooa…” Lex coos, looking up as the chains go by. “Creeeepy.”

“We can still turn back, if you want.” You offer, still on the fence whether you should tell her what’ll happen if you go through with this.

“Aha.” She scoffs. “After getting this far? No way. I can practically taste that power boost!”

“Y-yeah.” You agree in an attempt to copy her gung-ho attitude. “No turning back, right?” There’s a slight shift on your back as she readjusts her grip on you.

“You okay, Jay?” She asks from over your shoulder. Come on, tell her! She has a right to know! It’s her life, isn’t it?

“I’m fine!” You try to put her at ease. The voice crack in your ‘fine’ is making it hard to convey a tone of authenticity, though. “Just a little on edge being so far in enemy territory.” You can’t… You’ve already messed up too much to turn back now.

“I guess it is a bit dangerous to be here when you aren’t dreaming.” She agrees. “What’s up with these chains, by the way?”

“To climb down to the slabs, if I were to guess.” You shrug, not truly knowing yourself.

“Wait… if the Derse agents who took these beds are trying to hide them, why would there still be a way to access the things?” She inquires. Shit, you forgot you told her they stole the Quest Bed. “If it were me, I’d have chucked them into the void.”

“Maybe it’s… some sort of rule, ya know?” You pull out of your ass. “Like… genetic coding in them to… make it fair for the players…?”

“But why would- oh!” Her further inquiry is cut short by the sudden appearance of something new in your field of view. Below you appear four stone plates, each with a different color and symbol. The Sacrificial Slabs… “Is this it?”

“Yeah.” You mutter, your eyes dead-set on your own Slab. It’s fractured and threatening to fall apart into dozens of pieces, each of its cracks originating from one small hole at the center. A shiver runs through you.

“This one’s mine, right?” Lex asks as you slow your descent, floating next to the bed with the white cyclone shape on it.

“This is you.” You confirm, your voice becoming more and more shaky.

“Sweetness!” She exclaims. “Alright, whatta we do now?”

“We just… w-we… hey, are you sure about this? You really wanna go through with it?” You try to change her mind one last time. If you can’t tell her what happened to you during Ascension, at the very least you could persuade her out of doing it herself.

“Okay, Jay, what’s up?” She asks out right. “You’ve been acting shift all day now. What’s going on?”

“N-… nothing, it’s just… this is a big deal.” You explain, still trying not to show your hand completely. “Like a really big deal. There’s no going back after this. I just… want you to understand that…” Lexie fiddles with her hand, re-getting her grip on you as all her gusto deflates.

“I’m not…” She pauses a moment, thinking over her words. “This isn’t something I’m taking lightly, Jay. I know I’ve been trying to be funny about it and all, but… that’s just because all this is…” You feel her shift from side to side, looking about the Crypt. “It’s kind of scary. I don’t know what Ascending will be like, and honestly it’s making me a little anxious. But... you’re here with me, and so I guess I just thought joking around with a friend could help me forget about those worries for a little while. Sorry if it was getting on your nerves…”

“Lex, I-“ You begin, realizing you’ve been ignoring how she was feeling this entire time.

“I know there’s no going back with this.” She cuts you off. “Immortality is a pretty huge thing, but it’s been that way since we came to this place. Since earth was-… since we lost our home, there was never any turning back. So if it means I’ll get stronger, if it means that I can help make it so that all of those who lost their lives back home didn’t do so in vain, then I want to do this. I have to do this!” Her words echo in the dark of the crypt.

“I… I understand.” You tell her, accepting that you’ll have to lie in the bed you’ve made for yourself. Her grip on you transforms into a hug as she squeezes you tight.

“Thank you, Jason.” She says with a voice full of gratitude. It makes your stomach go sour. “So what do we do?”

“You just have to lie down on the slab.” You hide the strain in your voice. “It’s as easy as falling asleep…”

“What, like a nap?” She asks.

“It’s a bed, isn’t it?” You force a smile as you look back at her.

“Fair enough.” She shrugs. “Float a little closer. I don’t have god-hover powers like you do. Not yet anyway. Hehe.” You hear it in her voice this time, that uncertainty masked behind her quip. She’s afraid...

Time seems to slow as you float closer to the Sacrificial Slabs. Lexie swings around you once you’re parallel with her’s and she steps off. You remain silent as she lies on her back, tossing and turning as she tries to get comfortable on the awkward bed. Eventually she finds a position and looks back up at you.

“I’ll… I’ll keep guard.” You tell her, your voice moving on its own. “In case anyone saw us come in and followed us down.”

“Thanks, Jay.” She smiles. “I’d hate to imagine what would happen if some bloodthirsty agent found me sleeping here all alone. I’d be dead meat! Ahaha… I’ll see you on the other side, Jason.” With one last pleasantry, she shuts her eyes.

“Yeah…” You reach into your strife deck, and call forth Bane of All Mountains. “Sleep tight, Lex.”

“Jesus…” Creed says, alerting you to his presence. You glance back and see him standing on Rich’s Slab.

“What?” You snip, hoping to hide the lump in your throat with anger.

“Nothing, it’s just… that’s kind of fuck-up, Boss.” He scratches the back of his head.

“Yeah, well, it’s also kinda personal, so ya mind?” You gesture to the room. “If you could take us out of the most intimate nooks of my memories, that would be nice.”

“You Sober, then?” He asks, sitting down on the stone bed as the rest of the world fades away to a white nothing.

“Suppose I am.” You huff. “What happened, anyways?”

“More or less, I… turned into pure thought.” He bashfully admits. “It doesn’t happen too often, but when I find myself in a tight spot, I end up sorta losing myself to the current. With those three ambushing us like that, it felt like the only way out for me was to hop into the back of your head to ride things out. Guess I accidentally took out your conscious-mind on my way in. Sorry about that.”

“Right, we were in that garage with those assholes.” You remember as your mind comes out of a fog. “What’s happening with that, by the way?”

“We’re currently in the middle of a strife with them, which it’s very stupid why we ended up in said strife to begin with, I might add.” He admonishes.

“I know, I know, I should’ve listened to you. I just… had something on my mind.” You look back, to where Lexie would've been.

“Hm.” He grunts. “… Speaking of stupid, though…” You turn back to him and see he’s looking down at your old god tier outfit.

“-Guh.” You groan in disgust. With a quick flick of your wrist, the clothes around you shift into your current god tiers, pants and all. Good to see memories work the same as dream bubbles. “Good riddance to those rags.”

“How the hell did you get a new outfit again?” Creed asks.

“I installed a Fashion Toggle on my alchemiter and was able to access an array of god tiers to choose from. Cost a boat load of grist to make, though.” You sigh, remembering the unadulterated joy you felt when you were finally able to trade-in your eternal threads for something more dignified. “Honestly, I would’ve traded my Land’s entire hoard for an outfit change.”

“Life finds a way, I guess.” Creed snickers. Before anything more can be said, the void around you shakes like the world is about to collapse. “Ah, right, the strife.”

“Should we be worried about that?” You ask, looking about the place.

“Most definitely, yes. Your body is currently operating on its reflexes to fight, but considering there’s three of them, I can’t imagine we’ll be faring too well for much longer stuck on autopilot.”

“How do we get me back into control, then?” You ask, sitting down beside him.

“Since we’re in the middle of a memory, we’re gonna have to work our way through it until we can reach a neural junction.” He explains.

“You can’t just take us there right now?” You more or less suggest, hoping you can skip what comes next in this memory.

“I can, but I can’t bring you with me.” He shoots down.

“And you can’t just wake me up from here?” You bring up another option, not wanting to face the past. “Or could you just hop out of my head and let me back at my controls?”

“For one, if I left now, you’d still be in your subconscious. The only difference is you’d no longer have the reflex response you’re inheriting from me. Your unconscious body would flop to the ground like a fish.” He begins tearing your ideas apart. “And for another, you have to be at an easily spottable area for me to bring you up into full consciousness. Even though you’re right in front of me now, the meta-space in a mindscape is always pulsing with change, meaning it’s hard to pinpoint any one thing without something to aim at, like the junction we're moving towards.”

“Damn it.” You sigh, letting your head hang slightly. Looks like there’s no avoiding this.

“I know this memory is sensitive, so… with your blessings, I’ll unpause it.” He informs you.

“Okay, just… buckle up.” You warn. “This next part isn’t pretty.”

In an instant, Creed vanishes once more and the crypt comes back into being. You see yourself floating besides her corpse, pickaxe in hand and spike soaked red. A trickle of blood runs off the side, disappearing into the dark below. The stone slab cracks and fractures, and as the foundation under Lexie threatens to fall apart, a soft glow fills the crypt. Brighter and brighter, the light expands into the dark abyss of the void you inhabit, and in a flash, the corpse before you is transmogrified, and there upon the decimated slab sits the Seer of Space, dressed in robes of black and white, with two ruby slippers adorning her feet. Her eyes slowly open, and she sits up, looking straight forward. After a moment, her head turns to face your younger self, bloodied weapon still in-hand.

“Jason?” Her voice is horse and confused. You remain silent. She turns back and looks upon her shattered slab, anointed with her own blood. “What did you do…?” She softly asks.

“Lex…” You extend a hand out, but find its reach falling remarkably short.

“What did you do?” She asks again, her attention snapping directly upon you. “What did you do?” Her breathing becomes frantic and her voice begins to shake as the reality dawns on her. “What did you do? W-what did you do?!”

“Lexie, c-calm down, you’re-“ You stop short when you see that her eyes have begun to darken, like a pond filling with ink.

“GAAAAAAAAH!” She cries as her sight is consumed by the cosmos and her eyes fill with stars. A pulse of pure force erupts from her, forcing you back with a huff. “WHAT DID YOU DO?! WHAT DID YOU DO?! WHAT DID YOU DO?!” She begins to float above her stone slab, becoming weightless as the Godtier’s flight kicks in. Pulling her knees against her chest, the frightened girl starts to uncontrollably sob as she slowly drifts away from you.

“Shit!” You panic, realizing the consequences of your actions. You fly to her and grab hold. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” You berate her with meaningless apologies as her mind is torn across the universe. You watch yourself haul her as fast as you can towards the crypt’s exit. “Renee, Lexie needs help! Where are you?!” You hear yourself bark into your phone as you disappear into the dark.

“W H A T  D I D  Y O U  D O ? ! ? ! ? !” The Seer shrieks one last time from beyond the veil.

You’re left in a deafening silence, sitting upon the memory of your past life. A hollow feeling eats at your core, and you find your mind diving back into a fog, wanting nothing more than to disappear from this world.

“Boss...?” Creed asks, placing a hand on your shoulder. You look around, and find you’re no longer in the crypt on Derse. You’re in a landscape of light green wiring, lain out in an array of tracts and pathways. “You okay?”

“Yeah…” You pause, unsure if you are. “I’m fine.”

“I’ll bring you up, then.” He says, morphing into a stretch of green energy, disappearing into one of the paths.

“Good.” You mutter to yourself, fists clenching harder and harder. “I’ve got some shit I need to work through.”

 

Jason, Go Hit Something.

Chapter 40: > Buried Within

“Boss.” Creed mumbles to Jason, slipping something into his hand. “Grit your teeth.” He tells him as his entire body begins to glow green and shutter with lightning. Suddenly, an energy fills the air, causing the hairs on your arm to shoot up. The fuck?

“Wh-what the hell is he doing?” Windsock stumbles over his tongue, inching away from the two.

“Hey, don’t move!” Boy-scout orders, summoning his ax. Before he can grab hold of them, Creed’s body stretches into a thin stream, disappearing into the back of Jason’s head in a flash. With him, so too goes the energy dominating the room.

As your eyes readjust to the dark garage, you expect Jason to have vanished in that brief second his ally had bought him, but you find the Page still standing there, looking all glassy-eyed. The two dopes look at each other before looking to you for what to do. You twitch your shoulder forward, gesturing for them to capture him. Boy-scout takes the initiative, marching up and grabbing him by the wrist. As soon as he does, Jason slams the top of his pickaxe into his chest, sending him stumbling back with a cough. Anticipating another attack, Boy-Scout puts up a defensive guard, wincing as he does it. However, instead of continuing his assault, Jason goes back to looking straight forward with that glazed-look on his face. Boy-scout looks to you again, unsure what to make of his opponent. Seeing that he’s backed off, you step up yourself. With a violent flick of your wrist, you fling your yo towards his head. Before it can hit though, his left hand moves like a bolt of lightning, catching it directly in front of his face. His attention slowly tilts up towards you.

“Tick… Tock…” He says, looking directly at you, his eyes empty. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t piss you off. With a snarl, you whip the yo back to you. Now with an empty hand, Jason’s attention goes aimless again. What the hell’s his problem?

“Take him.” You order. They comply, with Boy-scout going in with a swipe of his ax. Jason side-steps him. While he’s off balance, Windsock takes a swing with his war-club, aimed for the center of his face. Jason raises his guard, blocking it with the shaft of his pickaxe. Boy-scout knocks his foot out from underneath him, but as he falls, he arches back, catching himself with his free hand and flips over, settling back upright with a cartwheel. With that small assault over, he goes back to idly standing by, staring straight forward. What the hell is this? Why isn’t he fighting? Why isn’t he running? Why the hell is he just standing there?! “Damn it.” With a huff, you swing yourself over the guardrail and jump down to the bottom floor, landing with a heavy thud.

“What’s with this freak?” Windsock growls.

“It seems he prefers to stay on the defensive.” Boy-scout notes. “Perhaps we use a three-fold motif?”

“No.” You deny. There’s no way you’re doing another fraymotif, especially not with these morons. “Conserve your energy, we don’t know if this is some sort of set-up. We attack in tandem, keep him pressed. Sync?”

“Sync.” Boy-scout confirms.

“Whatever.” Windsock groans.

“Let’s go.” You confirm, throwing your yo out forward. Predictably, he goes to grab it again. You pull it back short, before it has a chance to reach, leaving his left flank exposed. Seizing the opportunity you created, Windsock takes a swing at him. Jason pulls to the side, but he isn’t fast enough, and the strike lands, hitting him in his shoulder. Twisting from the strike, Jason spins around, using the weight of his pickaxe to build momentum into an attack, slamming into Windsock’s jaw with the weighted head of his weapon.

“Ack!” Windsock yelps, flopping to the ground like a dead fish. He doesn’t make any attempt to get back up. Seems the idiot’s down for the count in just one hit. Boy-scout takes another swipe with his ax, but before he can follow through, he’s parried away on the backend of Jason’s swing against Windsock. While off-balance from the counter, Jason places a foot firmly in the center of Boy-scout’s stomach, knocking him to the floor.

While he’s still focused on those two, you send forth an overhead swing with your yo. Jason brings up his arm to block, causing the body of your yo-yo to wrap its string around his forearm. With it anchored around him, you pull back, lurching him towards you and away from your companions. With him stumbling, you dash forward and jump, aiming a kick for the underside of his jaw. In the last second, his foot shoots forward, catching himself halfway through the fall, stopping him just short of your attack as your kick goes sailing by. You touch back down to the ground about half a foot from him. Too close to back off and with him nearly crouched down in front of you, you leap forward, trying to shove your knee into his mouth. He slams his open palm against your kneecap, cutting the momentum of the hit. You look for another opening when you notice his pickaxe hurtling towards you. Damn it, too fast!

“Gatcha!” Boy-scout exclaims, hooking the head of his ax around the curve of Jason’s pick. With that brief moment, you flick your wrist to recall your yo and pull away from him. As you do, Boy-scout throws an underhanded punch at Jason’s stomach, but just like with your own attack, he palms the strike, stopping it dead in its tracks. Frustrated, Boy-scout goes for a head-butt, but Jason leans back, causing the attack to fall short. Recomposing yourself, you fling your yo forward, aimed for the side of his head. He flicks his elbow up, knocking the yo away. The hell? An attack like that can put a dent in solid concrete, and he batted it away like it was just some toy. This guy’s a bloody monster…

Not letting the fact that Robin send you on a suicide mission deter you, you continue on the offensive, launching a barrage of strikes with your yo. Each attack evokes a loud -crack- with what should be devastating blows, but somehow this guy either counters them with a neutralizing hit from his joints or palm, or dodges them entirely, all while Boy-scout keeps swinging his ax around like a moron, not even getting close enough to scratch him.

“I thought you were supposed to be a good fighter, troll!” You admonish, throwing a roundabout slam attack. Jason stomps on the string, pinning your yo to the floor.

“I am! It’s just…” He says between heavy breaths. “He’s got no tells! Every move he makes, there’s no hesitation to it, like he isn’t even thinking about it. I can’t find any openings!”

“Tough shit, figure it out!” You order, ripping your yo free from his foot. “And wake the hell up, Windsock!” With the momentum from the pull, you hike the string around your ankle, twisting its trajectory and arching it over your head, and with a quick whip, send it hurtling towards him from above. He waves it away with his pickaxe. There’s a cracking sound coming from your teeth, threatening to shatter under the pressure of your jaw being clenched so tightly in frustration. You draw the yo back, and just as fast as it’s brought in, you send it flying out again. He ducks. You pull it back. Send it out. He parries. Pull back. Send out. Same result. Back. Out. Same. Back. Out. Same!

On one attempt, Jason steps back, and instead of him, your yo strikes the floor of the garage. The crater it leaves is twice the diameter of a basketball, and it cracks the entirety of the garage’s foundation. The ferocity in which you’re whipping your yo-yo around is enough to cause the string to begin to dig into your hands, evoking a steady stream of blood from your fingers. You don’t know how long this goes on for. You just know that you’re running out of breath. Easing off your torrent of attacks, you palm your yo-yo, huffing and puffing through your teeth. The bastard just goes still again, standing there with that same fucking spaced out look on his face.

“UuuUuh…” Windsock moans, propping himself up on the floor with a wobbly elbow, having finally recovered from his KO. He grips the enormous bruise on his jaw, wincing as he tests to see if he’s lost any teeth. “Phuck…”

“Hey Kai, you finally awake?” You ask, letting your yo hang in the air. It spins in place, the friction from the body rubbing against the string creates a wirring sound that fills the room.

“Yeab, I’m awagh.” He meekly answers, pushing himself up onto his knees, sitting back on his legs.

“Good. Hold him still for me.” You direct as you begin to spin your yo, building up momentum. Seeing your plan, Windsock’s face harden’s with determination. With a labored grunt, he reaches out a clutching hand, summoning two glowing red gears to appear before Jason. The bastard goes to jump back. He doesn’t have the chance. As his foot leaves the ground, the gears grind to a halt, and his tempo is slowed to a stand-still, a blank look still plastered on his face as he hangs in the air. It’s pissing you off!

“Dob it nowgh!” Windsock calls, clutching-hand still extended. With all the Mangrit you can summon, you fling your yo off a backspin and send it rocketing straight for the Page’s chest. Dodge this, you bloody prick!

If you had blinked, you’d have missed it, as your yo shatters through Windsock’s little trick, finding its mark in the center of Jason’s solar plexus. In the split second he’s freed from the time-trap, he’s sent flying back, crashing into the back wall with a deafening -boom- upon collision. The impact evokes a cloud of dust to irrupt into the room.

“Did we incapacitate him?” Boy-scout asks, attempting to peer past the debris clouding the air.

“I fink that’s a little morb than incapathitated…” Windsock answers as the dust settles. Lying at the other side of the room is the Page of Time, head hung with a waterfall of blood pouring out of his mouth. His chest is caved in what seems to be a good five inches, your yo embedded at the center of the collapse. The crater behind him takes up nearly half of the wall space, and the cracks even reach as high as the ceiling. You smile triumphant, sucking in heavy breaths as the fatigue finally rests on you. With a quick flick of the wrist, you pull your yo free from his chest, making a wet smacking sound once it hits your palm. The blood leaking from your fingers mixes in with the blood coating the body of your yo-yo. You focus on it, understanding it as the two streams become more familiar with one another. The Page of Time; Jason Greene, son of Jacob Greene. Perpetrator of deeds most foul against friend’s most dear. The kinds of deeds that soak hands with blood and taint the hearts of good men. A darkness swims just under the surface of his mind. You can feel it…. It scares you.

“Robin won’t be happy.” Boy-scout declares. You begin to pace, trying to figure out what this blood is hiding. “We were supposed to bring him back alive.”

“Who givfths a damb?” Windsock scoffs, still making it apparent that his mouth had the taste knocked out of it. “The probuby bus wanted to bnock him around therself.” As those two continue to babble, you focus on that darkness hidden in the blood. What is it, and why is it buried so deep? You sniff the blood that coats your yo, hoping more exposure will make it easier to focus upon. The pungent scent of copper fills your nose, but still its secrets allude you. What is it, damn it?!

“Should we bring his body?” Boy-scout asks. “Or is that not necessary?” He continues. You think he’s directing his inquiry towards you, but you do your best to ignore him. You’re so close to finding this. It’s a descriptor. No, rather a title. Why the hell is his Title buried so deep within his blood? “LJ…?” He further distracts. You hold up a finger, telling him to be silent. No, it isn’t just his title, you’re already found that. It’s how he’s grown into it. How he interacts with others through it. It’s an identity. His true identity. It’s… -!

You whip around, eyes wide and veins cold at the realization of what it is in his blood. He’s still alive. He’s still moving. He rises up from the ground as if he were a puppet pulled by strings, a quiet hissing escaping his throat from crushed lungs. A faint green aura emits from the wrist of his right hand as it’s raised up, summoning a red gear to his palm. The hand weakly grabs the divots in the device and forcibly turns it. As he does, the collapse in his chest begins to push out, inflating like a balloon. A sickly -crack- echoes through the garage as his spine re-aligns and his ribs are put back in place.

“Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.” He mutters as his body puts itself back together. Once upright, his eyes erupt with a green fire, flowing from his sockets like tears evaporating into the ether.

“The Symbol of Death” You whisper.

 

***

 

You come back to a sore body. Really sore. What the hell happened? Your eyesight still seems to be out, leaving you in a void. And from the void comes a voice.

Boss. …Creed? Yeah, good to see you’re still aware. Though you fell back into your subconscious for a second. What’s the hold up, I thought you were putting me back in control. About that! Your body was kinda… destroyed. Destroyed?! Sorry, ‘badly damaged’. Anyway, figured you wouldn’t want me dropping you back into yourself with a set of eradicated ribs. So I popped into your motor control for a moment and had you use some of those time powers of yours. Seemed to do the trick well enough. O-okay, so what are we doing now? Are those assholes still around? O-hoho yeah. Mage guy seems pretty pissed, too. Fuck. You can get out of my head, right? Yeaaaah? Good, I’ll need some backup. Whoa, back it up, Boss. I’m in no condition to strife right now, remember? Wha- well how the hell am I supposed to pull off a 3v1?! Calm down. I’ve been messing around with my own powers, and I should still be able to activate certain abilities from within your mindscape. They won’t be expecting that with just you fighting. I’ll make sure to handle your defenses from in here as well. Between that and your own powers, I give you a 50-50 chance of coming out of this on top. Damn… I don’t like those odds, but… we might be able to pull this off. You ready, then? Yeah… Yeah, let’s do this!

Almost like a light switch turning on, the world around you suddenly comes to in a flash. Just as Creed said, those three pricks are still pestering you. Looking around the room, the entire place has been trashed. Even the immediate ground you’re standing upon is wrecked. Looks like these guys have been getting pretty serious.

“Welp.” You say, stretching out the kink in your neck. You look from opponent to opponent, thinking of how to kick this off. The Mage still has the phone, but his two lackeys are some pretty heavy hitters. No chance of nabbing it and running. That Heir hesitated to get too close to you and Creed when they first arrived. The weak link, maybe? Good enough place to start, you guess. Tucking down, you charge forward, pickaxe in tow. With an unexpected flash of fear on his face, the Heir pulls back, readying a swing with his metal club. You juke back as he follows through before hooking the end of your pick around the back of his neck, forcing his head down as you send a knee into the underside of his nose.

“GAH!” He shrieks, grabbing hold of his face in pain as you let him loose.

Behind! Creed alerts. Before you can even register the warning, your hands move on their own, quickly shifting Bane behind your back to guard your rear. In the same instance it arrives there, you feel a metallic -clank- clash with Bane's shaft, shoving you forward. You whip around, facing the Knight as he brandishes one hell of an intimidating ax. The thing looks like it was forged together out of old graveyard fence parts. Not giving you a break, he starts chopping at you like you’re a fucking tree-trunk. You two exchange blows, your respective weapons blocking and parrying left and right. He seems fixated on your bad sides, taking every chance he can to try and slam his ax head into your midsection. Duck! Creed warns again. Just as before, your body moves before you even have a chance to register what you’re being told. Dropping down to the floor, you catch yourself by the pads of your fingers. Above, the Mage’s yo-yo whips through right where you were standing with a -crack- before whizzing back. Not letting you breathe, the Knight brings his ax down, burying it in the ground as you roll to the side. Another yo-yo attack comes flying in. You continue your bout on the floor, rolling out of the way from their continual bombardment. Just as you’re at the back-end of your roll, you notice out of the corner of your eye that the yo-yo is already on its way towards you again. You have to get off the ground. Sending stimulus to your extensor muscles.

“My what?” You ask aloud. Suddenly, a surge of energy engulfs your forearms. Without meaning to, you fling yourself halfway across the room with a simple push-up motion. Where you just were, the yo-yo slams into the ground, leaving a sizable crater in the concrete. Jesus, just what the hell is that thing made of?

Before you can ponder the Mage’s specibus of choice any further, he swings it at you from the rough patch it left in the floor. Still mid air from your sudden burst-jump, the most you can do is attempt to cushion the blow with Bane. Putting up a defense, you angle your weapon to catch the yo-yo at its center. As it reaches, though, it slams directly into your stomach. You grunt, coughing up a bit of blood.

The momentum of the hit is enough to send you the rest of the way across the room, throwing you into the sliding garage door. Before you can slam into the metal sheet, however, your body seems to catch itself, re-orienting midair like a cat and landing you against the door on your hands and knees. As the momentum of being thrown across the room wears off of you, you slink back to the ground, reflexively landing on your feet at the base of the wall. Though, once you’re standing back upright, you feel yourself crumple inside, falling to one knee.

Did you see that? See what? That attack. The yo-yo. It course-adjusted mid-swing to curve around your guard. Oh… I was wondering why that hit me. It physically moves in direct violation of thermo-dynamics. I’m pretty sure time travel violates thermodynamics too, but I’ve got that in my arsenal. So what? So what is that there’s nothing special about that yo-yo. What? Like nothing at all, like it’s just a toy? No, it’s still a weapon. The thing’s made of metal and probably has some sort of hypertension microfiber for its string, but there’s nothing ontologically significant about it. Then how the hell’s he throwing it around like that? It’s gotta be something he’s doing himself. It’s possible he’s got some sort of low-influence telekinesis. You think he’s psychic? Has to be with how hard those yo-yo strikes hit. Feels like a fuckin’ truck, even from in here. Do you think we can handle him? Maybe, although I don’t feel like testing the limits of what he can do with that thing. So what do we do? You still want his phone, right? I think I might have a trick up my sleeve to get it. You still have the baseball I gave you? …Shit!

“Are you ready to comply?” The Knight asks, stepping before you. Your eyes search the room with a slow calculation, carefully looking for where Creed’s ball might’ve gotten off to. In the midst of your scouring, you’re able to get a better look at your opponents now. You notice the Knight, a Troll with Indigo Wings, is puffing his chest out, watching you expectantly, like a disgruntled judge waiting to hear a plea. The Heir, a human kid with a mess of hair sat upon an undercut, still cradles his face, squirming and swearing in anguish. Guess you hit him harder than you realized. The Mage, a disheveled and scruffy looking bastard, is staring at you intensely. It’s faint, but you see his teeth are clenched, attempting to keep them from chattering. It also seems his hands are trembling slightly and… bleeding? What’s got him so shaken up? “If you come along quietly, no further harm will come upon you.”

There! Creed says, focusing your eyes on the ball for you. It’s over at the center of the room. You must have dropped it when Creed first jumped into your head. Your eyes dart back to the Knight, still harboring over you with a stern yet… understanding look. Like he empathizes with your tough predicament. God, these guys are weird.

Diving past the Knight, you roll out of the way of his grasp, vaulting off your back and throwing yourself into a stride with a maneuver you didn’t quite think you were capable of. Whatever Creed’s doing, it feels like your entire physical being is calibrated to perfection, moving through the world like a hot knife through butter. Before you can get any further in the room, the Mage jumps in your way, flinging his yo-yo overhead, arcing down at you. You juke right, feeling the impact of the attack slamming against the ground you were just standing on. Ahead, the Mage flicks his wrist, recalling his yo-yo with you still in its path. Up! Creed instructs, lifting your legs for you. Grabbing hold of one of the chains hanging from the ceiling, the yo-yo whizzes by beneath you. Swinging off the dismount, you land directly in front of the Mage, too close for him to throw that damn toy around. Planting both hands onto your grip, you reaffirm your grasp on Bane, and swing the weapon over your shoulder using your entire body to generate force. Bringing your pick down, the Mage raises his hand in defense. For a half second, you think he’s grabbed the point of the pickaxe, but you soon notice he’s palmed his yo-yo, using its metal face as a miniature shield.

Quickly, you push Bane forward, scraping up the side of his toy till your spike notches into the groove of the yo-yo. Using the slight hook as a makeshift anchoring, you rip the thing from his hands, flinging it across the room. Not missing a beat, the Mage uses the opening you left from disarming him to throw a left hook, knocking you in the jaw. Almost mechanically, he follows up with another strike, slamming his knuckles into that soft spot just beneath your ribs. It hurts a lot more than you anticipated. Before he can pulverize you any further, you return his attacks in kind, ramming the top end of your pick into his stomach. He winces, leaning forward with an arm covering where you hit, but he quickly stows his pain, smashing your face with the back of his fist. The stun sends you stumbling back. Before you can shake it off, you’re grabbed from behind.

“LJ, catch!” The Knight yells while bear hugging you, pinning your arms to your side. In the middle of your grapple, he tosses his ax over to the Mage. He has an Axkind specibus as well?

“Let’s make you a little more compliant.” He growls, gripping the ax as he approaches. Shit, not good! You struggle to break free, but the Knight’s grip on you only strengthens. Why the hell is every troll in existence fucking jacked?! The Mage winds up a swing.

Make some distance! Creed pulls your legs up, putting your entire weight into the Knight’s arms. Tucking your knees to your chest, you shoot your legs out with all your might, drop-kicking the Mage square in his face, forcing both him and the Knight to stumble away from each other with the momentum of the attack. The Mage goes crashing into the table behind him, but the Knight is only slightly thrown off his balance and still holds tight to you. With the space you make, you grab hold of the Mage, catching him in a Time Knot, buying yourself some time to think. Not much, however, as it looks like the snare you trapped him with will only last about a minute. Whatever Creed did while you were trapped in your head, he really left you drained on your powers. Probably don’t have much more left in the temporal-energy tank. You’ll have to act sparingly with the time shenanigans for the time being.

Still grappled by the Knight, you test his grasp once more while he’s still stumbling from the recoil of your kick. And once more, his grip stays true, not even budging an inch. No way you’re wriggling out of his hold anytime soon, you’ll have to think outside the box to get out of this one. Amvinn once said something about trolls having sensitive horns, right? Using all the torquing power in your wrist, you raise the blunt side of Bane of All Mountains until it’s parallel to the Knight’s head.

“Huh?” He glances over, unsure of what it is you’re doing. Reeling the pick back an inch or so, you bump it into his right-side horn. There isn’t much force in the hit, in fact, it’s a rather gentle knock, all things considered, but the head of Bane is metal and has a lot of weight to it, making for a hearty -tap- that reverberates through your opponent’s horn. You feel the physical recoil travel through the Knight, evoking a guttural cough as he begins to shutter. In that moment, his grip weakens enough to force your way out. You break from his clutches and swing your pick fully around yourself, building up momentum before the side of it slams into the Knight’s ear, tossing him to the side.

Something’s happening. Creed alerts you. Looking back, you notice the long hand on the clock construct in front of the Mage is racing around the face, burning through the time he’s suspended for. You turn your attention to your rear, noticing the Heir of Time, face severely bruised and bloodied, down on one knee with both hands extended. A faint red aura escapes from the tips of his fingers, drifting a short distance from his grasps towards the direction of the Mage, before dissipating into the ether. He scowls when he notices he’s got your attention, spitting out a tooth and a fair bit of blood from his mouth.

“Your time traps are garbage, cunt.” He growls, the disdain in his voice overtly palpable.

The ball! Creed reminds you, pushing your body forward for you. As he does, the short hand of your Time Knot reaches its hour mark, concluding the snare and freeing its occupant just as you pass. Too close for comfort, you vault over the table the Mage was shoved into, your eyes fixated upon the ball just on the other side. Almost immediately after your feet leave the ground, you feel a slashing in your arm, as the Mage chops a divot into your tricep with the Knight’s ax. You try to ignore it, but the sudden loss of strength causes your arm to give way and you fall out of the vault, slamming onto the table with a bouncing -thud- and rolling off the other side onto the floor. As painful as that failed-maneuver was, you do however land right next to the baseball. Mission accomplished?

Pushing yourself upright, you begin to rise from the floor, but nearly have your head taken off as the Mage swipes the ax at you from across the table. Pulling you back, Creed has you dodge just in time to avoid the rugged edge from slicing across your throat, and you fall back to the floor. Growing more annoyed, the Mage grabs the table and flips it out of the way, throwing out an upward slash as he closes the distance. You block it the best you can while still crouched, but the attack takes a piece out of the back of your hand as it grazes your grip. It stings. You grit your teeth. He’s too close, toss his ass back. Creed advises.

You dodge to the side, getting fully on your feet before the Mage can take any more hacks at you, but it’s clear he’s still coming after you with that fucking thing. Pouring what little temporal energy you have left into Bane of All Mountains, its exhaust ports open up and it begins to burn red-hot. You close your eyes, preparing for what comes next. With all your might, and with all the power residing within Bane, you slam your pickaxe into the floor. The ground in the shop comes apart, and the sound of the sonic-boom the strike creates shakes your bones. Everything in the area is thrown into chaos from the eruption. Opening your eyes back up again, you see you’ve launched your opponents back a fair ways away, as well as wrecked the entirety of what remained of the garage. Even still, they stagger up, still ready to fight. Damn, it wasn’t enough! Finding his yo-yo in the blast, the Mage tosses the Knight his ax back.

The hell was that? A kinetic blast. Since when can you do that?! I’ll tell you later. We’ve got the ball, now what? Right, we’ll need to activate a fraymotif. A motif? Yeah, what’s the matter? Damn it, I just used up the last of my energy with that attack. What?! I thought this trick was a you thing, I didn’t know I’d need to use my powers! Shit… are you sure you’re completely tapped? I might have a little something, but I’m running on fumes right now. It’ll have to do, just get ready.

“I feel as though this task is a bit out of our means.” The Knight says in a weary voice.

“Bullshit, he just got a few lucky shots in.” The Heir protests. “Let’s finish this guy! Right LJ?”

“… Right.” He growls, letting his yo-yo drop. It begins to whirl as he stares you down, a silent but burning fury in his eyes. He reels back, ready to send it spiraling towards you. Before he can, though, three small constructs appear by your side. A green Mind neuron, a red Time cog, and a combination of the two in between them. The constructs are razor thin, hovering only a few inches between one another. They’re facing directly to the floor, or rather what remains of it. “What…?” The Mage mutters to himself, eyeing the small glowing symbols. A realization seems to dawn on him, as his eyes widen, refocusing on you. His hand reels back once more, sending his yo-yo forward.

Throw it through! Do it now!

Raising your hand, you fling the ball down directly into the cog construct like you’re about to spike it off the ground. However, once it passes through the first construct, it vanishes, and the three constructs stretch away from each other before shattering. Looking back up, you see the yo-yo’s just left the Mage’s hand, tearing straight for your head. Before it can reach you, though, a small neuron construct like the one you threw the ball through appears at the Mage’s side, and the baseball is shot out through it, ramming into your attacker’s ribcage and cutting his yo-yo pitch short. The Mage reels back, caught off guard by the unexpected strike. He looks to his teammates, almost as if he thought they were the ones who’d done it.

“Wha-“ Before the question can leave his lips, the ball reappears once more, this time hitting the back of his head, sending him lurching forward. In a split second, it’s gone again, and a split second after that, it’s back, this time striking the Knight in the under side of his chin. Again, and again, and again, the ball vanishes and returns, each time hitting them directly in a break in their defenses.

What’s happening? Maestro’s Discretion. The motif? Bingo. Right now that ball you threw is suspended in a stasis of infinite possibilities, pinched between a near endless array of probability waves. Trillions of potential directions it could’ve been thrown in, all bouncing off one another, creating an ensemble of baseballs flying every which way in theoretical-space. Every few thousand bounces, the baseballs lines up perfectly to hit a soft-spot on our strife-mates. All I need to do is focus my attention on that instance and the probability wave collapses, temporally shunting the ball into place and slamming into them. Incredible, but… ahh, it feels like my stomach is on fire. Yeah, I noticed. Just about every muscle in your body is beginning to tense up, operating past your limit like this. I’ll try to lighten the strain, but you’ll have’ta work for it if you want to get that phone. Right. Let’s get to it then!

Not wasting any more breath, you advance forward. The Heir reaches out, likely to try and put you in a time knot of his own. Before he has a chance to emit, though, the baseball appears, reaming him in the side of the jaw and practically spinning him completely around from the impact. Right after, the ball reappears, striking the back of the Knight’s knee, buckling his leg. Looking back to see what’s happening to his teammates, the Mage leaves his front exposed. You sweep the broad side of Bane crashing into his shin, throwing off his stance. As he fumbles, you practically tackle him as you reach for his pocket. Before you can probe into them any, the Knight rises once more, swinging his ax from over his shoulder, aiming to chop off your arm. You retract your hand for the moment, just avoiding the Knight’s attack as it divides you and the Mage. As you thought, you won’t be able to play pickpocket with them so close. Figuring you’ll have to deal with them separately, you pull back, hooking the curve of your pickaxe around the Mage’s throat. The Knight reaches out to stop you, but as he does, the baseball appears directly overhead, spiking down into his hand, leaving you uninhibited to fling the Mage to the other side of the room. He falls with a -thud-, crashing into the debris that clutters the garage. Turning back to your two other opponents, you slam the grip’s end of Bane into the very center of the Knight’s forehead, forcing him back, and you kick out the leg of the Heir who’d just begun to pick himself up from the ground.

Creed, can you Up the pace of motif attacks? Sure I can, but that’ll take a lot of attention, Boss. I’m not sure I can keep the recoil of going past your limits at bay any longer if I do. Don’t worry about me, just keep those two stunned. I’ll focus on the Mage. On it.

On cue, the sound of the baseball popping in and out of reality spikes, like a conductor switching to a faster tempo, double-timing the hits. With it, your entire body begins to burn with Creed no longer mitigating the limit-breaker damage for you, leaving your musculature to ache and protest at even the slightest of movements, greatly laboring your mobility. You do your best to put it out of your mind and press on. Marching up to the Mage, he’s just beginning to stumble up from the pile of wood and stone he landed in. Seemingly unaware of your presence, he rather calmly reaches for his yo-yo that’s been left on the ground next to him. Before he can grab it, you slam Bane down, harpooning right through its metal side, spearing it onto the point of your pick. There’s a look of shock on the Mage’s face as he sees you break his toy, but it soon melts into a jaded disappointment. His head hangs low as you retract your pickaxe, yo-yo still stuck on its tip.

“This strife is over.” You inform him, pulling his destroyed specibus from your pick and tossing it down for him to see. “I’ll be taking that phone now.” He shutters slightly. At first you think out of fear, but the quiet laughter tells you otherwise.

“Over, huh… that right, yeh? And why’s that?” He chuckles, still keeping his head down. “Cause you’re keeping those two halfwits occupied? Cause you disarmed me?”

“Yeah, I’d say that pretty much nails it on the head.” Looking down at your defeated opponent, you notice something strange. There’s some sort of red liquid contained within the Mage’s yo-yo. Some of it’s leaked out onto the floor, spilled from when you dropped it. As you eye the thing, the liquid slowly pulls closer towards the Mage’s kneeling form, moving across the floor on its own. What the hell is that?

“Then come see if you can nick’ it.” He laughingly scoffs, removing the phone from his pocket to taunt you with. Something about his tone strikes a nerve in you. There’s a cockiness in his voice, as if he still believes he can stop you even in his current state. You grab him by the collar, pulling him face-to-face with you.

Boss! Bad idea, back off! Creed alerts. You ignore him, too provoked to give caution any mind.

“Listen here, fuckface. Just who the hell do you think you ar-“ Your question is cut short as a sudden and sharp pain pierces through the ever-growing anguish that lies over your body.

“I think I’m the guy smart enough to recognize a fragile ego when he sees one.” He calmly remarks. As he does, your eyes drift down to the source of the stabbing sensation. The Mage has an open hand tucked against his side, and extended from the cuff of his sleeve is a red blade that’s bridged the gap between you, tearing into the side of your stomach. “You didn’t really think that little trinket was my weapon, did you?”

Realizing your mistake, you push him down into the rubble pile, feeling whatever it was that he stabbed you with slide out from your stomach with a sickening ease. You stumble back, unsteadied by the surprise attack. Now that there’s some distance between you and him, you see that the blade isn’t coming from beneath his sleeve, rather it’s emerging from a slash across his palm. The fuck?

Rising from the heap, the Mage stands slightly hunched over in fatigue. He extends his bladeless hand out, lowering his wrist in the same motion as when he drops his yo-yo. And suddenly, the discarded toy you’d left upon the floor begins to float up from the ground, finding its place in his grasp. In his other hand, he flicks his wrist to face his palm outward, and the red blade protruding from the gash on his hand doubles in length. Now prepared, he advances.

Between the injuries you’ve sustained so far and the toll the motif is taking on you, it feels like you’re about to faint. This isn’t good. The Mage takes his first strike, slashing at your stabbed-side. The attack isn’t particularly fast, nor particularly strong, but nonetheless nearly takes you off your feet when you block it with Bane. He attacks again, jabbing for your midsection. This time, you do lose your footing, tripping over a piece of torn up floor. He jabs again. You roll out of the way. Before you can fully dodge, something grabs your leg. You look back to find that the blade protruding from the Mage’s hand has changed into an amorphous blob that’s lassoed around your foot. Summoning an unexpected strength for someone his size, your opponent tosses you flying up into the air. Your back slams against the guard rail of the second floor, and you fall back down to the ground with a terrific -thud-.

Using your pickaxe as a crutch, you push yourself back upright with a cough. The Mage has already begun to re-engage, advancing blade-in-hand, literally. Your two weapons clash before you’re able to get off one knee, and you’re thrown off-balance as you parry his slash away. Falling back down to the ground, the Mage reposes over you and reels his bladed hand back for a downward stab. Without thinking, you tuck your legs in and shoot them out again, horizontally stomping into his shins. He grunts, staggering as he regains his footing. In that moment, you lurch forward, slamming the top of Bane into his shins as well. Pissed at the targeted attack on his balance-bones, the Mage forgoes stabbing you to instead kick you in the jaw, sending you tumbling away.

With a small gap between you and him, you get back on your feet, starting to feel really woozy now. The fraymotif has just about shredded your insides using it without a temporal reserve for this long, to the point where your entire body won’t stop trembling. Not to mention all the violent movements that’ve been throwing you around the garage this entire strife, it feels like you’re really pushing the upper threshold of how much abuse your body can take. At this rate, you won’t be able to fight for much longer. Regardless, you shoulder your pick, and charge forward. If you don’t have much time left, that just means you’ll have to act that much faster! Swinging down at him, he jukes back. Now in his bubble, you re-grip Bane southpaw style, and pull the pick back up, aiming to clip him in his side. The tip of your spike grazes him, but not nearly as much as you were hoping for. You go to pull away from him, but the Mage shoots forward, turning his red blade back into an amorphous blob again, grabbing hold of your pick with it. He jerks back, trying to rip it from your hands. Luckily, you’ve got the thing in a death-grip, and hold tight to it. Not-so-luckily, the jerk is strong enough to jut you downward, introducing your face right into the top of the Mage’s knee. This, unsurprisingly, is more than enough to break your grip on your weapon.

You stagger, clasping your face as blood gushes from your nose. Normally a hit like that would spin you out for the rest of a fight, but at this point, it’s one more grain of sand on the pain-pile. You regain your composure, putting yourself in as much of a defensive stance as you can muster at the moment. Bane of All Mountains lies discarded by the Mage’s side. The red blob he’s wielding reorients itself into a glove-like coating that envelops his hand. He looks at you with scorn-filled eyes, waiting for you to make your move.

With a quick wipe under your nose, you scrape the life-juice from your face and grit your teeth. Jutting forward, you juke right before swerving back left, making a go for your pickaxe. Noticing what you’re aiming for, the Mage foots Bane onto the laces of his shoe before kicking it up into the air. Without thinking, you look up to follow its arc, but as soon as you take your eyes off the Mage, you’re promptly grabbed by the throat. Now throttled by him, your attention darts back down to your opponent. Instinctually, you grab hold of the Mage’s arm, trying to break his grip on you, but his fingers are anchored to your jugulars, and with a flex of his hand, he begins to crush your windpipe.

“gaaaahh…” You weakly gurgle out from under the killing-pressure. No matter how much force you muster, which to be fair, isn’t a lot at this point, you can’t seem to pry this dickhead off you! As the Mage continues to squeeze the last bit of life out of you tattered body, you feel a weird churning within his grasp, almost like a rhythmic pulse constantly moving against your neck. Is… is this his blood?

The lack of air is really starting to get to you, as darkness begins to close in on your peripherals. It’s… making it hard to think straight. You can feel Creed trying to tell you something, off in the back of your mind, but his voice isn’t coming through. Everything is hazy, like your head’s in a fog again… What’s… what’s happening to you…?

 

*

 

*

 

*

…G…O……F…O…R……T…H…E……V…E…I…N…

*

 

*

 

*

 

Wh-… What was that? Who was that? Creed? No, the voice was way too soft. Like it never existed at all… The vein? Your eyes frantically scramble for whatever that serendipitous tip was referring to when your attention centers on the Mage’s wrist. The vein on the underside of his arm is bulging to a noticeable degree. That’s it…

Piling one more bit of strain onto your physical form, you focus a small flow of temporal accelerant to the tip of your thumbnail, causing it to grow about half an inch in length. And just like that, you’ve armed yourself with the Fgnailkind Specibus. With what little energy you have left, you plunge your thumb into the Mage’s wrist, evoking a yelp as you open up a small gash in his vein. As the blood flows down his arm, the injury seems to act as a pressure release, causing the grip he has on your neck to loosen just enough for you to pull out of the hold. The sudden release causes you to stumble back, falling straight onto your ass. Now free, you take a deep, gasping breath into your lungs, coughing out again. Oh, sweet, sweet air! How you’ve missed it!

“Sneaky little-“ The Mage reels his hand back, reforming his blood into a blade. Oh, right, you’re still in the middle of a Strife. With a plunge forward, the Mage stabs down at you, aimed straight for your heart.

Creed! Wha- Keep me conscious! But what about the two-

With a wince in anticipation, knowing full well what comes next, you raise your hands defensively, placing the Mage in another Time Knot. With no energy to draw upon for a move this big, your physicality is used in its stead. Your muscles coil, their fibers compressing with tremendous force, before bursting outward like an exploding suspension cable. Lightning shrieks throughout your body as the recoil of the move ripples within your already shattered form. You fall out of the world of the living, your sight like a skylight traveling farther and farther above you, leaving you down below in the unconscious dark. And like an angel cast from the heavens, you’re left to fall into an endless void, and be they dreams or death, you move on to the next world.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

And

 

.

 

then

 

.

 

you

 

.

 

are

 

.

 

caught

 

~

 

Creed. He’s with you now, clasping you by the wrist, a look of panicked concern on his face. With a grunt, he pulls you up, forcing you across the nothing between worlds, and you are placed back into yourself once more. Your existence is piercing flesh and grinding bone. Every molecule within you scrapes against the other in fantastic agony. It feels as if your entire mind is filled with tiny, piercing needles, pinning your consciousness into one piece. There’s a humming in your ears. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s the sound of your own screaming.

“RAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!” You no longer feel the cords in your voice. Somehow you’ve ended up on your feet again, with your pickaxe clasped tightly in your hands. Step by step, you catch yourself on your feet before you can fall to the floor, moving yourself behind the frozen Mage. You reel back Bane of All Mountains as if you were a hitter coming up to bat, and in a powerful swing, plunge it spike-first into the Mage’s side, the force of which shatters him out of the Time Knot and sends him tumbling across the floor. He screams. You’re sure he screams, but you can’t hear him. All you can hear is the baying tones of your own screeching voice.

“LJ!” Rich exclaims, dropping to his side. That’s funny. When did Rich enter the Arena…? And why is he calling Lucas LJ…? Lucas coughs up blood, clutching the cavern you left in his ribs. Milo joins by their side, guarding the two.

“Stay back!” Milo shouts as you march towards them. He goes to engage you, swinging some strange club around, but… Milo always fought with Macekind didn’t he? When did he changed his specibus type…? Moving on their own, your hands go on the offensive, grabbing hold of the club he’s swinging and slamming the top of Bane into his mouth. Why did you do that? Milo is your friend, so why did you do that? Visions of bodies and blood spiral through your mind, and you begin to choke. Why would you do that? They were your friends. How could you do that?! You lose control of your sight, and your eyes begin to dart around with a crazed frenzy. You can’t seem to focus them. “GAAAH!” Milo screams from his bloodied mouth as Rich pulls Lucas away.

“Hey… where are… you guys going?” You call out to them with a shaky, rasp-filled voice. “It’s me… Jason. I’m your friend, you guys…. Come back… come back…”

“LJ, send out the signal! We’ve failed, it’s time to retreat!” Rich orders, continuing to inch away from you. “Use the totem!”

“Shit…” Lucas grunts, pulling something from his pocket. Holding up for you to see, he presents a black ring. “Hey asshole!” He calls to you.

 

“Can I tell you a secret?”

 

As the words leave his lips, a portal erupts behind him, kicking up a torrent of wind as the void comes bursting into reality. From beyond the veil, Jess pokes her head through, quickly surveying the world on the other side. Strange. There’s something wrong with her eyes. She has too many… irises…

“Hurry up, it’s only open for so long!” She tells them. Rich pulls Lucas's arm over his shoulder and Milo hurries through the portal, vanishing from you.

“I guess you’ll never get to know, shithead!” Lucas barks while halfway through the portal, holding up a phone for you to see. You feel a pressing urgency for some reason seeing the device, but you can’t place the feeling to anything corporeal. Suddenly, though, a baseball appears above the phone, knocking it out of Lucas’s hand as it gently falls to the ground. “N-NOOO-“ And then he is gone. You want to go after them. You want to go to your friends. But the portal closes…

"...come back..." You whisper one last time.

With them gone, you’re left alone in the room now. For some reason, you feel like rocketing away with your jet-boots. You wonder why that is? You don’t wonder for too long before falling to the floor. You gasp for breath like a grounded fish, your eyes darting around as your mind swims. The needles slowly begin to withdraw from your brain, and Creed joins you by your side.

“Boss…” He says as you teeter between here and there.

 

Jason, what will you do?

 

 

 

End of Act 2

 

Chapter 41: > Interlude; Waxing Fuchsia, or: Whispers from the Midnight Sun

 

 

[The Past]

 

 

Your name is Pazuza Hanebi, and… you are alive?

Well of course you are. The hour of your death at the hands of the Land of Conflict/Frenzy and Repose/Crash has yet to pass. The flower has unwilted, time has been turned back, and you have found yourself some several days in the past. In a narrative-perspective sense, not so much a literal one. You’re still very dead in the future.

However, your dreaded fate is of no concern to you at this instance, mainly because you have no idea you’re marching ever-closer towards it. So for now, the problems in your future can stay exactly where they are; the Future! For now, you’ll focus on the present.

At the moment, you sit by the end of a small dock that looks out at a green ocean rampant with stark white sea foam under a golden sky. A ways down the coast is a “lighthouse” or whatever your human friend, Eren, called it, which the two of you had decided to occupy for the day. While the strange devices humans implement for their sleeping periods are admittedly comfortable for a glorified pillowcage, sleep has still managed to elude you on this fine afternoon. Rather than tossing and turning in the death-trap of blankets and fitted sheets back in your temporary abode, you had decided to take a midday stroll down the beach, hoping to tire yourself out in the meantime.

It’s a rather strange Land you’ve found yourself in. Most of the other worlds in the Arena have had some sort of treacherous terrain or perturbing gimmick plaguing the environment, making for a less than hospitable habitat to tour through. Hoverer here, aside from the strangely colored sea, there’s an almost startling calmness to Land. As if the planet itself is stagnant, with nothing having happened on these shores, and nothing ever planning to happen here either. You haven’t even seen any consorts about the place, and the very few structures you’ve come across have all been long abandoned, perhaps never to have been lived in at all. You’d be more concerned if you and your companion weren’t already making your way to the nearest portal off-world.

You look out at the water one last time, finally feeling the lids of your sightglobes begin to weigh themselves down. It’s about time you reconvene with Eren and get some sleep. You never know what sort of titans you’ll run into in this purgatory, best to get your rest where you can.

Almost ironically on cue to this thought, a quiet, nearly unnoticeable -creak- comes from behind you, as something climbs up from the water onto the dock. You freeze, realizing just how far from your ally you had wandered. This isn’t good. Sure, you’re formidable in a strife, but your Wind has been countered more than once since you’ve entered the Arena. If this certain onlooker is bold enough to get the jump on you, there’s no telling what they might have up their sleeves! Readying yourself for the worst, you channel a torrent of air

“What’s this?” The encroacher muses. “It seems I’ve stumbled upon a lowly rustblood, all alone in this desolate place. Whatever shall I do with him?” Glancing back to get a peek at this individual, your blood runs cold seeing the figure that has snuck up upon you. Bearing a sizable crossbow at their side, the individual straightens their form from the crouching prowl they had used to sneak aboard the dock into a confident and tall stature, ready to face their prey. Their weapon, however, is of no real concern to you, as your attention is drawn directly to the set of Fuchsia Wings hanging behind the cloaked stranger, lightly flapping the excess water from their form. A Highblood. No, the Highest Blood. What the hell is a Royal doing here?!

“Stay back!” You command, evoking a dust devil to cycle into life at your feet, creating a barrier between you and her. “I’m warning you, don’t come any closer!” You continue to bark, practically shaking as you dish out your warnings. A suffocatingly tense moment passes as the two of you stare each other down, either one waiting for the other to make the first move. Your pan fills itself trying to comprehend the problem at hand, baffled at the chances two opposite ends of the hemospectrum would come head-to-head under such an improbable circumstance.

“Pff- Ahahaha!” The Witch eventually cackled, her oppressive demeanor suddenly evaporating into thin air. “Holy shit, I actually got you, didn’t I? Oh my god, that’s hilarious! Take it easy, Paz.”

“Wh-wha…?” You stutter, thrown off by the unexpected greeting. She knows you?

“Aah, right. It’s been a while, so you probably don’t recognize me.” She elaborates, seeing you’re still uneasy even after lowering her guard. Throwing back her hood, the dubious caution you were feeling over this whole situation immediately morphs into a complete befuddlement. “It’s me, Ulyssa!”

“U-… Ulyssa?” You repeat, looking over the girl once more. Her features, though more mature, remain familiar to you. And that outfit… she hadn’t reached Godtier the last time you’d seen her, but you recognize the design archetypes rather plainly. Dark brown dress with a deep red slash across her chest, a split hood and striped socks. There’s no doubting it, you’re certain it’s her. Ulyssa Xinish; the Witch of Blood, Leader of the Scourge.

“In the flesh!” She emphatically confirms, stowing her weapon as she approaches you.

“What… happened to you?” You ask your former leader, the wind-barrier at your feet vanishing into a zephyr taken out to sea as you approach yourself. Looking over Ulyssa’s… new developments, you can’t help but notice certain glaring differences about the girl since you’d seen her last. It’s been nearly a sweep and a half since she had vanished from your session, so it’s possible you might’ve forgotten a few minor details regarding her overall appearance, however one thing you know for certain is that she wasn’t a fucking Fuchsia the last time you’d met.

No, not a Fuchsia. Xinish was an intern member at a local Legislacerator Firm. A Teal, sympathetic to the plight of the lower classes in her area. Natural to her caste, she was well connected and, using the small bit of power she had from a higher position on the hemospectrum, had organize a company of rogues and likeminded rebels to enact change on Alternia. Through her leadership, you had gained near complete control of your stemcluster in less than half a sweep. She’s the one who first took you in, giving you a home after finding you aimlessly roaming through the streets in a delirious stupor, saving you just before sunrise. She was also the one to secure your entry into Sgrub, getting the clandestine link to the game from an associate in a neighboring cluster the night before your subgrub would be annihilated. The respect you had for her was unrivaled, and you followed all of her commands without question, carrying out mission after mission at her request with glee. There was pretty much nothing you wouldn’t do to garner her approval, to repay her for all that she had given you. A home, a family, a purpose, it was all her. Hell, you would’ve gladly given your life a thousand times over had she asked. Come hell or high water, nothing could shake your loyalty to her, and you truly believed that under her authority, the Scourge’d be triumphant in whatever situation you found yourselves, regardless of factor or circumstance. A part of you thought it would stay like that forever, but then, one night, she… disappeared. There were speculations, of course. Some theorized she had been happened upon by the Denizen of her Land, and the ensuing battle saw her felled in the clutches of her world, never to be found again. Others believed she had fallen victim to the influence of the Horrorterrors, whispering to her dreamself on the moon of Derse, and she had wandered off into the Furthest Ring while under their control. You, however, knew the truth. You had seen her the night before she vanished.

During a dungeon-dive through one of the castles on your Land, you had come across a treasure map leading to a spot buried in the lower districts of Ulyssa’s planet. It was there that you saw her. She was sporting a new Crossbowkind abstratus, carrying her updated weaponry shouldered upon her back. She had spotted you, just as you had her, from a long ways away. It was typical to see other Scourge members within your Land, as many of your journeys and quests were intermingled between planets. It was customary to stop and say hello to a comrade when you came across them in the wild. However, on that night, Ulyssa hadn’t paid much mind to tradition. Upon seeing you, she didn’t approach. Instead, she gave a small, sort of melancholily smile, shrugging like she was unsure what to say. After that, she performed a quick two-grabberprong salute to you and continued on, disappearing into the underground of her Land. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but when your comrades began asking if anyone could get ahold of Ulyssa, as she wasn’t responding to any of their trollings, you realized something strange was going on.

Every so often after that, an underling would be found, a bolt in their head or neck, randomly left about one of your comrade’s Land. This only stirred the paranoid, as no one knew where the bodies were coming from. No one but you, that is. Ulyssa wasn’t dead, she hadn’t left your session. She was out there, somewhere. Doing who knows what for god knows why, refusing to acknowledge even the slightest of inquiries from those closest to her to see if she was okay! It was as if her comrades suddenly didn’t matter to her anymore, as if she’d gotten bored of leading the group and decided to go and find something more interesting to do with her time, completely indifferent of all of you.

Unity didn’t last much longer with her gone. With a power vacuum in your leadership role, arguments were breaking out much more frequently than they used to, sometimes about who should be in charge, sometimes about how your group should proceed with the war on the Black King, usually always leading to an ill-tempered screaming match of some kind. And with no one as skilled at diplomacy as Ulyssa was to smooth over the disagreements, no amends were made, and harsh feelings stayed that way. The rest is pretty much history after that. Scourge members got angrier with one another, grudges started forming, bridges started burning, outright brawls were breaking out at a startling rate, and eventually, total isolation was established, leaving you all alone on the Land of Castles and Clouds. It’s not a time you look back on fondly. In fact, it’s a time you try not to look back on at all.

“What happened to me?” She repeats your question. “Oh, only the coolest thing to happen to anybody!” She excitedly elaborates. “Ya like the new look?” She asks, showing off her newly colored wings and… fish tail? Yeah, that’s definitely a fish tail sprouted from her back.

“You’re…” You linger, unsure if there are even words that could describe what you’re seeing right now.

“Royalty?” She asks for you. “You’re damn right I am! Gills n’ all! I haven’t figured out how to do the fish-puns yet, though.”

“But… how?” You continue to inquire, gawking in awe at your former comrade’s bizarre mutations.

“They don’t come as naturally as you’d think.” She informs you. “I guess that means sea-dwellers were just, like… always thinking about how to implement puns into their everyday vernacular. That or they were just real flipperin’ good at on the fly word-play.”

“No, I meant the-“

“Yeah yeah, I’m just yanking your chain, buoy. Blood manipulation is just a little trick I picked up on my travels.” She vaguely answers, not really explaining it at all. “I can do the entire hemospectrum too, not just Fuchsia. But I mean, once you unlock the top, what’s the point in going back down again, right?”

“Uh… I guess…” You dubiously agree, finding more and more discomfort with this conversation the longer it carries on. “Wait, are you here with anyone else? Are there any other-“

“Oh, and it’s not just blood, either. I can make changes to other parts of my body as well!” She cuts you off, presenting her backside to give you a better look at her swimlimb. “Here, check it out, I grew myself a tail!” She instructs, showing off her new extremity with a laughing pride.

“That’s great Ulyssa, but-“ You begin once more.

“Swish!” She interrupts a second time, shaking her hip to the side, maneuvering the appendage in a sweeping motion across the dock.

“… But what about-“ You start your question yet again.

“Swish!” She does it a third.

“But what about the-“

“Swish, swish, swish!”

“Stop swishing your damn tail!” You burst, catching her attention. “Ulyssa, are there any other Scourge members with you?” You’re finally able to ask.

“Scourge?” She repeats, as if the word had become foreign to her. “Nope. You’re the first familiar face I’ve seen so far.”

“Damn…” You sigh, more than a little disappointed hearing no one else made it out. Sure, things were tense with the Scourge when you left your session, but that doesn’t mean you would damn them to aimlessly wander a dead offbranch for all eternity. You would’ve reached out, but as part of your pact to stop the infighting, all communicative devices were disabled, permanently blocking contact from being established between members. Even physically venturing to your comrades was off the table. Leaving your planet wasn’t a mistake you were going to make a second time…

“In fact, I was a little surprised to see you here. The word-smith with the white text made it seem like I was gonna be entering this place alone.” She explains, clearly unbothered by the current state of things. “I guess you got the same deal? Anyway, I spotted ya all alone on the docks out here, so I figured I’d come clam my favorite subordinate, reunited once again!”

“Subordinate?” You mimic, pretending you heard her wrong.

“Yeah!” She exclaims, uncaring of the offense you’d taken. “You know, I was the Boss, you worked for meee? Subordinate!” She further elaborates, seeming to think you were simply ignorant to the idea rather than perturbed by it. After a moment of silently waiting for her to figure out your gripe with her, it finally seems to -click- with Ulyssa that you’re annoyed. “Oh, don’t be so sensitive, Pazzy. I started our little group, you just joined it. That’s just the way it works with seniority. It’s only a term. A little label to signify our relationship. Boss and Worker. Higher-up and Subordinate.”

“We were equals.” You declare, reminding her of what she promised you all those sweeps ago.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I remember what I said to recruit you. ‘In the Scourge, your caste doesn’t define you, in the Scourge we are all equals’ yada-yada.” She sarcastically derides, completely blowing off the very foundation of your relationship. “But I mean really, who was sending who on missions, right? It’s not like anyone was telling me what to do, ya know?” You go to say something, but soon realize it isn’t worth the breath. Instead, you begin making your way back to solid land.

“It was nice to see you again, Ulyssa, really, it was, but I’ve gotta get back to my partner before it gets too late.” You inform the sea-dweller, brushing past her as you force your way off the dock. “Take care.”

“Hold up, whaddaya mean; partner?” She asks, tuning around to follow after you. “You got partners, now?”

“His name is Eren.” You tell her, stopping in the sand now. “He was the first person I met here. We watch each other’s backs.”

“Eren? What kind of name is Eren?” She scoffs, mocking your friend.

“He’s a human.” You clarify.

“Human?! That’s ridiculous! Why would you wanna pair up with one of them?” You don’t answer. “Well what about you and me, we’re a team, aren’t we?” She continues to pester. “Why don’t you ditch that basshole and we can go out on our own and kick some ass like the good ol’ days!”

“You’re free to join us, if you’d like.” You offer, feeling somewhat guilty leaving her on her own like this. “I’d have to run if by Eren first, to see if he’d be alright with it too, but I’m sure he’d be more than okay having a third teammate.” She pauses, seemingly growing frustrated.

“Is this about the subordinate thing? Look, that was all so long ago, it really doesn’t matter anymore. The fact is, we’re here now, right? Come on, Pazzy. Aren’t we friends?” You brood, just about at your limit with the Fuchsia. It might be ironic to say, given how drastically she’s changed physically, but you hardly recognize the person before you.

“…We were never friends.” You finally declare, a sad chord plucking in your bloodpusher. “From the way you described it, we were barely even comrades, either. The Scourge, our mission… it was all musclebeast shit… I thought we were really making a difference back then. Thought we could actually go on to bring about real change… but you never moved us out of the one stemcluster. Never expanded the Scourge’s reach, never coordinated with other militias, never tried liberating anywhere else on Alternia. The region had finally figured out some kind of harmony between the castes, we were ready to move on, but you kept us there! Carrying out missions as if we were still the good guys, terrorizing civilians without a care in the world. And why? Because it was easy? Because you were the one in control, and no one could stop you? You took from those people. You took and you took and you took, and the only change you brought about was who the tyrant in charge was. You never wanted equality among the castes, you just wanted to be higher up on the rung! You used us like your personal squad of threshecutioners! Let us build your own little Empire for you, right there in the heart of the cluster. You used us, you stained our hands with blood, a-and when there was nothing more to be gained from having us around, you bailed on us! You let us tear each other apart like fucking animals…! You could’ve stopped us, could’ve stepped in at any time, but you didn’t. Because you didn’t need us anymore. Now you show up, trying to pretend like you didn’t throw us out like yesterday’s garbage? You don’t just get to walk back into people’s lives after you left, as if you didn’t just disappear without a word! You don’t get to treat me like I’m some kind of pawn with no other choice but to follow!”

“I didn’t force you to follow me, Pazuza!” She counters, missing your point entirely. “Sure, I made life a little comfortable where we were for the Scourge, but if you had such a fucking problem with that, any one of you jerks could’ve left on your own at any time! Branched out to start up another resistance in some other city, but you didn’t!”

“We didn’t because we Believed in you! I would’ve-! I would’ve…” You stammer, your rage slowly simmering into a hurt disappointment. “I would’ve followed you to the end of the world, U. We all would’ve. Whatever the tide would bring, we had your back because we thought you had ours. Whether it was some prick Orchid giving the Rusts down the street a hard time, or an Imperial Drone landing at our doorstep, nothing would’ve shook out bond to you… but you didn’t see it that way.”

“That’s-… that’s not-…!” Ulyssa struggles, unable to find any retort to your words.

“No one in the Scourge knew you abandoned them.” You start back up, seeing she’s not gonna be finding a response anytime soon. “I figured it would’ve done more harm than good if they knew the truth. They all thought you had died or were captured somewhere, trying to get back home. No one for a second thought you had left because it didn’t interest you anymore. You were our leader, Ulyssa. We cherished you. It’s clear now that the feeling wasn’t mutual.“ An awkward quiet comes over you, as you can’t think of anything else you could possibly say to her, your bloodpusher too weary from the events of today to handle anything more. “You said we could’ve left at any time, back then. Well, that’s what I’m doing now… Goodbye, Ulyssa.” You say, giving her one last acknowledgment of respect before turning to walk away, back towards the Fate you’re meant for. Your steps make a quiet -tsff- sound as you pace through the sand of the beach, and you try to move on from the events of today, once and for all. Those hopes don’t get you very far, however, as the growing bitterness within Ulyssa slowly turns to anger.

“Who do you think you are, walking away from me?!” She hisses as you make your way back home. As the words leave her lips, you feel an overwhelming presence creep upon you, pulling you back the way you came. The ground to your rear roars crimson, as if the beach were host to a grim battle, and the blood of both armies soaked there, into the sand. The presence presses into you now, weighing down upon your shoulders as if the world itself had been placed there, a totalitarian effort to keep you docile. Your breath becomes stifled, as you feel the chains slowly creep upon your neck.

Ripping out from your heart, a jet-engine surges, ravaging the beach as a hurricane tramples forth from your very core, cleansing your spirit and erasing whatever majyyks the Witch had sought to claim you with. You stand there, fists clenched, your chest rising and falling like a rabid animal as you cycle air in and out of your bellowsac. You look back, glaring at the foolish girl a ways down the beach, a furious torrent or wind whipping around your form.

“I think it’s time you should go.” You calmly direct. A look of shock comes across the Witch’s face, as it seems she finally realizes what she’s done.

“Pazuza, I-“ She wearily reaches a hand out to you, trying to reconcile her rash mistake.

“Leave. Now!” You roar, the whirlwind flaring up around you, destroying the immediate stretch of beach you stand upon. “And don’t ever come back!”

Upon your order, the Fuchsia, once shaken from her stuporous shock, rushes to the water, seeking out safety from the coursing winds that dominate the area. She looks back one last time, a longing sorrow in her sightglobes. You give it no mind and watch as she descends back into the depths from whence she came, making sure she stays gone this time. Alone now, you turn onward, continuing along your trek back to your friend. In the quiet, as the adrenaline wears off, you can’t help but notice as a trickle of tears slowly drift down your face as you walk. Eventually, that walk slows to a crawl, and after a time, stops outright entirely, as you feel yourself begin to unravel. You cover your mouth, trying to keep it from trembling. Keep walking… common… your friend is probably wondering where you are right now, so just… keep walking. Keep-… Keep-… You can’t. It’s too much. It’s just too fucking much… Your legs buckle, and you fall to your knees, crashing to the sand a weeping mess.

 

Fuck…

 

 

[The Present]

 

 

A cold breeze passes over you, causing your fronds to shutter against the sudden drop in temperature, and you perceive as the sudden winds howl through the trees of the forest. How peculiar. This fragment of Gaia has yet to display any kind of seasonal cycle natural to it’s environment. Why is it then that the air’s gotten so chill? You vibrate on this strange anomaly, pondering what could’ve caused it.

As you linger upon this curiosity, you turn your sensors out at the fragment below. At this current junction, you sit atop a large cliffside towering over a dark forest, waiting for your partner to return from her mission. Small blips of light just barely twinkle throughout the dark of the treetops, imposing upon the forest the likeness of a star-filled sky. You had placed these lights there some time ago, when you were first scouting out the terrain here, laying your network across the Land. You focus upon one such node, finding a small Fox-child has wandered near for warmth. A pleasant shimmer roots itself across your essence, perceiving this, and you feel a smile bloom upon your face knowing the young boy has found comfort there. Who are you, you ask? What a weird thing to think, you think. You’ve never been one for introspection, or any kind of announcing of who you are in general. It makes you feel… weird, drawing attention to yourself. In fact, hosting the narrative-perspective the way you are has raised your anxiety levels by at least 15%, so you know… thank you for that, you guess.

You push these strange thoughts out of your roots and turn back to face the small stone firekeeper before you, focusing upon the light as it dances from within. There is no fire, however. You aren’t one for flames on the best of days, however, regardless of your personal feelings towards the forever-eater, nothing in these woods will burn. Even the driest of kindling wouldn’t take to the flame, despite your best efforts to spark it alight. Luckily, as the Rogue of Life, you’re more than adept at spreading out illumination. Still, though, the abiding darkness in these woods fought you blade-and-stem to get even the tightest of glows to last in the barren drift.

“Promenthia.” Athollo calls for you as she emerges from the blight of the forest, the small orb of sunlight you had gifted her still hanging tight to her thorax. She buzzes her way over, eventually settling on the fallen timber across from you at the campsite, settling her wings neatly behind her back. Once seated, the glow hanging about her chest detaches from her, swirling into the larger body of sunlight within the firekeeper. Even with the added illumination of her light, you both still sit at the edge of the firelight, barely keeping the night at bay. “She’s finally settled down for the moonhours. Maybe only a short ways away from where we are right now.”

“Did she notice you with your drapings aglow the way they were?” You ask, the worry in your sounds more than apparent. With your mission finally coming to a finality, you can’t help but feel a nervousness overtaking your roots the closer you get. Are the two of you truly up for this?

“Not even once.” She transfers to you, slyly smiling, proud of her adeptness in Thievery. “All that’s left is to get the jump on her.”

“Right.” You nervously agree, still brooding to yourself.

“Are you worried?” The Pixie sounds at you. You rustle, nodding with her deduction.

“Waring with Underlings and Carapacians is one thing, but going after a Shaded… an Idol of the All-Light, no less.” You sound, tapping your prongs against your timber-seat. “It feels as if the soil around us could dry up at any moment.”

“Be at ease, my dear entoficiary.” Athollo calms you, her sounds a nutrient to your soul. The wings upon her abdomen flutter to life once more, and she hovers over, taking her place next to you on the timber. The Pixie’s short stature only places her at your shoulder, but even still she manages to envelop you in the dark. You instinctively nuzzle into her fuzz upon contact, lightly knocking your nose against her antenna. “I’ve alway managed to buy us time when we needed it most, haven’t I? I’ll keep you safe, my Sunflower. With our strength together, we can do anything, can’t we?”

“Mmm…” You furl into yourself, still distressed.

“Why don’t you tell me about the plan one more time. Maybe it’ll help you stop fretting if you work through it again.” She suggests. You bloom ever so slightly at her encouragement.

“The plan itself is simple. A rudimentary nab-the-torch strategy.” You explain more to yourself than your Pollen-Bond. “Every Idols within the Vast Pruning carries with them a component of their Mythological Role, a small Boon of Characterism that when slain is passed on to their better. These boons differ from Idol to Idol depending on their affinity. If one were to slay me, they’d gain a presence of Life that would emanate out into the people around them or out into their environment. If-…“ You linger a moment, taking Athollo's hand within your own, giving it a quick squeeze. “If someone were to slay you, then the presence of Cycle within their surrounding area would gravitate towards them to be used at their disposal. While some of these Boons can be rather benign or unnoticeable, certain Idols with particular affinities possess within them a startling potential to bring about one’s will into existence. Our quarry, the Troll known as Junipr Meruwn, bears just such an affinity as the dread Witch of the All-Light. If one were to acquire it, the presence of All-Light would quietly bend towards their will, directing it towards their goals. All-Light is the aspect of impossibilities. Of Beliefs and Miracles. An Idol could felle every single contender in the Pruning, collect every single boon in the Arena and still, the one to collect the Witch’s Fire would hold the edge over any who opposed them. Existence itself would shift to their liking.”

“Which is why we are to steal it first!” Athollo excitedly declares, springing out to hover before you. Your sensors linger a moment, observing before you the fair Pixie you’re lucky enough to call your own, and you fall transfixed upon her form, her red drapings a crimson beacon within the shade of this forest. It takes you a moment to realize the two of you have gotten up and left the light of the firekeeper, now finding yourself down in the mires of the valley. Athollo must’ve started you on your course while you were reviewing your plan. She’s always had such a way of stealing you away from the moment like that. Lords, such a tricky little lovebug.

“Right.” You firmly sound, nodding with her conclusion. “Yet this Junipr remains ever the opponent. One of her power and influence is not to be trifled with lightly. Of course we’d need to get the jump on her, else fall victim to her wicked grimoire. You, the lovely scout, were to follow her until she found a grove to settle and close her petals in, and I, the faithful lookout, was to survey the area, keeping track of any Idols in the region who passed by my Firekeepers scattered about the forest. You’ve found where she’s hiding, and there are no others in the Area who could intervene. Logic would dictate that now is the perfect time to strike, and yet still I can’t help the shaking in my petals. Perhaps this was a bad idea…”

“Nonsense.” Your Bond dismisses. “You said it yourself, the one who claims this Witch’s boon could take on any opponent!” She reminds, reinvigorating your judgment. “What more valuable of a resource could ever exist? What treasure more worthy of risking our very lives than the Fire she hoards? The power to make our dreams come true.”

“None exists that has yet to show itself.” You sound, stiffening your stem. “We are to sneak into the Witch’s chambers, and in her slumber, you take from her all the time she has left, and claim the boon from its source. After that, no other will be able to stand in our way. We will secure your victory as the sole survivor of the Vast Pruning, and when you claim your Prize and leave this Infernal Undertow-“

“I steal you back from the clutches of death.” She knowingly smiles, finishing the summation of your plan. It’s taken a lot of research gathering up until now to orchestrate this operation of yours. When you first heard tale of the system of Boons and Victors the Arena operates on, you had originally given no thought to the mechanic. However, after seeing first hand the powers of the All-Light, you couldn’t help but conclude the potential for such abilities. Harnessing it for your team was the only natural next step. Originally, you had been unsure of this plan, too wary of your intended target to feel any confidence in it. The Witch designation is a potent powerhouse, able to directly affect their given affinity with ease. To hold such a sway over trust and belief like that, there’s no telling what sort of fate would befall you if you weren’t careful. Yet Athollo remained steadfast, confident in your abilities as a team, and together, you devised a rather devious ploy. Track down the Witch, and slay her in the night. Through a series of long winding investigations and a few lucky breaks, you inevitably tracked down a potential lead to the Land of Grove and Veil. There’s been murmurings amongst the other Idols, and the whispers in the breeze report that a perilous beast has been stalking this region, accosting any who’d happen upon it. Testimony of these events claimed the beast was eight feet tall, others say it had skin as dark as obsidian and fangs as sharp as daggers. All tall tales born from fear and confusion, unsure of what they saw in the dark. The only consistent description you’d gathered was that the monster wore two striped yellow socks. A rather simple deduction from there. And after making your way to this fragment of Gaia and setting up your network of Firekeepers, it was only a matter of time before the Witch entered into one’s proximity and you discovered her hunting grounds. That leads you to this day’s moonhours, finally prepared to pounce upon your prey and seize your prize. “We’re almost done now. And once we’re out, we can finally go home. Then, everything can go back to the way it was…” She sounds, taking your hands into hers.

“Oh my shimmering little sunshine, how I revel in you.” You murmur with a gentle laugh, cradling her face within a frond. “We will find our way there soon, it is only a matter of time. Just one last step, and this is all over.” Time seems to slow as you cherish your Bond, a clever little trick Athollo likes to pull in tender moments like this. It feels as though you could stay here forever.

“About that…” A third party enters. A chill befalls you, realizing someone’s managed to find their way to your party through the shade, and shakily, you turn to face your confronter. There along the path stands the Witch of the All-Light, a stern guise upon her face as she pulls back the charging handle of her lead-launcher. Much to your expectations, the Witch is nothing like what the others have described. No great beast of the woods, rather a typical Idol you’d expect to find in the Arena. A young girl, by the looks of it, strange horn protuberances sprouting from their unusual fuzzy troll-petals. Behind her are two enormous and wispy angel wings, hued Fuchsia. “I greatly recommend against what you’re about to do.”

“You!” Athollo exclaims, folding into a defensive stance upon seeing your target so suddenly emerge from the forest. “How are you here?! You’d fallen asleep in the slime-sack back in your cave!”

“I’m sure you believe that.” Junipr sounds, taking aim with her weapon. “Unfortunately for you, reality is often disappointing.”

“Damn it!” Athollo sounds, drawing her Sheng Biao. Perceiving the escalating threat, Junipr focuses her aim upon your Bond, provoking you to summon from your own strife deck. In your frond appear your deck of Tarot Cards; Tokens of Vanderfell.

“Don’t try it.” The Witch warns, nary a crack in her demeanor.

“How did she find us?” You furl into yourself, as if regressing to a bud. “I thought we were careful enough to evade her notice!”

“Yeah, real subtle, you two.” Junipr transfers to the both of you, her noise bearing a hearty node of sarcasm. “This forest echoes. I heard your Time player buzzing around through the trees a mile out. Not to mention the network of info-gathering campfires you set up over just about half the goddamn Land. I’m a Sea Dweller, for crying out loud. You think I don’t know a net when I see one?”

“Do we back off?” You quietly sound to your Bond. The plan was to ambush the Witch as she slept, there’s no way you can best her now! Her roots run too deep, you’re completely out of your depth!

“It’s too late for that, Promenthia.” Athollo answers, calcifying her resolve.

“It’s really not.” The Witch interjects with a mutter.

“She found us out!” Athollo continues, giving the Troll’s plea no thought. “It won’t matter if we restrategize, she knows that we’re after her now.”

“Please just leave.” The Witch continues.

“We have to take her down, right here, right now!” Your Bond finalizes, flourishing the dart of her armaments into a swing, cycling the rope it’s attached to into a blurred wheel.

“Jegus fuck, what is wrong with all you people?!” The Witch exclaims, her grip clamping down tightly upon her lead-launcher. “I just want to be left alone! Is that so much to ask? The last two weeks, it’s been nonstop with you psychos, chasing after me in the woods, blades bloodied, talons out! Hunting me down like a fleet of god damn drones! And not a single one has even once tried talking out our differences! Surely at least trying to get along isn’t expecting too much, is it?!”

“W-well-“ You begin, unsettled by the franticness of the person holding the very large projectile weapon.

“Don’t listen to her!” Athollo quickly whisks your attention back, before you can be swayed. “She’s trying to get into our heads, bend our beliefs into thinking peace is an option. Only one person can escape the Vast Pruning, the milkshake man said so himself!”

“Do you believe everything you’re told, or just the things strangers say on the internet?!” Junipr mockingly sounds. “It doesn’t matter what everyone else believes! No one is immune to Propaganda! There’s nothing wrong with trying things a new way, anything is possible, damn it! Why can’t any of you see that?!”

“Your words won’t work on us, Witch!” Your Pixie declares. “We’ve steeled ourselves against the tricks of the All-Light, and we’re here to claim your Boon! Save your spells for someone else.”

“I’m sorry, then. If words won’t work… then perhaps bullets will.” The Troll girl sounds in finality, flicking a small switch down on her launcher.

“Well that’s a shame, really.” Athollo rustles with amusement. “I already stole all your bullets.”

“…You lie.” Junipr dismisses.

“I don’t need to. Proof is in the chamber.” Athollo confidently renews her statement.

“You never got close enough to me to take anything. You’re bluffing.” The Witch continues to deny.

“See for yourself, then.” Your Bond sounds, nodding towards Junipr’s weapon. Hesitantly, the Troll’s sensors drift towards her launcher.

A tense moment passes and, inevitably, the Witch pulls a slot from the device, where you would image her bullets were originally kept. The shock upon her face tells you all you need to know. She’s got no ammunition. Confirmed for her, Athollo casts forth the dart of her Sheng Biao at the Witch, going for a kill shot. Shielding the intended stab-zone with the broad side of her launcher, Junipr ducks into the shaded cover of the forest, creating space to recompose herself after being so suddenly caught unaware in the middle of a strife. Athollo pursues after her, into the dark. You’re able to sling a protective light over her sensors just as she vanishes, keeping her from flying blind into the night.

“I wish not to play games, fauna.” Junipr rustles in warning from beyond the veil. “Continue on in this folly and you will find me a much more unpleasant host of these woods.”

You hurry after your Pollen-Bond, able to keep track of the girl through your light upon her. She zips and zooms like a shooting star through the woods, a crimson flash in the dark. Based on the area she’s circling in on, it seems she’s managed to track the Witch down, corralling her to a finite property within the grove. As you close in on the scene, the distinct noises of grunts and stabs bounce between timber columns, as Athollo begins to pick apart your prey. You’ve run this strategy many times before, already knowing just what she’s planning. A blinding-blitz!

Effortlessly osmosing into Athollo’s ring around the Witch, you dash forward, managing to find your prey in the dark at the center of your Bond’s perimeter. Her sensors shift from side to side, desperately trying to keep track of her trapper’s unparalleled speed. Athollo’s simply the fastest there is. That’s really all there is to say on the matter.

In the midst of the Junipr’s distraction, you slip into the space before her. Just barely through the dark, you’re able to perceive the Witch’s torn up form, with jabs and slashes up and down her stem, soaking her gold drapings in a Magenta rainfall. Perhaps you were worried over nothing, confronting her directly the way you are. Take away the enormous Launcher from her hip and she’s nothing more than any other foe you and Athollo have faced up until now. All that’s left is to finish her off and claim the Fire from her essence. And then… and then, you and Athollo are going home! You’re finally going home! There’s no time to delay, then. You pull from your Tarot deck, and as the cards leave their sleeve, a brilliant light floods the area, blinding the Witch.

“F-AAAH!” She bellows, covering her sensors from the Life-Giver. Shaded like her are such easy targets to daze, with only those sensitive perceptory organs at their disposal to see with. Capitalizing upon your maneuver, your Bond swoops in, entangling the Witch with her rope like a creeper girdling a tree trunk, timbering her to the ground. Not wasting a beat, the Pixie extends her hands towards her prey, and as she taps into the Troll’s temporality, a cascade of flowing chronological energies come pouring from her grappled form like a roaring river, channeling directly into Athollo.

“How is this for a game?” She taunts as the Witch writhes beneath her Pilfering Grasp. ”I guess all that big talk before was just that. Talk!” Beholding as the Cycles are stripped from the Troll, you marvel at your partner’s proficiency in her craft. No more struggle, no more hardship, the Witch’s Fire is now yours to command!

In the midst of your celebration, your attention is taken from the triumph of the fight, down to your frond, where in your grasp you hold three Tarot cards from your blinding attack on the Witch. The cards begin to radiate with a potent vitality, bearing fortunes of times yet to come. Oh? What is it you wish to tell me, dear Tokens?

 

 

The Lovers; Upright

+++

The Hermit; Reversed

+++

The World; Reversed

 

 

What? No, that’s can’t be… The Witch has been vanquished, your venture was a success! And yet still, you’ve drawn such an ominous fate? This doesn’t make sense, what more is there to this? What is it you’re not seeing?

“Ath, something is wrong!” You transfer to your Bond, turning back to the fight. “The cards, they- Ah!” Now perceiving the scene once more, you find that the bloodied mound of flesh that once was the Witch has well over doubled in size, barely kept restrained by Athollo’s rope-trap. “Why is she growing larger?!”

“I-I don’t know, she should be long dead by now!” Athollo panics, straining to intensify her Grasp upon the expanding Witch. “I’ve stolen over two hundred thousand years, yet she’s still nowhere near withering away!”

She can’t be aged out…

“I warned you.” The Witch rumbles, snapping the rope that binds her with a simple flex of her muscle-flesh. Lovers, pursue their goal, Upright. “I tried to get you to leave, to simply walk away, but no. You had to go and tempt fate.” She continues, rising from the ground, completely unbothered by the Pixie’s buzzing, a dark giant of her former self. They confront, Hermit, plotting and ploying to steal all that they have, Reversed. “No more Miss Nice Gills.” Consequence, The World, their endeavor has failed, and all is lost to them, Reversed.

The Witch stands there, a mighty spire of billion-year evolution. The very pinnacle of her species, perfected over an epoch of trials and bloodshed. You’ve come to understand her now, an icon of a culture you truly did not comprehend until this very moment. You were in over your heads, ignorantly lusting after the spoils of victory, not realizing you had voyaged into an endless sea, fated to drown in your own ambitions. If you a god, then she herself a pantheon. There was never any hope for you. Never any way home. As you learn to comprehend this fact, the Witch advances.

 

Consequence, Upheaval.

 

 

[The Future]

 

 

You move forward through the night, the sounds of your own footsteps the only companion to accompany you through this dark forest. You’ve been walking for as long as you can remember, and you don’t know where you’re headed. Who are you?

…Who the hell cares?

Wandering through the forest, eventually your trail leads you across a large clearing, and as you venture out into the open, thoughtless and unafraid, you halt at the center of the field, looking up to the sky. Above you is a vast sea of starlight, twinkling a distance of billions and billions of miles away. A smile creeps upon your face, and you are overcome with an elegant zeal, knowing a pantheon as cosmic and powerful as the stars have sent their light all this way just to greet you on your journey.

The moment does not last long, however. What love and compassion you felt in the universe shrivels up, dying like a wilted flower, and a low rumbling shakes the earth beneath you.

A great and terrible tower, engulfed in flames, pierces up from the earth, stabbing at the heavens, a traitor to the sky. Figures wrapped in flames dive from the windows, crashing to the ground in breathtaking horror as they try in vain to escape their fate. Your breathing grows heavier, and an unshakable sense of dread envelops you like a sweeping wave. Along with the Tower, so too does a town grow forth from the earth, and the grass beneath your feet rotates, replaced with cobblestone gutters. You stand in the town’s square now. A dark and ritual chant echoes through the streets, beating like a drum as the townsmen congregate, flocking to the square from their homes. They rally behind you and you turn to see a stage of loaded gallows, their Hangmen stood in line like a choir of singers, bags over head and hands tied behind back. The townspeople rave and dance like wild beasts beneath the stage, lighting fires that paint their wicked shadows upon the town. One crawls upon the stage, and cranks the lever with malicious glee. With a dropping of the floors beneath them, the Hangmen fly upwards, towards the heavens above, caught only by the noose around their necks with a telltale -snap-. Their feet lifelessly scrape against the sky, and they sway back and forth, ropes creaking in the night.

A sudden explosion rings out, drawing your attention back to the tower. Twisting around, you find the obelisk’s crown has been blown from its neck, and the flames engulf the structure, scorching the foundational stones to black ash. As you behold the terrible sight, the door of the tower swings open, and revealed there in the earthen threshold is a looming shadow. Its eyes pierce through the flames, settling upon you with a cold malevolence, piercing through to your very soul. The shaded one steps forward, it’s cloven hoof finding rest against the hard cobble of the street. Revealing itself from the pyre is the Devil, snake of tongue and goat of eye, a silhouette of darkness sitting upon his shoulders as if it were a cloak. The inferno behind him paints his shadow across the earth, extending its reach until its ram’s horns meet you at your feet, and it opens its mouth to speak.

 

“Stupored one.”

 

“It is time to wake now, stupored one.”

 

“You must get up.”

 

 

“Mmmm!” You moan in protest, turning over to avoid the annoying pester. You try to pull the blanket up to cover your face with, but it jerks short, partially pinned underneath your torso.

“Stupored one.” You hear as you’re shaken from side to side “Awaken at once.”

Groggily, you sit up, grabbing your face as last night’s intoxication morphs into this morning’s hangover. You overindulged again… it was stupid of you, but… there’s no real reason not to anymore. That dream just now… who’s was it?

A sudden jostle on the tracks wakes you up fully, and you look around your cabin. You’re still on the same train as you were the previous night, and judging by the several emptied bottles of alcohol rolling about the floor of your room, it seems you had raided one of the bar cars at some point in the evening. Blinking a few times to focus your eyesight, you find the Dwarf girl has come to get you. Who exactly is this ‘you’, you might ask? Why the hell would you have to ask that? You’re Effie Demetrius, the god damn Rogue of Rage, and- Oh god, you think you’re gonna be sick.

“What time is it?” You ask, choking back the vomit.

“I have no timepiece to conceptualize the hour of the day with, but we’ve been on the locomotive for twelve stops now.” The Dwarf answers, pulling out from your personal space now seeing you’re fully awake. She stands at attention in the corner of your room, hands before her lap, a pillar of alien weirdness. She blinks at you with those pitch black eyes of hers, her white irises the only break in the pools of void, expectingly waiting for you to fully rise from the bed like a handmaid waiting to change out her master’s sheets. She weirds you out, and that isn’t just because of the unnaturally smooth and paper-white skin she has, making her look like a ghost. She’s got an unsettling aura overall. Sure, she’s an alien, but her mannerisms aren’t that different from a human’s, only… they feel forced, phoned in even. Like the machinations of her brain operates on a different frequency than yours, and her behavior is only familiar to you because she’s mimicking your tendencies, acting in a way that’ll lower your guard. Maybe you’re just being paranoid… Either way, the girl hits you right in the Uncanny Valley.

“Twelve stops?” You grumble, slinking partly out of bed to rest your feet on the floor. “I thought the plan was to get off at Tinseltown?”

“It was. However, when the stop came, you had already revoked your trousers.” She frankly informs you. You glance down and yep, nary a pant in sight to loon. “We thought it best to let you continue on with your merriment, as you were in no shape for combat anyhow.”

“Oh how grateful, am I.” You sarcastically jeer through the throbbing in your head. “… Sorry. I was only trying to get buzzed, but I went a little overboard. Where are we now?”

“Just about to pull into Cradle Bay, according to Njorceaptus.” She answers, handing you your folded up legwear. Was she just… holding onto these? “We’ll be arriving in a few minutes.”

“Njor- wha…? Oh, right. The Squid.” You mumble, recalling Nora’s weird ‘Royal Moniker’. God, you miss the time when humans were the majority demographic you were able to hang out with. Instead, you've been damned to forever be fuckdeep in alien-girls. Aah… you guess it’s not so bad. It could be a lot worse.

“Luckily for us, the disturbance that destroyed Tinseltown has since moved on to Cradle Bay. I was sent to rouse you before we arrived.” She elaborates, tying her raven-black locks back into a bun before pulling up her long tasseled hood. Despite obviously being a Sylph of the sylphiest of orders, the Dwarf girl adamantly denies any such title to her name, instead claiming herself to be a Dryad of Doom. You think it might be a dwarf exclusive label, brought about by a mistranslation of the actual Title into her native language. You’ve tried explaining the cultural differences to her before, but she wasn’t having any of it, so you were forced to give up your efforts. Still though, she wears the Sylph dress, with a few modifications here and there, namely being a capelet and collar of raven feathers.

“Yeah, luck for us.” You grumble, re-equipping your pants to the legs slot on your body. With your dignity at least no longer being actively diminished, you head for the door of your cabin, emerging out to the hallway of the car you’re on in the train. Jesus, it feels like vertigo just kicked you in the back of the head. And this light! It’s like the world is trying to blind you…! You’re gonna need something for this if you wanna get anything done today. “Mmm… bar car…”

“Hm.” The Dwarf grunts, watching you stumble down the tight corridor towards the train’s cafe. “Already?” She asks, following after you. You’re behind the bar by the time she enters, glass in hand.

“You got a problem with that?” You glance at her from the side of your eye. Taking a bottle from the well, you pour a shot of whiskey into the glass. Hm… better go with a shot-and-a-half… well, two shots should be fine.

“It was my understanding that humans don’t take to the drink very well.” She comments, passively deriding your decision to make a headache-cure. “Perhaps we leave the drinking for the end of the day?” Drop in a few dollops of honey, stirring it in with the sweet stuff. You need cream. Where’s that mini-fridge again?

“The point of that being?” You ask, popping back up from beneath the pub, successfully locating the back bar cooler and the cream there in.

“We’re potentially going into battle.” She reminds you, moving directly across from you to stand at the center of your attention. “You need to stay sharp.” You stare at her blankly for a long while before pouring the cream into your sipping glass, giving it a quick stir.

“If we’re going into battle, then there’s no guarantee I’m making it to end-of-day, anyway. So I think I’ll take my drinks now, thank you.” You say, taking a sip. Hm. Should’ve gotten a chilled glass. “Besides, this is just to clear my head. I can’t fight hungover.”

“Effye, I believe you have a problem.” She declares, resting a paw on your drinking-hand. Her skin has a weird texture to it, almost porpoise-like in feeling, maybe slightly less rubbery, overall. Along with that and the large dinosaur tail she possesses leads you to believe the primate had nothing to do with her evolutionary line. Perhaps her ancestors were some kind of big lizard or maybe a breed of sea mammal. Whale, maybe? Although, you’d imagine she’d be a lot bigger if her species came from whales. She isn’t exactly small, but certainly not whale-descendant large. That’s another thing, why isn’t she small? She’s a Dwarf, right? The little guys who’d live in the mountains and mine the earth and drink mead and all that. She’s like 5’10’’, how is that a Dwarf? “I hear tell of multi-step programs humans utilize to break bad habits such as yours. Perhaps I could aid you in your journey back to a stable lifestyle. Sobriety is not the enemy most make it out to be.” You blank-stare her some more before pulling your drink free again.

“Don’t say my name.” You instruct the Dwarf between sips. “You pronounce it weird.” Just as she goes to say something, the brakes on the train screech to life, and you both stumble to keep balance as you decelerate without warning. In your still-debilitated state, you end up tumbling into the drip rack, folding torso-first across the bar top. Didn’t spill the drink, though. So there’s that. A moment passes, as you both regain your posture and look around, trying to feel if you’ve actually stopped or if you’re just slowly rolling forward.

“That’s peculiar. We weren’t scheduled to arrive at station for a few more minutes still.” The Dwarf comments, walking over to a window to look out. “Something’s going on out there.”

“Then what’er’we waiting for?” You sarcastically exclaim, fully climbing over the bar to head towards the car’s exit.

Hopping off the train, you’re met with a landscape of winding hillocks, hummocks, knolls and cliffs, all carpeted with brownish-orange grass that grants the Land a vaguely Halloweenie feeling, or at the very least, lends to a general Fall esthetic. It’s neat. Halloween was your favorite holiday, but you never really got to celebrate it that often. You were alway embarrassed over going out in public wearing a costume. Which is ironic, since you pretty much exclusively wear a costume now. The G-Tier PJ’s are pretty comfortable, though.

While busy reminiscing on the past, you finally notice the thing your Dwarf companion was referring to when pondering the happenings of outside. An enormous cyclone of dark storm clouds has congregated around the top of a nearby mountain. Oh goodie. Looks like it’s straight off the bat today.

“Goood morinin’, ladies!” An emphatic voice greets you. Looking down the way, you spot the cephalopod herself, dismounting from the space between cars, long dark windsock blowing in the breeze behind her. “Effie! Glad to see you've found your pants again. You’re looking radiant as ever.” She calls, lowering her hood. Revealing herself to the light of day, you see what at first glance looks to be a normal girl, but as you observe closer, you can’t help but notice that her Fuchsia hair is actually living octopus extremities, complete with wide blinking eyes at the top corners of her forehead. It’s a Squiddle, she’s a Squiddle. That’s the joke. It’s dumb, but you’re taking it in stride.

“I feel like hot garbage.” You say, brushing off her compliment as you make your way over to her. You look the Squid up and down as you approach, still unbelieving of what you’re seeing, even after traveling with her for a few weeks now. You aren’t quite sure how an alien species from a different universe got a cartoon made about them on Earth, but according to Nora, Squiddle culture predates humans by a metric of nearly a hundreds and fifty billion years, so you guess their presence just sorta got ingrained into reality at some point, establishing their legacy in every universe succeeding their own. Still boggles your mind seeing it all up close, though. Six-year-old You would’ve had a fucking heart attack, meeting a Squiddle in real life.

“And how!” She agrees, meeting you and the Dwarf halfway at the middle segment of the train. “What are we drinking this morning, miss?”

“Hair of the Dog, oh Heir of the Void.” You answer, raising your glass in a half-hearted cheer. In a rather… embarrassing display of sudden uncoordination, the walk section of your brain gets crossed with the raise-glass section, and you end up trying to step your leg out just as you lift the other up to walk, tripping yourself.

“Whoa-ho, careful there, boozehound.” Nora says, catching you before you could fall. “A bit early to get tipsy, don’t you think, buddy? This planet is one of the few in the incipisphere to actually have a day-night cycle, after all. It’s five o’clock somewhere, but certainly not here, haha! Maybe leave the cocktail on the train?” You stare at her a moment, still cradled in her arms from the catch. She simply smiles back at you. Without another word, you throw back your drink. “Or slam the rest of it down in one gulp, hahaha, yeah!”

“You pulled the emergency stop, Njorceaptus?” The Dwarf asks as you regain your footing.

“That I did, Babda-Rho!” Nora greets her as she joins up with you, completing your trio. “The whispers notified me of our proximity to the disturbance as we passed by the mountain range. Judging by the distance from the town to here, it’d be faster if we hopped off and walked there, rather than wait to get to Cradle Bay. Are we all ready to go?” She asks, already heading out into the field.

“This looks like a rather steep hike. I’m not sure you’ll be able to make it in your condition.” Babs decides for you. “If you’d need, I’m more than capable of carrying your human-weight unencumbered.”

“I’ll be fine.” You grumble, rolling your eyes as you stroll after Nora.

“Respect the limitations of your body, Effye.” The Dwarf calls, remaining still beside the train. “Respect them!” You throw your glass at the metal side of the train she’s by, shattering it as you try to spur her on.

“You’re lagging behind!” You shout back, getting her to finally move again.

“Hm!” She huffs, her feathers thoroughly ruffled.

“So, Babda, you think you’re up to the task of stopping whatever this nasty destro-business is going on in Logabc?” Nora asks as the two of you catch back up with her in the field.

“It’s unclear if the task at hand is within my means.” The Dwarf gently shakes her head. “It’s not my first time dealing with a chaotic force such as this one, but the disturbance only started just a few days ago. I don’t believe we’ve seen enough of its destructive might to know the full potential of this anomaly.”

“Didn’t it destroy Tinseltown overnight?” You hazily mention as your path slowly begins to incline. It’s a subtle bump in hiking difficulty, but even so, the minor angle at which you now walk is weighing on the throbbing in your head. The sky is also getting darker as well, as your group slowly reaches beneath the cloud coverage.

“And I fear that is only the beginning of what this maelstrom is truly capable of. A figurative Tip of the Iceberg for things to come.” She bodes ominous. “If we don’t act quickly, this disruption could end up corrupting the region. Perhaps the entire Land, if not further.”

“Woeis be the Land of Ghouls and Bar Cars. Whatever shall we do.” You roll your eyes. It’s entirely too early for this amount of melodrama.

“I said if not further!” She hastily notes. “And the phrase is Woe is Me, not Woeis-be.”

“Pff, maybe in your culture.” You scoff.

“You believe this disruption could spread off-world?” Nora inquires, glancing back with her forehead eyes, like some kind of freaky owl.

“Corruption like this seldom stays contained.” Babs sighs just as your group reaches the bottom of a zagging-pathed half-hillock. “If left unchecked, there’s no telling how far it’ll spread. Best to pull this weed while we still can.”

“And if we can’t?” You ask, starting to feel really out of breath now. The trail you’ve picked up is incredibly steep, with the hillock eventually merging into an enormous plateau at its top, leaving you struggling to keep up as your group scales the cliffside. And still the sky grows darker and darker, the morning light disappearing behind the grim clouds above, tiny flashes of green lightning sparking here and there within the storm.

“Then we all die.” She says, frankly. “Such is the way of things.”

“Well that’s lame.” You declare, rounding onto the next zag cut into the mountain. You’ve already had more than your fill of do-or-die ‘fate of the world rests in your hands’ bullshit for an entire lifetime. Why the hell do all these mission-impossible style operations keep popping up in your fucking Side Quest queue? ‘Should you choose to accept it’ well you fuckin’ didn’t! You did not Accept!

“It’s not lame, it’s a fact.” She tells you while glancing over her shoulder. “A fact that we should all get comfortable with. There’s a good possibility that we fail in our endeavor. We aren’t the great heroes we used to be when we started. We’re the off-branches. The ones who aren’t destined to succeed by nothing but our virtue of being born. There’s no guaranteeing what will happen.”

“God Babs! Quit being such a fucking downer!” You exclaim, rounding onto the final zig of the hillock. You’re deep within the storm now, the china blue skies of the Land long since replaced with dark thunderclouds. “We get it; shit’s fucked. As depressing as all that is, how about we focus on something that actually matters! Like what the hell are we actually going to do once we get there?”

“We fix the rift.” She answers, not explaining anything in the fucking slightest.

“Yeah, but how?!” You stress. “Do we just go up and stab it? Beat up the damn cloud? Do we throw fucking confetti around and celebrate? What are we actually doing here?”

“I’ll need to get a closer look at what’s causing this corruption to know for sure, but right now the tapestries of fate and order are all jumbled and torn up, leaving the world in Pandæmonium. Investigating the destruction this anomaly’s left behind, there’s been visible signs of Underling presence in the locations it’s been to. It’s likely whatever it is causing all this has some form of self-defense matrix in place to keep interlopers such as us from progressing too close to its source, similar to the mechanics surrounding a Champion of Time’s Scratch Construct. We can expect heavy resistance along the way, so it’ll be your jobs to safeguard me in the event we actually get close enough to stop this thing. I do warn you, the enemies we may run into won’t be easily felled. Don’t think for certain that you'll emerge from these trials unharmed.” She vividly describes to you, finally letting you in on the finer details of her big picture. “If luck permits it, and we get close enough to stop this, I’ll Unstitch the chaos there and reorient the natural order of things. Hopefully that will debug the System Operator of the planet, clearing out all the resulting glitches plaguing the Land. If not, then it’s likely that the Bit Decay has gotten too far out of hand, and we’re dead regardless.”

“How the hell do we know if what you do works?” You ask, still thirsty for deets.

“Hard to say, for sure. One possible sign that we’ve succeeded would likely be Ghouls finally starting to spawn around the Land.” The Dwarf suggests. While true that for the Land of Ghouls and Bar Cars, there’s been a glaring lack of ghouls about the place, you can’t help but feel that the only reward for your deeds on this planet being a hoard of literal fucking ghouls dropped in your lap is just about the biggest insult SBURB has given you yet. Which is saying quite a lot, actually. ‘Oh, you saved the world? Here, have some Ghouls then!’ Oh well, you know what they say. Shitty Games, Shitty Prizes. And if nothing else, the Arena is the Shittiest game of them all.

“So, it’s a game of Protect the President, then.” You surmise as you reach the top of the hillock, arriving at a small wooden overlook. Going over to the edge, you’re able to get a good lay of the land here, finding yourself rather high up now. The mountain you’re on appears to sit just before the sea, with a large bay down at its base. On the other side of the gulf sits a small port town with the train tracks leading there running along its coast. Suppose that’s why they call this place Cradle Bay. “And once me and Nora get you up close to the kernel, you hack the planet and fix everything?”

“That would be the process of events, if things are to work out in our favor.” She agrees with a nod. “You get me there, I mend the chaos.”

“As any good Sylph of Doom would.” You say with a smirk.

“Dryad.” She promptly corrects as she takes the next trail up. You go to follow her.

“There’s something up there.” Nora calmly states. Hearing her, you stop, glancing over your shoulder, curious what she’s referring to. Looking back, you find the girl staring straight into the sky, transfixed on something in the dark storm clouds above. The eyes on the sides of her head blink as she observes the unperceivable item of intrigue hidden in the thunder.

“What?” You ask back, turning fully to face her as Babs continues on her trek upwards.

“Listen… Don’t you hear?” Nora instructs, glancing at you a moment before looking back to the sky. “A gravity well at the center of everything. Speaking to us, warning us. Can’t you hear it? Whispers from the Midnight Sun…”

“The hell are you talking about?” You ask the squid as she mumbles crazy to herself. “Midnight sun? You mean the Blackhole where Skaia is supposed to be? You’re insane, there’s no way you can see that from here.”

“See it, no. Nothing can see it, nothing at all. Not for what it really is. The world inverts there, folding into a subspace. A guard tower within this panopticon prison. I can feel its presence. There’s something inside… something that slumbers. Yet still, it reaches out, trying to speak to us.” All her eyes close and she tilts an ear up, as if physically trying to listen for something. “It says… the Ghouls are still on Logabc.”

“Don’t be stupid, Nora. Babs said the Ghouls aren’t spawning because their assets were deleted from the Land’s storage folder, or something.” You reason with her, recalling the initial conversation that led you on this dumb mission to antivirus the planet. “Their file got removed.”

“Not removed. Corrupted.” She tells you. “It doesn’t like it. The Midnight Sun, it hates what’s been done to them. It’s being roused from its sleep because of it.” Before you can tell her how ridiculous the notion of a blackhole waking up is, a scream comes from up the trail.

“Aaaahhhh!” The Dwarf bellows. Naturally understanding your ally crying out in terror takes priority over this dumb conversation, you and Nora race up the hill to where you heard the scream. Reaching the top of the path, you find Babda grappled by an enormous beast in the middle of a large wooden bridge, back pressed into the ground with her legs pushing into the monster’s chest and stomach trying to pry the thing off her. The hand in which she holds her specibus, a sleek looking single-shot grenade launcher, lies pinned to the bridge beneath the monster’s grasp. Her other paw remains occupied, clawing into the flesh of the creature’s cheek to keep its face at bay as it bites for her throat. Trying to wrestle her hand free, Babda slowly forces the barrel of her launcher up, until angled into the chest of the beast. With a pull of her trigger, the ammunition is catapulted from the large tube barrel of the device with a distinct -thoomp- sound, engulfing the creature’s torso with hellfire and smogging up the area with a thick smoke. Out from the cloud crawls your Dwarf friend, scooching away from the scene until she backs up into the guardrail of the bridge. Using the rail to help herself up, she gets back onto two feet, fixated on the direction of the monster as she loads a new canister into her gun. Slowly, the smoke clears, and there hobbles the monster, chest scorched and missing an arm. Despite its injuries, the thing roars, making it clear it still wants a piece. You decide you’ll oblige it’s direct call for more, bursting forward for the abomination. The thing notices your approach just as you reach it, turning away from the Dwarf in time to see the hidden blade pop out from the bracer beneath your sleeve, sinking into the monster’s collarbone. You slide beneath it, tearing a gash into the top of its chest, before snapping back upright, sinking your other wrist’s blade into its head. With a gurgle, the thing slumps to the ground, dead.

“Babs, you okay?” You look up, checking on the Dwarf girl as she clutches a sizable slash across her arm.

“That thing! It tried to-…! It tried to…!” She babbled, visibly shaken from the attack. You retract your blades from the flesh pile and hurry over to her.

“It’s okay!” You tell the girl, stepping in front of her to stand at the center of her attention, forcing her focus away from the creature. “It’s dead. It can’t hurt you anymore.”

“Right. R-right.” She nods, focusing on you.

“Is your arm okay?” You ask, gesturing for her wound.

“It’ll be fine.” She says, the panic in her breath finally starting to settle. Twiddling two fingers above the cut, a thin dark green twine jumps out from her wound, quickly sewing a stitch into the injury. “It just needs a little time to heal.”

“What the hell was that thing?” You growl, looking back to the creature. Nora is there, observing the grotesque corpse.

“It’s a Ghoul.” She informs you. You join by her side to get a closer look as well. It’s a disgusting creature, reeking to high heaven. Its skin is vantablack, wrapped around a gaunt musculature, with long gangly arms and stubby legs, looking like a living shadow. It doesn't even have eyes... The thing is quadrupedal, but looks to have the proportions of a typical biped, save for misshapings in its leg region. It’s large, too. Maybe twice the size of yourself. “I told you. They’re still on Logabc.”

“There’s more of them.” Babs tells you, looking up the trail at the other side of the bridge, leading into a small forest at the top of the mountain. “Just up the way, I saw them. They were blocking the path towards the disruption. One of them must’ve spotted me as I was coming back to get you. Wretched thing took me by surprise.”

“They’re the defense matrix, then?” You note, looking down at the corpse. Babs nods.

“Come.” Nora instructs, marching across the bridge. “We must put an end to this malfeasance at once. Before it’s too late.”

“Excuse me.” Someone calls, grabbing the attention of your entire group. Looking back, you spot a figure at the other side of the bridge where you had just come from, standing before you, their hands elegantly held behind their back. They’re a Godtier, but not one you’ve ever seen. Dressed in shades of dark red and brown, they wear a regal looking tunic complimented by a pair of jester’s pants. Atop his head he sports a Cap n’ Bells with a dark red crown affixed to it, and cloaked over his form is a furred Royal Mantle and cape. Completing his little ensemble, he’s concealed his identity with a mask bearing the symbol of Blood slashed across it. Who’s this joker? “If you intend on intervening with the affairs taking place on this mountain today, I’m afraid I’m going to have to stop you.”

“And who the hell are you?” You ask, being the closest to the freak.

“Oh, how rude of me, where are my manners? Greetings, Morrígan! I am the Troll who guards this Bridge. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He declares, nearly giving you a brain hemorrhage out of sheer stupidity. A troll who guards bridges? What are you, in a German fucking Fairytale?

“Well then, Gatekeeper, feel free to try and stop us, if you can. Before you go and do something stupid, though, let me remind you; we’ve got you three-to-one.” You point out, hoping the psycho wearing the rusty crown will finally fuck off already.

“Then you’re nine short of a fair fight.” He taunts, still unmoving from his position on the bridge. You go to say something as a retort, but stop, genuinely stumped on how to respond to that. You’re actually not sure how to approach this guy in general. Is he crazy? Suicidal, maybe? What the hell is he even doing here? Regardless of whatever he’s here for, he’s weirding you out. Just about everything about him weirds you out.

“… Whatever. Let’s get going, you guys. We’ve got an apocalypse to avert.” You tell the others as you turn to head down the path. As you do, though, you feel an overwhelming presence creep upon you, pulling you back the way you came. “Gh-! W-what?” You look back and discover the ground to your rear roars crimson, a blood-red shadow cast upon the bridge by the Psycho, extending his reach until his crown meets you at your feet. You try to move, jump away from the living bloodstain, but find that your body won’t quite work the way you want it to. You’re paralyzed, stuck in place. Your breath becomes stifled, as you feel a growing power slowly creep upon your neck.

“I do hate it when they don’t listen.” Psycho tsks, removing his hands from behind him, revealing he had hidden an Obsidian Chain at his back. He snaps the irons taught, brandishing his new tool your way. “In case you didn’t hear, this mountain is under my armament. The events taking place here are far too important to let any interfere, least of all, you three. Any dissidents shall be, how you say, detained.”

This is bad. Really, really bad. You can’t so much as twitch a finger in defiance of the presence enveloping you. You try to shout out, to spread the willpower to your compatriots and rally them against this douchebag, but as you do, your lungs fill with blood, and you choke on the words. While busy coughing up the fluids, you feel your body suddenly jerk forward, as your leg takes a step towards the freak. Then another, and another. It’s as if your body is moving on its own, puppeted by the very blood and bones it contains.

You try to fight it, try to resist the flow, but it’s too powerful. Your muscles twist and contort, bending you into compliance as you march on. No… NO! You refused to be kicked around by some dweeb playing dress up! Who the hell does he think he is, trying to take control of you like you’re some kind of pushover!

“F-…. FUCK! YOU!” You burst, ripping an arm free from its self-constriction, practically shredding the muscles at its source of tension. Using your freed hand, you jab your concealed blade into your shoulder, cutting loose a flow of blood down your chest. Fucker can’t control you if you’ve got no blood to bend you by. “I don’t know what sort of trick you’re trying to pull with this crummy blood magic, but it ends here. Along with your fucking life.”

“…I thought I’d show mercy, and spare your lives.” The king of pricks mutters from behind his mask. “I will not make the same mistake again.”

“You-“ You growl, readying for strife. As you pop the other blade from your sleeve, a hand takes you by the shoulder. Turning back, you find Nora there, a stern expression on her face as she stares the freakshow down.

“Go.” She instructs, pushing you behind her.

“Wha…?” You look to her. Her upper set of eyes turn back to watch you.

“The disruption is growing stronger, its roots of corruption sinking deeper and deeper into the fabric of the Medium. You and Babda must stop it.” She instructs, a stoic resignation in her voice. “I’ll take care of this one.”

“What are you talking about? Let’s just gang up on him, then we can all stop this lame-ass storm, together.” You try to reason with her.

“I’m sorry to say this, Effie, truly I am, but… you’d just get in the way.” She gently tells you, sounding as if she’s trying not to hurt your feelings. “It’s a shame. I really enjoy fighting by your side.”

“How would I get in-… whoa, really?” You ask, realizing what she’s saying. “You’re going All Out?”

“You might not see it, but our opponent is not just a simple fool.” She justifies her decision. “I doubt anything but my very best has a chance of stopping him. Even then, I certainly can’t do so fast. Which is why you and Miss Rho must go on without me. Stop the corruption, Unstitch the destruction from this world. I know you can do it. I believe in you two, my dear Tangle Buddies.”

“I-… I will.” You decide. Fully understanding the situation now, you run back, proceeding down the bridge until you meet Babda. Turning back one last time, you watch as the Squid’s entire form unhinges like the jaws of a snake, and she begins expanding outward like a radiating mound of biomass. A horrifying shriek echoes throughout the mountaintop, reality itself crying out in anguish as the Heir of Void begins to morph into her new shape, floating up from the ground so as the world might not suffer her touch. “And Nora!” Where her head once was turns back to face you, now appearing in the likeness of a teeth-laden vortex. “Kick his ass for us!” The last coherent extremity remaining on her ever complicating body gives you an assured thumbs up. Taking Babda by the hand, you lead her away from the inevitable strife, towards the summit of the mountain.

“Sending you friends away, are we, Njorceaptus’typherebus? A noble sacrifice, I must say.” The Master says, too far away for you to hear. “I respect such compassion.”

 

ʸYͦOͧUᶰ NͤEͤEDͩ ᶰNͦOͭT ͨCͦOͫMᵖPˡLIͥMͫENͤᶰTͭ MͫEͤ, ᵇBͬRͥIDͩᵍGͤEᵍ GͧUͣARͬDͩIAͥNͣᶰ

The incomprehensible form of the horrorterror whispers from its thousands of mouths.

ˢSͣAVͮIͥNᶰGᵍ HͪERͤ ͬFᶠRͬIͥEͤNᶰDͩSˢ IͥSˢ ʲJͧUˢSͭTʷ WͪHAͣTͭ Aͣ ˢSᵠQUͧIͥDDͩLͩEˡ ͤ DͩOͦESͤˢ

 

“Hmhm. I suppose it is.” He chuckles in agreement. “Also, just so you know, the whole ‘Bridge Guardian’ thing was more of a one-off deal, not exactly my main vibe.”

 

ʷWͦOᶰNͭ’Tʸ YͦOͧU ͭTͤEˡLˡL ͫMEͤ ʸYͦOUͧRͬ ᶰNͣAMͫEͤ TͭHͪENͤ,ᶰ OͦHͪ HͪALͣˡF-ᶠMAͫSͣˢTEͭRͤ. ͬ ʸYOͦUͧ ʷWͤERͬEͤ OͦᶰNCͨEͤ TͭHͪEͤ ᵇBͣARͬDͩ, ʸYEͤˢS?

She requests of her opponent.

 

“Mm, that I was, madam.” He nods, reminiscent. “My name is Finlus Renfik. It’s a pleasure.” He bows before the godhead, one Royal to another. “Not many can guess who it is behind the mask at first glance. Did your whispers tell you?”

 

TͭHͪEͤYʸ TͭEͤLˡLˡ MͫEͤ MͫAͣNᶰYʸ TͭHͪIͥNᶰGᵍSˢ, ʲJͤEˢSͭTEͤRͬ

She retorts.

TͭHͪEYͤʸ TͭEͤLˡLˡ  ͫMEͤ TͭHͪE ͤROͬAͦD ͣYͩOʸUͦ AͧREͣ OͬNͤ LͦᶰEˡAͤDSͣ ͩˢTOͭ ͦNᶰOͦʷWHͪEͤREͬ ͤ. TͭHͪEͤʸY ͭTͤEˡLˡL ͫMͤE ͣA ͬRͤECͨᵏKOͦᶰNIͥᶰNᵍG ͨCͦOMͫEͤˢSʸ ͦYOͧUͬRʷ WͣʸAY

 

Beneath his mask, the Master smiles hearing this.

“Perfect.” He approves. With no more words to exchange, a web of crimson springs forth from the Master, tearing high into the sky and deep into the earth, his reach now all encompassing. These vectors of ichor solidify themselves into the world, as if spacetime itself had shattered and bled. And onward the two titans clashed, and stronger the storm winds blew.

“Effye, where are we going, what about Njorceaptus?!” Babs demands as you drag her up the final steps of the mountain, leading her through the dense forest towards the summit.

“There’s no time! She’s gonna keep bozo at bay while we unstitch shit here.” You hurriedly explain, moving deeper into the storm. You look back as a bolt of lightning strikes in the background of the battle you left behind, allowing you to just make out what looks to be a giant net as it tries to wrap around Nora’s indecipherably terrifying body. It also looks like the storm has spread over the entire region now, reaching farther and farther into the Land. Shit, gonna have to do this fast!

“What if he’s too powerful to take on alone? Surely we should-“ Before she can finish her objection, another Ghoul pops out from its hiding place in the brush.

“GRAAGH!” It bellows, making a lunge for you two.

“Fuck off, brigand!” You shout back, stabbing it in the center of its forehead with all your might.

“gbragh…” It gurgles, choking on the final synapses firing in it’s faltering brain, slumping to the ground, dead.

“Yeah, I’d honestly worry more about us at the moment, Babs. She’s going Horror Mode, we need to give her space to let loose.” You explain as the two of you reach the crest of the final hill to the top. “Right now, let’s just focus on getting to the source of all this shit and shut… it…… down…“ The determination you felt in your heart soon deflates as you reach the top of the hill, and discover what you are truly up against.

Ghouls. Hundreds, maybe even thousands ravage the ritualistic grounds of the mountaintop, an unholy congregation of discord and chaos as they stampede every which way in their cluttered space, overlapped and trampling upon one another. Limbs and head flail with violent futility, an unfocused rage hanging over the crowd, transforming the summit into a black sea of writhing masses. What is this… what this Hell is this?!

“There.” Babda calls, pointing out the single spot within the altar grounds not swarmed with monsters. At the center of the chaos stands a Heart player, a distinct pair of candy-corn horns poking out from her craned head as her hair blows in the wind. She holds a single hand up, and from the tips of her fingers emerge five glowing maroon wires, leading into the sky. Attached at the end, just before the zenith of the clouds floats a ghostly apparition in the eye of the storm. The Soul of a Doom player, enslaved by the thief below, channeling the chaos from their very essence. You can’t make out any distinguishing features from this distance. All you can see are two striped green socks poking out through the rain. “That’s the source of all this.”

“That girl is the source…. And to get to her…” You look back out at the pack of feral ghouls, scraping and thrashing and clawing at one another as they aimlessly charge from place to place. “We have to get through all of that.” You assess, your body wrapping itself in fearful chills.

“It appears so.” She agrees in a quiet, or perhaps bewildered, resignation.

“What’re the chances they attack us once we get near?” You ask, hoping the Ghouls’ll stay in that frenzy and you can simply ride your way through the storm atop their backs.

“Almost entirely guaranteed.” Babs informs you. “Want me to fix your arm?” You look down at your busted up appendage, finding it hard to maneuver with much reliability.

“Nah, the pain makes me fight better.” You tell her, finding more and more conversation to engage in instead of charging headlong into the pit of ravenous monsters. “An easy source of torment to transfer to the opponent.”

“Come then. Let us fulfill our obligations.” The Dwarf resolves, stepping once more unto the breach, shifting pieces of her launcher into place until it resembles a kusarigama. You sigh, following after her.

“God, I wish I had a drink.” You mutter to yourself. In the final moment before tossing your life to the hoard, you purge the Fear from within yourself, channeling it outward, into the uncaring world. It’s best kept within the enemy, anyhow.

 

Blades drawn and fearless, you dive into oblivion, valkyrie till the end.

Notes:

Happy Friday the 13th! Make sure to keep an eye on those Killer Jasons! ;]

Chapter 42: > The Invisible Thread

‘Jason, what will you do?’ Jason won’t be doing jack-shit, as you are no longer him at the moment. Yeah, it looks like he got all sorts of messed up in his chrome dome in that last fight, leaving him currently unfit to host the perspective. Instead, taking the reins as person-you’re-being is Mia Kruger, forcing her way back into the narrative. It seems she’s pissed, having been left out of the story for so long. There’s really no saying “No” to her when she’s like this. It’s best that you just go along with it.

You are now Mia Kruger. Last you were yourself, you and your newly found Troll friend were stranded on a desert island with a bunch of Mongoose consorts because some Huge Bitch got a planet dropped on them. Some other stuff could’ve happened, but all that was interrupted by Jason’s dumbass getting chased by a manta-ray or some shit. Not that you know anything about that, seeing as you weren’t there at the time. In fact, you have no idea of anything that’s been going on with Jason and the others, really. You have no real indication that Jason’s still alive at all, aside from the fact that there’s no way you’d be so lucky. No idea about everyone else’s status, though. You’re pretty sure that one troll with the nubby horns is dead. Remember that guy? Crazy. He got thrown off a fucking cliff.

Anyway, since you’ve been other people, Haddock and his crew got the Fuzzy’s Grip or whatever the hell their boat is called back into ship-shape and you’ve just kinda been sailing around since then. Haddock agreed to give you and Medeas a ride to the nearest portal off-world, but apparently ‘nearest’ means ‘half way across the fucking planet’. You and your troll are on the upper deck right now, hanging out with Haddock and some of his buddies at the helm.

“As someone who speaks from experience, I’m simply saying, a culture developmentally based around the sea is inherently going to be prone to violence by nature.” Medeas continues on with her rant to a few of the crew members. “I can only imagine an ever-looming war would compound this tendency, but between the hostility of the environment and the scarcity of resources, the baseline for which combative tendencies emerge is distinguishably high.” You hate to say it, especially when she’s taking part in some nerdy conversation about the facets of life at sea, but this Troll has actually started to grow on you. In the few days you’ve been traveling together, she’s actually been kind of cool to hang out with. It’s possible she still has a bit of You left inside her, floating around the inner sanctums of her soul, so you might only just be partial to that part of the girl, but regardless, you’ve become more tolerable of her companionship as of late.

“Nonsense.” A mongoose wearing an eyepatch dismisses. “Mariner society exhibits destructive tendencies no more than any other civilization would. Yes, we may outfit our vessels with offensive weaponry, but not out of any reason besides necessity. It’s an unfortunate reality in which such extremes are demanded, but travel is only one facet of our way of life! We are a multifaceted people, and we have a deep culture, rich with tradition.”

“What of the longevity of a society raised in this way, though?” Medeas continues. “When even the ground you stand upon is not guaranteed, does this not instill a sense of unsteady dread into the masses? That your culture will inevitably fade away as it becomes more and more unsustainable?”

“On the contrary,” Another mongoose chimes in. This one’s wearing a red bandana. “I’d go so far as to say that the very uncertainty of our people is what guarantees longevity. The trials we face on the water have steeled our will, and has taught us perseverance. It is something that was passed on to us by our forefathers, and is something we will pass on to our next generation of kin.”

“But surely, regardless of will, insurmountable odds will inevitably come to a civilization without a sure place to call home.” Medeas argues, sounding more polite than you’ve ever heard out of her.

“The value of something is not found in its ability to last forever, dearie.” An older mongoose says in grandmotherly style. She wears a black and maroon coat draped over her shoulders. Her eyes also appear to be different colors, too. One red and one yellow. “It’s in the scarcity that we find value. The rarest of gemstones, the fleeting but cherished moments, the things we might only ever experience once and never get back again. That is where true value lies, and culture is no exception.”

“Life needs people to live it, even if they don’t do so in the safest of manner.” Another tacks on, evoking a few ‘Hmmp’ in agreement from the others in the conversation. “And to live life to the fullest is to fall asleep at night a different person than when you woke in the morning. That is the Mariner way!” This time, his words evoke a hearty cheer from the rest of them.

“God, I am so sick of the ocean…” You mumble as you watch the conversation unfold.

“Most ain’t built fer it, Lass.” Haddock sighs from the helm.

“Don’t suppose we’re any closer to the portal, are we?” You boredly ask.

“Well, we be about a minute closer ta’ when ye asked a minute a’go.” He snidely remarks, flashing you with a sly smile. You roll your eyes, smiling back.

“Haddock!” One of the crew yells up from the deck. “Wreckage off the port side!”  He points off to the left of the boat.

“Blazes…” Haddock mutters as he directs the ship closer to the floating remains. While he does, the crew pull the sails back, slowing as you approach. The entire upper deck goes quiet as the Mongooses all gather by the side to observe. They whisper amongst themselves, throwing around thoughts and theories of what happened. Whatever it was, it certainly fucked that ship up Seven ways to Sunday. The entire front half of the boat is submerged below the water, practically folding the vessel’s body at a right angle. The back cabin is beginning to flood with half of it collapsed into itself, while the mast is snapped completely off, floating a few feet from the side of the ship. The entire thing is damn near in splinters, beginning to tilt onto its side as it’s slowly claimed by the deep. There aren’t any bodies nearby, but there’s enough blood in the water to know there were ones. You notice Haddock’s muzzle pulling back in a growl. “Scalie bastards… they already be bringing their filth-oil to these waters.”

“Come on, Hadd, you really think they’re already this far into the Land?” You say in an attempt to calm him down. “It probably just got blown away in the shockwave.”

“Fraid not, Lass. That right there tells the tale.” He says, nodding his head to the mast half-submerged in the sea. “Any ship caught in storm a’d take their flag down. Givin’ te off chance the ship goes down, Captin a’d still have it on em.” There’s so much blood clouding the waters, you hadn’t even noticed the flag was there, drifting in the drink, just below the surface. It’s hard to make out what’s printed on it.

“What’s so important about the flag?” You ask, still not fully understanding the intricacies of Consort Pirate culture.

“A flag be what encapsulates the essence of a ship. The first thing ya see about her. A Symbol! Aye, a Symbol that represents her and all her crew.” As he explains, a few mongooses extend a long pole with a hook at the end of it out towards the wreckage.

“It’s that significant to you guys?” You ask, keeping an eye out on the hook-pole as they grab onto the tattered flag drifting in the water.

“Aye.” He nods firmly. “It be the very soul of the ship. Even’t if a vessel where to find itself down in Davy Jone’s locker, its spirit lives on with that flag. No self respecting captain dare leave his ship without salvaging her flag. No livin’ one, that is. Aye, this be the works of those scalie bastards… Threw the men to the sea, left cut throat, and eviscerate their ship in the aftermath. No two ways about it.” You don’t have much to say in return, and simply watch silently as the crew brings in the blood-stained flag, looking over it with reverence and care. Eventually, they turn to face Haddock.

“It be the Needle Pelt!” One of them shouts up. Must be the name of the formerly existing ship. Hearing this, Haddock’s expression darkens, and he tucks his head to the side, closing his eyes.

“Bright Bart… ye foolhardy bastard. How’d ya let em get teh jump on ya…?” He mutters to himself.

“Bright Bart?” You repeat. With a quick breath, Haddock turns back to face the crew.

“May they find rest beneath the waves.” He assures them with a hand held up to hail. “And may those snakes! Feel their wrath in our blades!” He shouts with a rabidness in his voice. The gathering of mongooses cheer with him, raising their sabres to accent the point. As the crew rallies, Haddock marches back to helm the ship with a sour look on his face. You join by his side.

“Who’s Bright Bart.” You inquire again.

“Captain of the Needle Pelt. Old drinkin’ mate.” He answers with a furrowed brow. There’s an anger in his voice. “The Pelt… what’s left a’ her anyways, be the Muzzle’s Grip’s sister vessel. Made in the same bay, outta the same wood. Bart, the madman, he always said we’d sail side-by-side when te war came. He never was one fer making good on his promises. Suppose that one was no different…”

“I-… I’m sure it was…” You aren’t really sure how to phrase it without sounding like a dick.

“A good death?” Haddock fills in himself. “Aye, aye. Salty Bastard was hard to nail down. Doubt he’d be going without ruffling a few scales.”

With that, the deck goes silent. Either in respect for the fallen or out of not knowing what more to say. The crew raises sail again, and you catch the next breeze, taking the Muzzle’s Grip on its way. There’s an ominous feeling in the air. As if the horrible fate foretold in the fairytales of this Land have finally become real. As someone who’s had their world destroyed in more ways than one, you have sympathy for such an ordeal. You place a hand on the top of Haddock’s head. He tenses at the touch, but slowly soothes into your grasp. Normally, you’d imagine he’d be too proud to accept a pat on his head, but in this moment, he seems comforted by it. You hope he’ll be alright when you leave…

 

***

 

The room is quite loud now. It wasn’t a moment ago, and you quite miss when it was like that. For the past several hours, you and the individuals you’ve been traveling with were staying in the basement of a Consort’s toolshed, occupying it while you search for your Leader’s grudgemark. She had sent her Matesprit out on a mission alongside two more of your ranks to find and retrieve him for her. During the operation, she had pestered you practically every five minutes for updates on their coordinates, anxious for when they’d eventually signal to be brought home. In situations where members of your party explore a region on their own, you’re tasked with being their anchor back to the group’s assembly. It’s an annoying role, sure, but one that’s earned you a spot within your group. One of your party members, an alien named Dylan, had originally helped you develop the power you use for this task, devising a more intricate method of utilization for you that turned a relatively unserviceable trick into a regularly handy technique able to exploit the further extents of your abilities.

You perform this technique through your Snatch ability, which allows you to swipe valuable odds and ends from reasonably anywhere within the surrounding Metasphere. For the most part, this ability was more or less a novelty throughout your career leading up to godhood. Stealing through the Void is a lot harder than it sounds, and for the most part, you were left grasping in the dark when you tried doing so. It was only ever by chance that you’d actually nab something important doing this, sort of like those luck-based currency dispensers you’d find in swindlepits back home, only ever finding something good once in a thousand pulls. However, this Dylan human, after a careful examination of your skill-set, pointed out to you how you could utilize the mechanics of secret telling to pin-point certain items with complete accuracy. It never stood out to you much, but when an object has a specific secret tied to it, it becomes shrouded within the Void, a small node of shadow easily nabbed by your sticky-fingers. However, when that secret is about to be told, the Void begins to lift, with a small glint of Light taking its place in the dark, before completely vanishing from your awareness upon said secret being shared.

A caveat to this, that you’ve learned, is that if the secret is never actually told, the Void clings back to the item, never fully leaving it so long as there’s something hidden within. Dylan devised a system where all the members of your party keep a small item that holds a significant secret tied to them on their person, and if at some point they need to be pulled back to the group, they speak the words “Can I tell you a Secret?” to another before them. At that moment, you reach out to the item, now able to target the small glint forming in its place, and open a warp for them to travel through. He calls these items Totems. Apparently he named them after a concept in a human film about thieves sneaking into the dreams of those they wished to manipulate. Hearing the synopsis was the first time you were ever interested in human culture in the slightest.

Interspecies mingling aside, your Leader’s Matesprit was the totem-bearer for this venture. He uses a ring for his totem, and a rather fancy one at that. Black band with a sizable sapphire gemstone on top and gold engravings on the inside. Like every totem your team uses, you know the secret tied to the item. A perk of stealing from the void is that you tend to pick up on a lot of the little things. You know, the real juicy bits of gossip. The Matesprit's secret is that he had planned to enact an ancient human ritual with the ring, meant to ensnare his partner permanently within the Red-Rom quadrants, combining ♥matespritship♥ with ♦moirallegiance♦ in something colloquially referred to by the humans as a “wife”. It seems that this sort of grotesque grimoire runs rampant within all of human society, which makes you wonder how a civilization like that could even form let alone reach full development to the point where SGRUB was initiated.

Apparently, the more valuable the gemstone imbedded upon the ring-token, the more successful the ritual is. Although this aspect seemed to lose its relevancy when an alchemiter is thrown into the mix, with the inherent value tied to precious metals and stones losing their worth when they can easily be created en masse from simple grist. Scarcity is, after all, where a thing finds its value. To make up for this value deficit, the Matesprit went for an aesthetically pleasing appearance catered toward’s your Leader’s particular tastes. A rather sneaky move of courtship-warfare, rejecting tradition for targeted sentimentality. He was planning to ambush your leader with this ritual once they and their companions defeated the Derse King within their session, but with them both being in the Arena, it goes without saying that this plan didn’t exactly work out for him. And for now, he keeps the ring on his person, pondering whether or not he should even attempt the ritual at all anymore. It seems to weigh deeply in his pan.

Regardless of all this though, the Matesprite used his totem, and you opened up a portal to retrieve him. Though, a few moments before he ended up speaking the Signal Phrase, there was something strange moving out in the Void. Swimming through the dark, like a Finned Toothbeast prowling through the waters. You didn’t pay the shadow much mind when you first noticed it, because to be honest, you barely noticed it at all, but based on timing alone, you wonder if it had anything to do with the Matesprite pulling the trigger and signaling for you to nab him. Not that you’d bring it up at this point. Your Leader would rake you over the coals if she knew you saw something and kept your chute shut about it. It’d be best if you kept that secret to yourself.

What were you talking about? Right, all the commotion currently happening in the room. Well, when you pulled the Matesprite through your rift, apparently he had been mugged on his way over, because as soon as he was on the other side of the portal, he started screaming about his palmhusk and how it was stolen, telling you to send him back and that he needs to get it. You tried explaining to him that once the totem is through, there’s no way to pin-point an exact location to re-open a portal to. It didn’t seem like he wanted to listen, as he devolved into tossing around insults to everyone in the general vicinity. Hearing that he was back, your Leader rushed into the room to greet him, assuming he was successful in retrieving the target. The satisfied menace on her face quickly vanished when she saw her Matesprite was recoloring the entire basement floor with his strange cherry-blood. You’d have been worried for his health if it wasn’t for the fact that he hadn’t stopped hurling insults at everybody. Oh who are you kidding, you wouldn’t be worried regardless of the circumstances.

“Oh, well if it isn’t the woman-of-the-hour!” He exclaimed as soon as Robin walked in, spitting sarcasm like venomous bile. “Such a brave and steadfast leader she is; sending a scouting party after a Grim Bloody Reaper! Truly, a stroke of pure fuckin’ genius!”

“Tabes, go get Ignatius!” She ordered in an attempt to hide the panic rushing through her veins. Tabes, one of the flora aliens, was watching the scene unfold with great interest, two small white irises peering through the shadowy curtain of her long and leafy grey-green hair as she lurked like a mirebeast on the prowl. She lingered a moment, enjoying the chaos for a few seconds longer before rising to leave the room. “What the hell happened?!” Your Leader demanded, turning to the other two you brought back. Hekter was the first to speak up.

“He was much more capable than we were expecting, ma’am.” He explained, the shame of failure embedded within the wind escaping his ignoranceshaft.

“Capable…? There were three of you!” Leader admonished.

“He bas a gowd damb feak of naturb!” Kai protested in defense of their blunder through a broken mouth. The two of them had multiple bruises all across their entire bodies, resembling works of abstract art, with blues and blacks splashed every which way upon their canvases. Your Leader shrugged them off with a disgusted grunt, joining her Matesprite by his side.

“LJ, the fuck? I thought I could trust you to handle this.” She scorned, as you witnessed their relationship vacillate into a Kismesissitude in real-time. With a festering anger, her Kismesis stepped forward to whisper his hate in her ear. Humans really are so shameless with their public displays of ♠antagonism♠, you’ve found.

“I caved… his fucking chest in.” He hissed, quiet enough to hide it from the others. In doing so, you heard it clear as day. The wrath in his voice was enough to make you blush. “And he got back up and put a hole in my stomach.”

“What?” She asked in fearful surprise.

“Do you have the slightest fucking clue of who it is you have us going after?” He snarled, his prongs twisting into the wound at his side in anger. “Do you know anything about this guy besides his damn name? Or have you just been dragging us around because you had a bad dream?” Her expression soured at that remark.

“Do I know anything about him?” She repeated in a calm yet ‘how fucking dare you’ tone. “I know he’s stubborn enough to go against Paradox Space in order to save his own skin, something that will undoubtedly fuck us all over if he succeeds. I know he has a ship, and that he’s gathering up people so he can fly away like a coward, leaving us here to rot while he dies in the middle of nowhere. I know he’s the biggest threat to any of us actually surviving this mess. I know he looked me in the eyes and said he’d tear me limb from limb. And now I know he’s more than capable of beating the shit out of the morons I’ve surrounded myself with. So yes, I’d say I have more than a fucking clue of who it is we’re after. What I didn’t know, however, was how useless in a fight my boyfriend was. Thank you for enlightening me to this little factoid.” The Kismesis narrowed his eyes at her, seeming to debate whether or not he wanted to pursue the argument further.

“I’m bleeding out.” He growled through his teeth, slowly eased away from the fight. “If you could help with that, I’d appreciate it. Honey.” She raised her chin at the remark, recomposing herself with a look of disinterest.

“Once Ignatius gets here, I’ll get you patched back up.” She assured him. “In the meantime, try to keep your fluids on the inside, you’re bleeding all over the place.” Silently, the Kismesis pulled his hand away from his side, letting his palm hover over the injury. Despite how deep the puncture wound ran, the torrent of that bright red blood slowed to a dribble. Apparently, your Leader’s consort is one of the few psionics present in Human society. A hemomancer, as well. Haha, aliens are so weird.

“…He got my phone.” The Kismesis finally said once he got control over his blood-flow.

“He WHAT?!” Your Leader shouted. It was at this point that you initially became yourself, and it’s at this point that you’re missing when things were quiet. “What the actual shit, LJ?! Was it not enough that you let the shithead get away, you had to give him a parting gift as well?!”

“Of course, he was such a nice chap, I couldn’t help but hand my phone over when he asked oh so politely- what the bloody hell do you think?!” He bursts with a strained horsiness to his voice. “He nabbed it right before I went through the portal. You’ll have to forgive me, I was rather preoccupied after he slammed his fucking ice-spike firmly between my God Damn Lungs!”

“Well boo-fucking-hoo for you. What a tragedy it is that you got injured during a fucking strife, but maybe if you were worth a damn in a fight, you wouldn’t have let him make a fool of you in the first place!” She’s really tearing into him today. Usually, they keep their human-spats to a minimum, or at the very least, have the decency to take it into a private setting. Not now, though. Obviously. “But no, you’re such a pushover, you not only let him wipe the floor with you, but also take your phone while he's at it. Do you know how valuable what was in that piece of junk was? How much you’re little fuck-up has compromised us? Unbelievable!” She drifts to the other side of the room, turning away from him to look at the wall as she thinks over the new factors in the plan.

“So fuckin’ what?” He brushes off. “If this guy is really such a twat like you say he is, then what’s the big deal?! What are the odds he can actually figure out how the thing works?” Hearing this, she turns back, stomping over to her Kismesis with a clenched fist.

“He’s an asshole, but he’s a clever asshole.” She growls. “If he’s got your phone, that means we just lost the only edge we had on these pricks! Bravo, LJ! Bravo.”

“Oh it’s my fault, yea? All my fault, is it? That what the fuck you’re tellin’ me?” He rhetorically asks in perturbed disbelief. While they continue to argue, Tabes returns to the room, walking up next to you. In hand, she’s got Ignatius by the wrist as the rest of him lies on the floor. Seems he’s still asleep. He always seems to be asleep. Rather strange for a Hero of Life.

“Hey, Anshal. What’s happening with the bud buddies?” Tabes asks with a grunt, fully dragging Ignatius up next to her. “Dense root-leech.” She scoffs under her breath at him.

“LJ got his palmhusk stolen.” You fill her in on the incredibly simple situation.

“The little noise-box Robin gave us?” She asks, peering at you through her grim drooping hair. “Didn’t she say those were really valuable and important, and so we should take care to look after them?”

“Yeah.” You answer, glancing back at the argument. It seems the Kismesis is struggling to keep up, as a blatant look of pain streaks across his face and blood begins spilling out of him quicker and quicker. Tabes snickers as she watches the scene with you.

“Ah, that’s too perfect.” She smiles, beholding in amusement as the room plunge into pure chaos from a front row seat. According to the Elves in your group, Tabes is the Maid of Wilt, a designation that, up until now, was totally unheard of by you, which was surprising, considering you’re rather familiar with the unequivocally obscure. You’ve heard of the Maid moniker a few times before, but it’s the first time you’d encountered the Aspect; Wilt. From what she’s told you about her Mythological Role, as well as the symbol she bears on her chest, you’re fairly certain that in actuality, she’s Titled under the Banner of Doom. And while you don’t know all that much about the Doom Domain, you’re pretty sure their Heroes are supposed to be all about rules and order. At least, that’s how Hekter seems to be, although that might just be because he’s an Indigo. Either way, her enjoyment of social discourse strikes you as particularly weird. Everything about everyone in the Arena strikes you as weird, like you’re all a bunch of round pegs trying to fit into square holes. For some reason, you don’t feel like you’re the only one who feels this way...

“Ahem.” You clear your squawkgaper, drawing the room’s attention to yourself after seeing that Tabes isn’t planning on stepping forward any time soon. She glances at you, perturbed that you ended her entertainment prematurely. “Iggy’s here.”

“Well bring him here, damn it.” The Kismesis weakly demands. With a huff, Tabes drags him over to the two, pulling him through the small blood pond that’d amassed upon the floor.

“Here you are, one nutrient-sack, fresh and ready for the juicing.” Tabes says, flipping him over with a splash, making sure he’s not laying face down in the pond. It’s at this point, you notice just how pale LJ’s become. It looks like he’s on the verge of collapsing.

Kneeling down next to the sleeping Page, Robin rotates her grabber, as if to work out a kink in her wrist. And from the flesh on the underside of her forearm emerges a bright green aethereal tube, about as thick as the face of a coin. The tube extends out from the soft belly of her arm like a hissfiend, its point sinking into Ignatius’s torso. From her other arm emerges a second tube that slithers its way up and into her Kismesis’s chest. Secured in their two parties, the tubes begin to glow as the copious amount of life energy housed within Ignatius is siphoned into LJ. The wound in the Mage’s side fills back out again, his flesh replaced by the pure healing force being pumped directly into him. Slowly but surely, the color returns to the Mage’s face and it looks like he’s breathing a little easier now. Ignatius doesn’t so much as twitch, still fast asleep like a wriggler in their first dip in sopor.

“Is that better?” Robin sweetly asks her… Matesprite? LJ taps his side with a closed knuckle, testing the fortitude of his healed tissue.

“Yeah.” He nods, the anger in his voice having since calmed from his partner’s caring action. “Yeah, right as Rain.”

“Good.” She sighs in relief, right before snatching him by his hearflap. “Cause we-” She exclaims, leading him out of the room, pulled by the skin of his listenmuscle. “need to have a talk in private!” You all watch as your Leader drags her consort off, hearing them march down to the broom closet at the end of the hall as LJ squirms, a repeated ‘ow’ leaving his lips. Your own room stays quiet despite its liberation from the feuding pair, as if the tension of their argument is still hanging over the rest of the group like a sticky fog.

It isn’t until the door on the other side of the chamber slams open that your attention is drawn to anything else in the world. Aellocy is standing there in the threshold, a worn-out look on her face, likely just having flown back from where your Leader’s target was hiding. She’s the scout of your group, in charge of scoping out the surrounding areas whenever you travel somewhere new. You’d say she’s pretty good at her job too, on account of how fast she can get around, being one of the few Godtiers in the Arena to retained their ability to Fly. Robin had sent her out into the field to help you with monitoring LJ and the others during their mission, keeping a direct eye on the trio for you whenever they wandered out of the Dark. She’s another of the flora aliens, however unlike her Doomy counterpart, she’s much more… perkier. Yes, that’s the word for it. More perkier and more energetic than Tabes as well, and doesn’t seem to relish in the relationship turmoil of others, either. And while Tabes appears to be some sort of shade-growing plantlife by nature, Aellocy’s appearance is that of a thornflower, with red petal-like hair and piercing orange irises. The green of her skin is even more lush compared to the rather grey completion of Tabes. She’s also a Thief, like you! But belongs to the Breath Domain, not like you. Or as she refers to it, the Domain of Chill. You still aren’t sure if she was being serious when she told you that. Straight face and everything, ‘I steal people’s Chill’ she said. You can never get a read on her…

“AAAAAAaaahgh….” She yawns, entering further into the room while smacking her… well, she doesn’t exactly have lips. Her mouth is sort of like the kind a shellbeast would have. A sort of snapping jaw, no gnashing calcium nubs or anything. Elves more than likely photosynthesize in some manner, and as such probably don’t require digestive facilitators to nosh their nutrients for them. At least, that’s what you gather. “…What’s it so quiet for?” She inquires after noticing the tension still hanging over the room.

“Puuh!” Kai puffs, blowing out a huge breath as the awkward air in the room is swept away. “Sure glad I’m not LJ right now.” It seems his mouth is back into speaking-shape. He has some sort of natural regenerative ability built into his immune system, you’ve noticed. Something to do with his title as the Heir of Time, you believe.

“He die in the field or somethin’?” Aellocy asks after noticing he’s not in the room.

“No, he’s just getting chewed out by Robin right now.” Kai explains, throwing an approvalprong over his shoulder, gesturing at the door the two left from.

“Gross.” She boredly grunts, sauntering over to the tiny consort loungeplank that Dylan is currently sitting on. “Move.” She says, pushing him to the other side of the couch in a sudden burst of wind.

“Okay…?” Dylan says in bewildered surprise as she sits down next to him, squeezing in on the small furnishing.

“He’s being admonished.” Hekter corrects her misinterpretation.

“You guys fuck up the mission?” She asks while fiddling with her prongs.

“Hey, we didn’t fuck up anything.” Kai steps forward in an attempt to get into her field of view. “Dude’s a freak. No matter what we threw at him, he either dodged it or batted it away like it was nothing.”

“Not to mention that bombardment-ability he has.” Hekter adds on.

“Bombardment?” Dylan asks, joining the conversation.

“Yes. He had this sphere that would jump in and out of existence, targeting the vulnerabilities in our defense” He explains while gripping a bruise on the back of his neck, attempting to mitigate the pain. “It struck us in such a ferocity, we weren’t even able to get to our feet, much less engage in strife.”

“Is that why you two look like shit?” Aellocy blandly asks while nibbling on the side of her promiseprong. While crude, she does have a point, those two took quite a beating judging by how banged up they are.

“Aha Ha.” Kai monotoneally laughs at the comment, rolling his sightglobes at her. “Whatever. All I know is I’m not getting in another strife with that asshole. I don’t care what Robin threatens me with, no way. Not unless we all gang up on him, all at once.”

“I get it, Kai.” Hekter nods, putting a hand on his shoulders. “It’s one thing to lose a strife, but two in a row? And to the same opponent, much less? I can understand your frustration.” With a glare, Kai swings the back of his grabber into Hekter’s stomach. It doesn’t hit very hard, more like a hearty tap, but with how bruised up he is, the force causes him to double forward a few inches with a cough.

“Fuck off. I’m gonna go crash in the quarters, wake me when this is all over.” He says with a huff as he crosses the room, leaving through the door Aellocy came in from.

“W-what’d I say?” Hekter groans in confusion. While all this commotion unfolds, you hear from the dark recesses of the void someone very nearby try to keep something secret. It’s Robin… Naturally, you turn to look in the direction you heard it from, but the only thing you find there is a concrete wall.

 

" You promised you’d be careful...! "

 

She whispers, so quietly its echo ripples like a tsunami through nothing-space. Soft and soaked in pain, as if on the verge of tears, the words ruminate with you, kicking around the edges of your pan. You turn back.

 

***

 

Unfortunately, before you have the chance to complete your turn, you’re suddenly no longer yourself. Whoever you were busy being, tough shit, you’re Mia Kruger again. You’re not about to let some asshat swipe the perspective away just to leave you out of the narrative for the next 10+ chapters a second time. Fuck. That.

Where you last left off, before you were so rudely interrupted, Haddock was giving you and Medeas a lift to the nearest portal off-world. Fortunately for you, not much has been happening since you made the startlingly poor choice to be someone else, but it seems now that you’re finally getting where you’ve been trying to get going. A few minutes ago, the spotter in the crow’s nest shouted ‘land ho’ like the cliché Jolly Roger ship you’re riding on would demand of its crew, and since then, you’ve been diverting towards the port there, daintily courting the dock of the island. In the meantime, Medeas has been keeping up her deep conversation with the mongooses for whatever reason. You don’t bother listening in this time. After everything that’s happened in this past week, you’ve just about had your fill of sea-fairer life. You have no interest in any further discussion on the subject. So while there are still things to say on that matter, you could really give a flying fuck.

“So this is it, huh?” You ask Haddock as you watch the crew hop off the side, tying the Muzzles Grip to the dock-posts.

“Aye.” He bites the inside of his mouth, anxious of some unseen factor. “The portal on dis is-land’ll take ya to a land full of regimen and clocktowers. From thare, you’ll be on yer own, lass.”

“Don’t worry too much, Had.” You rib him with your elbow, making sure to account for his small size with how hard you nudge. “I’ve got a wraith to keep me company.” You lean in Medeas’ direction.

“Aah, a’course.” He nods, looking away from you with a sniff. “Just ah… just keep an eye out, aye? Never know when a slitherin’ sort’ll be lurkin’ in yer shadow, fixin’ to stick ya.”

“You got it, Captain.” You smile, genuine and warm. It feels like a long time since you’ve smiled like this. Probably since the first time you met up with J-… you know what, never mind. You’ve never smiled like this, you’re sure of it.

“I already told ya, lass.” He says as the ship jerks forward, having been roped to the dock. “I be a captain no longer. Now scamper along. Not safe ta linger in one place fer too long.”

“Hey human.” Medeas calls to you from the boardwalk leading off the ship. She raises a hand like she’s lazily asking a question, looking at you with disbelief that you're still not off the boat yet. “We going?” You wave her off before turning back to your friend.

“Haddock.” You kneel down next to him so you’re closer to eye level with one another. “Thank you. For everything.”

“A’course, lass.” His shoulders droop, letting the tension that’s been keeping him going these past few days falter for the briefest of moments. You wrap your arms around the seadog and pull him into a hug. His fur is coarse, scratching at the side of your face. “A’course.” The embrace lasts a very long, very comforting moment. But, as all thing do, your squeeze on the former captain inevitably ends, and the two of you pull away. “Now. Put a pep in yer step, lass. We be settin’ off, and me tinks ya ain’t too keen on takin’ another tour on our seas, aye?”

“Hm.” You coo, standing back up. “Aye.” You turn, descending the steps down to the top deck from the helm, meeting Medeas at the ship’s exit.

“ ‘Bout time.” She sneers. You ignore her.

The two of you disembark, stepping onto the dock and into the next chapter of your journey. The mongooses that tied the ship up are standing by, and as soon as you’re off, they undo their knots and climb aboard. You watch as the Muzzle’s Grip lowers its sails once more, catching the breeze and taking off back to the sea. A few of the crew move to the back of the ship to wave farewell.

“Give ‘em Hell, Muzzle’s Grip!” You shout to the ship before it can get too far out. “May they feel my wrath in your blades!” There comes a roaring from the vessel, as the crew raise their sabers in a war-cry. Through the commotion, you spot Haddock, manning the helm at the back of the stern. He’s glancing at you from the side of his eye, a proud smile curling onto his lips. You watch them until they’re a spot on the horizon. “You ready?” You turn back to your troll.

“To get off this planet?” She rhetorically asks. “Since the moment I stepped foot on it, yes.”

“Alright then, grouchy, let’s get a move on.” You order, moving past her down the dock. There’s a small pyramid temple on this island. Typical of the type you’d find a Gateway in.

“Did your consort friend tell you where this will take us, or are we just diving in blind?” Medeas asks, catching up to you.

“He said it would take us to a land filled with regimen and clocktowers.” You answer, still keeping your eye on the horizon.

“So the Land of Regimen and Clocktowers?” She infers from Haddock’s words, making the most unbelievably Herculean leap in logic you’ve ever witnessed.

“Yup.” You agree. “Anyway, I couldn’t help but notice you were getting pretty chatty with the crew back there. I didn’t take you for the philosophical-discussion type.”

“True, I wouldn’t usually give a consort the time of day, however I was in need of their services and I find that taking the shape of my container garners me much more acceptable susceptibility from those I find around me. Playing off the emotional dispositions of others is a good way to endear oneself to them. After all, adaptability is key for situations in which you’re at a distinct disadvantage.” She explains in a way that makes your forehead buzz. “Besides, passionate discourse has a way of recharging my batteries. Really fires me up!” She concludes, balling her fists up and readying her guard like a boxer.

Reaching the small temple, you enter first, checking the corners of the room on the off chance someone’s lying in wait for someone to wander in. The place is empty, as you figured. You can never be too sure with some of the psychos running around the Arena, though. You wouldn’t put it past them to bunker down in some random temple and corner-camp a gateway for days on end. It’s what you’d do too if you were a spineless wimp hell-bent on being the last man standing.

The light given off from the portal washes the room in a crimson glow, which for some reason really irks you. You put the feeling out of your mind and approach the gateway. Medeas joins you by your side, and without a word, you take her by the shoulder and place a hand on the hardlight of the portal. On contact, the feeling of Dissipating from the World shoots up your forearm and envelops your entire being. Being remade, inch by inch, you come back into existence hand-first. Your eyes open and immediately close again, wincing at the thunderous ringing in your ears.

 

-BONG BONG BONG-

 

“What the hell?!” You shout, only feeling the vibrations from your throat and not actually hearing your own voice over the ringing. Looking around, you find that you were transported to what appears to be a bell room, judging by the fact that there’s a giant fucking bell bonging the fuck out of your eardrums in the center of the room. Without needing much persuasion, you deploy your polearm and leap forward, slicing the mechanism ringing the bell, cutting it loose and letting it fall to the ground with a crash. The weight of the thing is enough to partly break the wooden floor below as it lands. “Christ…”

“Lovely welcome.” Medeas grumbles, still rubbing her ear. Shaking off the stun, she moves over to the window looking out. “So, Lorac huh?” You walk over with her and get a look at the sprawling city below, although ‘city’ might be too generous of a descriptor. More like a sea of buildings and high-rises pouring over itself, decorated by the countless clocktowers that pierce through the clutter of the megatropolis, reaching high up into the skies. Speaking of, the sky, what little you can see of it, is a deep crimson color, heavily polluted with a black smog that shrouds a majority of atmosphere here. The buildings are dark maroon, and covered in filth, while the streets below glow a cherry red, and you can see hundreds of consorts moving about in the crossroads. Too far to make out what they are, but there’s practically an army of them down there. This place is so cluttered and chaotic. Simply looking at it in its entirety is enough to give you a headache. “What a loadgaper.”

“Wait a second.” You pause, intensely listening for what you thought you just heard. “Did you hear…” Suddenly, there comes a rumbling from off in the city. A really big one at that. It sounds close, but everything’s too crowded together to see anything. You turn for the staircase leading further up in the tower, leaving Medeas standing by the window.

“Where are you going?” You hear her annoyedly call from down below. Rounding up the stairs, you check the view from the window on the next level, but you’re still not high enough to see what’s going on. Going up another flight, you arrive at the turret room at the top floor. The four walls here are comprised of the large clock-faces showing out on the tower’s exterior, ticking with a mechanical -click- as time marches on. On a related note, it’s currently 7:07. No idea if that’s AM of PM, but hey that’s SBURB Lands after all. No real meaning behind the things they’re populated with beyond the arbitrary approximation of remnant concepts from the player’s home world to give them something familiar to cling to as they’re acclimated to a planet wholly alien from the one they just lost. Or something like that…

You walk to the clock-face looking out in the direction that rumbling was coming from. There’s a small window at its center that blends in with the rest of its face that you can see through. Taking a peek, your view is much better, and sure enough you notice a large patch in the city that’s been decimated. Several of the buildings there are either scorched or collapsed entirely. As you’re watching, a fireball erupts from within the rubble pile.

“Just what the hell is going on down there?” You mutter, rolling your canines against one another.

“What is it now?” Medeas asks as she leisurely reaches the top of the stairs.

“Someone’s going all scorched-earth down in the red-light district, from the looks of it.” You inform her of the situation. Again, another explosion pops up about a block away from the rest of the rubble. Guess they’re done with that part of the city. Seems they’re on the move, at the very least.

“Earth?” She questions, strolling about the room to examine the different gears at work keeping the clock ticking.

“Human colloquialism, forget it.” You shake your head, marching back to the stairs. “Bunch of bombs going off down there. I’m gonna go check it out.”

“Uhhhh, why?” She asks, incredulous of the idea.

“Cause; if some dumbass is running around blowing shit up, there’s always a non-zero possibility Jason has something to do with it.” You explain with a sigh descending down the steps.

“Is the careless misuse of high yield explosives a normal thing for him?” She rattles on, following close behind you.

“Lets just say it’s a bad habit he decided to start emulating from a friend of mine.” You sigh, remembering back to how Jason suddenly developed an interest in explosives once he saw how boom-happy Rich was, desperate to seem as cool as him. “Out of all the things to pick up from Rich… Not his battle prowess, not his confidence, no it had to be his taste for gunpowder. As if we didn’t have enough of that going around in the session.

“Hey, not to burst your human enthusiasm-sphere and all, but…” Medeas carefully brings up as if she’s gonna hurt your feelings or something. “Are you sure this is your friend? I mean, what are the chances that your group is right on the other side of the first gateway we take?”

“Look, Colchi, I don’t get caught up thinking about stupid shit like the probability of things happening.” You explain, twirling Heed No Warning into a spiral with your fingers. “At the end of the day, the chances of something happening or not has zero effect on it actually coming to fruition. Things happen, and then a bunch of dorks come together afterwards to discuss what the chances were that it actually did. If everything was really as improbable as ‘chance’ makes it seem, nothing would happen. Ever. All it is is just a bunch of people trying to tell you how the world works from their perspective, which is to say, fundamentally meaningless.”

“I forgot how… fervent your opinions could be.” She shutters, causing you to snicker a tad.

“What, the Mia buffet give you heart-burn?” You tease. As you talk, the two of you reach the bottom of the staircase, which is weird, since you’re really high up in the tower still. There’s a set of double doors across the room, however. Path of least resistance, you guess.

“More like scorched my organ-nest.” She complains, rubbing her ribs, or whatever the hell trolls have on their insides. Opening the doors, you come to a bridge reaching over to the top floor of the neighboring building. It seems this city is much more intertwined than you initially realized. Makes sense given how fucking crowded it is. “Where to now?”

“It was about two blocks south and one block east from our tower, so we can-“ Your train of thought suddenly cuts off as you walk to the center of the bridge, interrupted by a faint hissing noise. Very faint, like the sound sand makes when being shifted or poured. You put a hand in front of Medeas to halt her. “What is that?” You ask her. As you’re stood in place trying to listen for the source of the hissing, the ground beneath your feet loosens to your surprise. Looking down, you find that you’ve sunken ankles-deep into the floor, as the stone of the bridge swirls, like filth on the surface of water. It takes half a beat for your mind to register what it’s looking at. “Ah, shit.”

Suddenly, as if spurred on by the noticing of what you’re standing on, what little sturdiness the ground beneath you had left gives way, and you’re left in free fall. Some real looney tunes shit all of a sudden. You pass through the bridge as if it were a thick molasses, throwing off your center of gravity as you exit from the bottom side. With a quick adjustment, you reorient yourself just in time to land properly. Your knees bend, moving with the momentum to lessen the impact, and you shoot a hand out against the ground, stabilizing your stance. You hold Heed No Warning behind your back, horizontal to the floor, careful to keep the blade facing upward on the off-chance any bystander was in your landing zone.

Judging by the cobblestone-like ground you’re facing, it seems you’ve fallen all the way down to street level. The Owl consorts in the immediate area flap their wings in surprise at your abrupt appearance, backing away from where you landed. A slight breath of relief escapes your lips once you’re confident the earth won’t try and swallow you whole as well. In that moment, you realize one of the consorts of the Land is beneath you, cowering and folded into itself under your tripod stance. Pushing yourself upright, you let the little guy free and watch as he waddles off in a hurry.

Looking up, you spot Medeas a few stories above you, hanging in the air with those wires of hers wrapped around a gargoyle, looking just as surprised as you. Your attention darts away from her though, when you hear the sound of echoing claps off to your immediate left. Standing there in the middle of the street is a figure dressed in green robes. They applaud in an overly exaggerated manner, as if celebrating the conclusion of some awe-inspiring play. Something’s strange about the God Tiers they’re wearing. The hood overextends, covering their face down to their nose, with two mesh eye-ports sewn into the fabric for them to see through. Along with this, there’s stitch-work in the shape of pointed fangs around their collar and the rim of their hood as well, making the whole cowl look like a gaping mouth. Two sharp candy corn horns poke out from the hood concealing their face and a pair of jade green moth wings flutter from behind their back. Another troll. Their hands halt mid-clap, seeing they’ve caught your attention.

“What a marvelous landing.” A femininely posh voice congratulates you. From what little you can see of her face, you notice a set of fangs peering through her growing smile. She’s wearing black lipstick. “Hello… Friend.”

 

Mia, go meet your new Friend.

Chapter 43: > A Great Stone at the Summit

A heavy tension hangs over the street as the stranger stares you down, a smile plastered on the lower half of her face. Not a smug or cunning smile, like you’ve come to expect from the vagrants galavanting about in the Arena. No, her smile is giddy, like that of a kid trying to pick which present under the tree to open first.

“Now who the hell’re you…?” You say to yourself, swinging Heed No Warning to your front guard. Hopefully she’s just some psycho creeping in the gutters, and just flashing a blade will be enough to hurry her along.

“Ah, how rude of me.” She sighs, reaching up for her hood. “I am Ephyrs Sixsis. I’m what would be known in most circles as the Witch of Doom.” Pulling the cloth from her crown, the troublesome troll revels her fuck-ugly mug to the world. A huge blotch of fused skin takes up the right side of her face, from the top of her forehead to the center of her cheek and reaches back to the side of her head, leaving the affected area hairless. Her eye on the burnt side is damaged, with a milky whiteness taking over her iris. The undamaged half of her face, on the other hand, looks well looked after, with a clear foundation of makeup applied that makes the grey features of her completion pop. She’s even wearing a bit of lip gloss. “But please, my friends call me Sissy!”

“Well then, Ephyrs, is it safe to assume you were the one who phased me through the bridge up there?” You ask, already sure of the answer.

“Most certainly.” She quickly informs you, similar to the way a child would if they were unsure that they were getting proper credit for their accomplishments. “After all, I’ve been waiting all day for you to arrive! Your friend too! Once I had sensed you’d appeared on-planet, I just couldn’t wait any longer for you to find your own way down to me, so I simply hurried the process along.”

“You’ve been waiting for us?” You tuck your chin in, acutely aware of what’s coming next.

“Well, not you specifically.” She rocks back and forth on her heels, frolicking in thought. “I knew someone really strong and important was coming this way eventually. So I couldn’t help but set a trap for them to fall prey to. And judging by that polearm of yours, I was more than right to wait!” Hearing the word trap, your eyes dart around the street, searching for any of her allies that might lurch forward from the shadows at you, but nothing comes. Is it just her here? “How was it, then?”

“Pardon?” You ask, ready for her to go on the offensive any second now.

“My trap! How was it?” She excitedly clarifies while still not clearing anything up.

“Wha-…” You look around, now thinking this might be some elaborate joke she’s trying to pull on you. Was… was just making you fall her idea of a trap? “It was alright. You might want to work on your follow through, though.”

“Oh?” She nods like she’s taking a mental note. “I’ll be sure to have more next time, then. Now-“ Before she can finish her sentence, the Troll jerks forward, and a look of modest surprise comes across her face. Pulling taught behind her are five thin wires, glowing a vibrant maroon.

“Ha!” Medeas shouts from above, standing on a walkway just behind Ephyrs. “Caught ya off guard, you little trollop!”

“Hey, Media Rez, ease up. She’s just some nut-job.” You call to her, relaxing your defensive stance. “We don’t need to fight her.”

“No, you most certainly do.” The Witch corrects you like your assumption was an innocent mistake. You watch, taken aback, as she reaches behind her. “Your friend has quite the vigor.” She compliments, plucking Medeas’ wires from her body with ease. Collecting them in one hand, she gives a single powerful pull, ripping the Thief down from her perch. Landing at her feet, Ephyrs grabs your Troll by her nape, wrapping her own wires around her neck and forcing her down on her knees as if keeping a leashed animal. “I really appreciate that in a strife opponent.”

“Fuck!” You cuss to yourself, re-readying your stance. “Medeas, what are you doing?! Un-summon those things!”

“I- gah! I-I can’t” She gurgles through her garroted throat, grabbing hold of the wires to try and lessen the strangle the Witch has on her.

“What? Why?!” You shout.

“Because I’m not allowing her to.” The Witch answers with calm composure. “I am the one who makes the Rules now. Everything listens to me, even you two. And I say we’re going to fight!”

“You don’t want to do this, Ephyrs.” You tell the basket-case. “If this is about the Survivor’s Prize, we can talk things over. I’m sure you think you have no other options, but-“

“Oh, please!” She snickers with a wave, like what you just said was cutely asinine. “I could care less about whatever incentive Paradox Space has put on its stick to keep the peons marching forward. I don’t care to take part in that march anymore, and I don’t care if I die because of it. Reality is an endless torment, like pushing a boulder up a hill again and again, just to have it tumble back down once you reach the top. Every. Single. Time. And for what? To keep participating in the existential nightmare called Life? So we can live to see another miserable day? So we can go on to propagate other life just for them to experience this same hellish struggle as we did? No, it’s pointless to cling to life just so you can keep on living. In fact I'd say it's cowardly, trying so desperately to hold on to this world just because you're afraid of the unknown.”

“M-mia, hel,,,p…” Medeas weakly calls. Hearing her, Ephyrs pulls your Troll up by her wire-leash until Medeas’s face is parallel with the pretty side of her own, turning to face her closely.

“Mia…?” She says, a tone of unbelieving in her voice. Her eyes dart back to look at you. “Such a lovely name that is! Mia. Mmmia! MmmmmmmMia!”

“Just what the hell is this, ya nutcase?” You demand, facing Heed No Warning’s blade to the ground, aimed at her. “Are we some kind of joke to you?”

“Joke?” She tilts her head to the side, unsure of what you’re asking.

“What do you get out of all this?” You angrily clarify. “You said it’s pointless to cling to life, so why the hell are you going around, picking fights with contestants in the Arena?”

“What do I get out of it?” She repeats your words to ponder them. “Nothing. Why am I doing this? Absolutely no reason at all.”

“Huh?” You quietly rouse, baffled by the entity standing before you.

“Nothing matters anymore. I’m not sure if it ever has…” Her eyes look down to the ground between you, saddened by her own statement. “No, nothing matters.” She looks back up. “So let us dance!”

“Hm!” You grunt, tightening the grip on your polearm. Flexing your calf muscle, you bridge the gap between you and the Ephyrs with a single leap forward. You go to slash off the Witch’s hand, hoping to free the wires keeping Medeas strangled, but your swing juts short.

Blocking your attack on Ephyrs is a polearm of her own, halting your blade with the ivory white staff of her weapon. Huh, so crazy’s got taste. Who’d have guessed. You try to force her guard to break, but even with all your strength pressing into your struggle with her, her guard remains steadfast despite being held with a single hand. As this little contest takes place between the both of you, your gaze drifts down to scope out your opponent’s specibus of choice further, hoping to spot some fault in its design you could exploit. The only thing you find, however, is a striking similarity to your own blade. Your eyes widen when you recognize what you’re beholding. Ephyrs isn’t just using the same Abstrata Kind as you. She’s using Heed No Warning’s twin blade, the Polearm; Know No Mercy.

“A lovely armament, is it not?” Ephyrs chimes with spirit when she sees you examining her equipment. “I see you are of quality taste as well, Mia. Although you must know the legend from your own Land if you’ve come to possess such a weapon.” You pull back, scraping your blade against hers. “If this steel is to ever cross its other half, it shall be made inevitable that their wielders will face one another on the field of battle. And it is there they shall exchange blows until one is slain, or until the unmaking of all things.”

“You seriously bought into all that quest bullshit?” You ask, reposing your stance as you adjust for a duel with a melee fighter with reach. “Psychotic and stupid. What a winning combo.”

“Scoff all you like, Mia.” She chirps. “But the mere fact that we’ve met at all is more than proof that the Prophecies foretold about us are immutable.”

You remember reading about all this bullshit back on your planet, the Land of Misery and Warfare. After interrogating one of the Griffin consorts in charge of an extremist organization there, he told you about a Legendary Weapon hidden deep within the planet’s core, the Polearm; Heed No Warning, destined to find its way into the hands of the hero who’d one day save the Land. Apparently, his faction wanted to trick you into claiming the weapon so you would fall prey to the Hex innate to the blade and perish, ridding you from their affairs forever. Naturally, you couldn’t have cared less about whatever reckoning taking the weapon would bring, and went searching for it anyway, but it involved a fuck ton of research to figure out where to find the thing.

Along the way, you learned about the Hex the consort was talking about, which claimed that Heed No Warning was less a cheap power-up and more like a contractual obligation with destiny, where if you were to take the Polearm for your own, you would accept the fact that if it were to come across its other half, you would have to kill its user or be killed yourself. Not paying much mind to the ridiculous puzzles-for-first-graders nature of the quests on LOMAW, you took Heed No Warning without so much as a second thought, although you did notice something about the chamber you found it in. There was a mural there, depicting the events that would transpire if the meeting of Heed No Warning and Know No Mercy were ever to come to pass. Facing each other on a mound of destruction, the two users engaged in battle. While identical in nearly every way in the mural, one of the polearms, the one you got specifically, had a golden blade with a red staff, while the other in the mural was black bladed with a [white staff]. Both had an emerald green tassel at the base of their sabers. And there’s no doubt about it, Ephyrs has with her that Other Blade.

“So what, you want me to kill you?” You ask the Harvey Dent knockoff. “Enact some predestined sacrifice garbage you Doom players get your rocks off to?”

“Dear Mia.” She coos. “I said life wasn’t worth living, not that I wanted to die.” You can’t help but roll your eyes at the comment.

“You’re all talk, then.” You scoff. “All that bluster about how unbearable life is, yet here you are, still clinging to it like everyone else.”

“You’re wrong. I have no real strong desire to survive.” She pauses a brief moment, looking down at Medeas who’s still struggling to lessen the tightness of her wires. A small smirk forms on Ephyrs' face. “I just want to see how far I can get!” With that final comment, she raises Know No Mercy up, bringing the blade over Medeas with intent to skewer her through the spine. In that moment, you’ve leapt forward again, zooming past behind the Witch. Flipping over Heed No Warning, you rotate the staff so that its blade is aimed to your 6 o’clock, and place a palm over its blunt end to grab hold of it. Jabbing backwards at where you know Ephyrs to be, you’d hope to end the strife without much fanfare, but it seems your opponent has other plans. Faster than you realized, Ephyrs transitioned Know No Mercy out of the killing strike it had on Colchi and moved it to her rear defense, blocking the tip of your blade with the side of her own.

Not letting up, you twist both yourself and Heed No Warning around and take a forward jab, this time aimed for the back of her nape, so that the only way she can block is with the staff of her weapon, allowing you to slide your blade past her guard and nick her in the neck. Almost seeing your move before it can happen, though, the Witch leans forward before your followthrough can make contact. She’s quick on her feet. Most people would commit to blocking when an opponent at their rear is mid-attack. Turning to face you, Ephyrs yanks Colchi up to her feet and rests her polearm's staff at the base of your Troll’s neck, tip pointed at you while using the Thief as a living shield. She smirks at you from over her hostage’s shoulder, beginning her counter-attack.

Sending forth jab after jab, much in the same manner as you would yourself, Ephyrs aims for wherever she sees an opening, leading you to dodge and parry without much room for counterattack. You keep up with her barrage, though slowly backing your way down the street. It isn’t long until you’ve backed up as much as you’re willing to, and decide to get back on the offensive. With a quick juke forward, you’re in too close for Ephyrs to be able to jab at you properly, much to the Witch’s surprise. It’s clear she thinks Medeas is some dear friend of yours, one who you wouldn’t be willing to stab through just to get at her. She’d be wrong about that, although that’s not what you’re doing.

Placing your grip at the base of your polearm’s saber, your next strike has to be precise. Taking a single slice at the wires around Medeas’s neck, Heed No Warning’s anti-metaphysical properties easily slash through the very metaphysical wires keeping your friend captive. You were careful not to cut past, into the soft flesh behind them, however regardless it seems you still push it a little too close, as a small gash has formed there anyways. Gasping, Medeas is freed, and not wasting any time, you grab her collar and toss the Troll behind you, out of Ephyrs' striking range. With the reel-back you got from throwing Medeas, you ball your hand into fist, and throw a haymaker directly into Ephyrs' fucked-up face. As she’s recoiled, you kick her square in the stomach, pushing her a good thirty feet back. Her shoes scrape on the pavement as she manages to remain on her feet.

“You alright?” You call back to Medeas while keeping an eye on the Witch. She stares down, awestruck at the jade ichor pooling in her hand, catching it as it drips from her mouth. While busy entrances by the sight of her own blood, a sudden shimmer runs up her face, as if the skin there were the surface of water that a ripple from a skipped stone had ran across.

“It’s about time!” Medeas scolds, joining you by your side. She’s equipped the knife she had back when you fought on the Forge and has it pressed up against the cut you left on her throat. The unusually long blade pulls a faint glow from her injury, and strangely enough, the wincing look of pain on her face goes as well, replaced with an angry scorn. “It wasn’t bad enough I was having my talkshaft crushed, no I had to have the luxury of listening to you two ramble at each other on top of it.”

“I’ll take that as a yes?” You grumble at her ungratefulness.

“Yes, I’m alright.” She finally answers, gently rubbing her throat. “Why must they always wrap my own tethers around my wordshoot…? It’s like the third time this has happened!”

“They’re too unruly to be throwing them out as your first move.” You coach her. “Save it for opportune moments.”

“Noted.” She sarcastically huffs. “Now let’s cull this lowblood and be on our way. We’ve only been on this planet five minutes and I’m already sick of it. Too many… clocks.”

“Preaching to the choir, Colchi, but don’t get ahead of yourself.” You warn as the Witch composes her stance, swiping Know No Mercy by her side. “One obstacle at a time.”

Getting back into the strife, Ephyrs hurls her polearm like a javelin. Initially, your first instinct is to dodge, but as it approaches, you see it’s aimed directly between you and Medeas. Your troll friend doesn’t quite seem to pick up on the subtlety of the throw and nearly falls on her ass trying to dodge it. Going by in a flash, Know No Mercy lands ten or so feet behind you, momentarily drawing your gaze. When you look back, the Witch is charging down the block, having already covered half the distance between you. Preparing for her, you spin into an attack, raking Heed No Warning’s saber through the stone of the street as you bring it over your shoulder. With a rotation of your acromial, you bring your polearm hurling around to your front, slash across at the Witch. Aimed to cut from the center of her left rib cage, dragging horizontal to the right of her lower torso, you’re nearly certain the hit will land given how she’s yet to back off or attempt to dodge the attack. However, in the very last half-second before your blade finds flesh, Ephyrs dives forward over your staff, bending her knees back to tuck away from your slash.

In one fluid motion, the Witch lands on the palm of one hand and twists, turning herself faced towards you, and uses the back half of her dive’s momentum to push off, flings herself away and lands back on her feet beside her thrown armament. She reclaims the polearm with a joyful satisfaction on her face. As you wonder what’s got her feeling so cocky, she extends out a hand. With a -snap- you begin to feel a rapidly growing heat blazing up from the cobblestone below you, and looking down, you see that at the point where the Witch made contact with the street, a small outline of a handprint has appeared there, glowing a warm yellow upon the ground. Before you can figure out what exactly this anomaly is, an explosion erupts forth from the print, engulfing your immediate area in a cackling inferno. You cross your forearms, blocking a bulk of the blast from reaching your face, but the ambush attack leaves you a bit toasted. Fuckin’ bitch has magic fingers!

“Now I know what you’re thinking.” With nothing but pure, unadulterated rage, you pat out the tiny flames that have sparked up on your clothing as she speaks. “‘Ms.Sixsis, that was such a dirty trick you just pulled!’ ” She tells herself.

“I have a few choice words, yes.” You growl. The pain is causing your fingers to tremble, so much so that you have to ball your fists up to quell it. You had built up quite a tolerance to explosions over the years from how often Rich would throw them around so haphazardly in your session, but what she just threw at you… it stings. You can’t recall the last time someone’s been able to do that amount of damage to you with just one attack.

“Ah, but what a marvelous trick, is it not?” She asks, slowly caressing the palm of her hand. “Rather simple, as all great tricks are. I transmuted the moisture that I left from my touch into an explosive gel. The stuff is so volatile that it detonates before Reality can realize it should only be water and reprograms it back.” She speaks with a giddiness, like she’s telling her friend a secret.

“I really couldn’t care less how your prestidigitative bullshit works.” You tell the freakshow as you crack the tension in your neck away. “I think I’m gonna cut off your head now.”

Finding no more need for words, you charge forward once more, polearm in a death-grip. She readies for your attack with a soured look on her face, clearly perturbed that you won’t play into her playful-banter shtick. You reel back, telegraphing an obvious left swipe aimed at her neck. She takes the bait and jukes back, readying a counter-strike as you slash at the space she had just occupied. Following into the motion of your swing, you spiral into a backwards spin kick, leaping across the distance she established in her dodge and planting your foot directly on her chin. You had initially expected to break the Witch’s jaw with your attack, but upon landing your kick there, you hadn’t heard the telltale -crack- from the hit. Trolls seem much more durable than your usual sparring partners. Nevertheless, the kick left her spun out, clinging to Know No Mercy like a crutch to stay on her feet.

You stab your polearm into the ground, keeping it upright and allowing you to free up your hands. Remaining as fluid as possible, you get low and duck past Ephyrs while she’s still recovering, wrapping an arm around her stomach as you dodge by. Now completely behind her, you reach over and hook a hand around your forearm, tucking your grip into her stomach. You take note of just how light the Troll is in your grasp before throwing her up and over yourself, suplexing her into the cobblestone street and cracking the pavement beneath her. You bend back upright to face the now prone Witch and, winding up like a world-class soccer player, you punt her in the ribs, sending her down the street. You hear the crack this time.

The Witch lies a heaping mess in the middle of the street, with what few of the Owl consorts who still remained in the area drawing closer to the defeated mass, curious to see what the severity of her condition is. With a triumphant puff of air from your nose, you turn from your former opponent and reclaim Heed No Warning from the stone you buried it in.

“W-well… if you’re going to be such a spoil-sport about it…” You hear from behind you. Turning back, you see Ephyrs shakily pushing herself back to her feet.

“Oh, you’re still conscious.” You unimpressively note. “I figured you would’ve stayed down, but I guess not everyone knows what’s good for them.”

“I already told you… for this fight to end, one of us must slay the other.” She rasps, trying to straighten her back out upright.

“Taking it that seriously, huh?” You ready yourself for round two with the Witch while she shakes off your last few hits. “I was gonna let you off easy since I’ve got no interest in killing mental patients, but if you keep pestering me over this destiny garbage, I can’t guarantee my patience won’t run thin.”

“This is beyond destiny, now.” She tells. “We fight because I decreed it.” Facing the side of Know No Mercy’s saber at you like she’s showing a mirror, the Troll flicks the edge of the blade, evoking a sudden burst of reverberation to cascade from it. The sound ripples, at first as a barely audible ringing, but soon metamorphosizes into an overwhelming-

BOOM!!!

The force of the sonic blast is more disorienting than it is actually damaging. Nothing like the kinetic blasts you’re accustomed to withstanding, though regardless you still feel a slight trickle of blood run from your nose, and the pulsating in your eardrums messes with your equilibrium. When the sound of the attack breaks, you stumble a moment, grabbing hold of your balance once more. Taking the initiative, Ephyrs flings her polearm forward and rushes towards you, tip aimed for your center mass as she's dragged behind the weapon in her clutches, as if being pulled by the thing. The two of you clash, slamming sabers together in a gridlock struggle. A burst of sparks jump from the grinding metal when either of you shift your blade to gain the upper hand. The grapple eventually pushes forward, clashing with your staffs in a contest of strength. Strangely enough, her guard isn’t nearly as strong as it was when you first tested it, with your opponent now finding struggle to keep up with your might.

“I don’t give a shit what you decree, french toast face.” You bore at her, taking advantage of how  close you are in the clash to squeeze in a few intimate insults. “It’s nothing but hot air and preppy gloom.”

“Dear Mia, if you’re so heedless of the fate I put us on, would you not abscond?” She muses in a way meaning to hush you. “I think you know just as well as I do;“ As the Witch speaks, her face begins to shimmer once more, before strips of flesh un-sow themselves from the rest of her skin, threatening to peel off completely. They wave through the air like tendrils of gas drifting through space, exposing the jade-colored musculature and bone beneath her complexion. “Things can get a little strange when we bend the rules.”

“God, you are hard to look at.” You scoff, brushing off her piss-poor scare tactic. You swear you can see a smirk form on the dismembered pieces of her face.

Breaking up your gambit, the Thief of Heart swoops in from above the Witch, finally rejoining the strife. Ephyrs jerks forward, her back opened up by that huge fucking knife Medeas has. In that moment of surprise, you headbutt the Witch at where the bridge of her nose would be, causing the flesh orbiting her head to cling back to her face like squealing biomass. Swinging to the other side of her now-target, Medeas flips the knife around in her hand from a reverse to a filipino grip, slashing across the Witch’s midsection. You see it pass through the side of her torso, but it doesn’t cut, not even through her god tiers. Medeas, seeming just as confused as you, continues on with her onslaught regardless, stabbing at the Witch’s jugular this time. Whipping around to face her, Ephyrs reaches out for the point of Medeas’ knife, and instead of piercing into her palm as it should’ve, the blade passes through her hand as if she were a specter.

With the blade phased halfway down her forearm, the Witch grabs hold of Medeas’s wrist, her hand seemingly corporeal now, and twists her between the two of you to halt your offense. In three quick bursts that crack like whips, Ephyrs kicks Colchi almost too fast for you to follow, once in the side of both knees then in the center of her stomach, the force of which throws her a foot or so up off her feet. In an unexpected circumstance, instead of falling back down from the hit, Medeas slowly begins to float further up into the air, still folded in defeat. Fucking reality benders.

“I’ll decide her fate in just a moment.” She happily informs you, her face flickering with an insectoid hum. “Right now, I want to give my undivided attention to my dear Destined Rival.”

The cockiness in her voice makes you want to beat the bubbly smirk off her untethered face. Before you can get to beating, however, something clicks with all the bullshit she’s been saying. This isn’t some time player whining about having to live up to Paradox Space’s expectations, there’s a resentment in this little play she’s putting on. Like a little kid passive-aggressively going along with their parent’s orders. She doesn’t have a vendetta against you, she’s just trying to rope you in with her personal grudge-match with Existence. She’s using you as a tool for her own catharsis!

“Why is how this fight ends so important to you?” You demand from her. The question gets you a slash at your throat. You juke back and block an immediate follow-up slash meant to cut you down the middle. Her blade grinds against your staff with a metallic scrape.

“It’s not important!” She snaps, pulling back for a jab. “Nothing is important! That’s how this world works!”

“Because you decreed it?” You sneer, parrying away her attack and switching sides of the street as you rush past.

“That’s exactly right, yes.” She firmly nods, not realizing the question was rhetorical. So it’s not just acting out, she actually believes she’s in control of what’s going on right now.

“You know what I think, Sideshow?” You ask as your blades clash, the two of you parrying away attack after attack on each other, blocking and redirecting hits aimed with fatal intent. “I think you’re just as pissed about being in the Arena as the rest of us, but you’re too proud of your Absurdist-Philosopher act to be honest with yourself. So instead, you pretend like being Doomed doesn’t bother you, you say you’re the one choosing to be here, and you fight the battles foretold in the bullshit Paradox Space whipped up for its pointless quests while saying it was your decision in the first place as a part of some vain attempt to exude a modicum of control over your life when really, deep down, you know everything’s so out of control that it scares you. And the only thing you can do is smile and pretend you’re indifferent to it all. How’s that, Two-Face? Am I in the ballpark?” You take how reckless her slashes become as a yes.

“You have a lot to say for someone who labels other’s ideas as ‘hot air’.” She quips back as she pulls away from the strife’s current bout of fencing. Her breathing is becoming more frantic, making her rising exhaustion more apparent. A good time to exit this pointless fight. You eye the surrounding area above you, spotting Medeas who’s still slowly floating up into the sky, about roof-level now. Seems she’s finally starting to shake off that kick Ephyrs gave her, looking about her surroundings in an obvious daze.

“I calls ‘em how I sees ‘em.” You shrug, slowly walking into her flank. Naturally, she begins to pull away from your advance, and as she does, you start to drift away in your stride as well, looking to move away from her as unnoticeably as possible. Soon, the two of you are at opposite sides of the alley with both buildings at your back. “And as fun as it’s been humoring your weird pissing-match with reality, I’ve got better places to be.” Placing a foot against the brick wall behind you, you kick off to the other side of the alley. There’s a slight breeze as Ephyrs swipes at you from below when you go by.

Landing horizontal on the opposing wall, you kick off again, reaching one of the walkways between buildings. The sudden appearance of your person startles some of the Owls who’ve gathered to watch the fight from above. Looking over the edge once you’ve hopped onto the bridge, Ephyrs glares up at you before facing the side of Know No Mercy’s blade in your direction, flicking the edge and evoking another sonic boom. You recoil back, shielding yourself from the brunt of blast. Alright, she’s starting to really annoy you with all those little tricks. You pull back to the center of the walkway and raise Heed No Warning above your head, dragging the bottom of your foot up your leg until it rests at the side of your knee as you do. Bringing the guillotine down, you stomp your foot down with a particular amount of umph, and evoked from your blade is an echo of pure rage that rips through reality. Slicing a clean line through the guardrail, the echo travels at a blinding speed, sawing the pipes and gutters that clutter the alleyway in half, finally burying itself into the street with a great eruption of obliterated brick and cobblestone.

Confident that the smoke and steam are obscuring her line of sight, you get back to going after Medeas, who’s currently wrapped her tethers around a stone pillar to keep herself from floating further into the crimson sky. You place Heed No Warning between your teeth and start scaling the nearest building. There are small square ridges of brick perturbing from the corner of the high-rise that you can grab onto, and in leaping bursts upwards, you jump further and further up until you’re parallel to where your troll is floating in the air.

“Mia!” She calls over when she notices you. “What the hell is happening?”

“We’re leaving!” You call back, Heed No Warning still clutched between your teeth. Looking to get her down, you climb another notch up on the buildingside to position yourself higher than her, using your spare hand to gauge the distance.

“Did you kill the Witch?” She asks while looking down to the smoke cluttering the street.

“No, fuck her. She’d just get off on it.” You say, swinging out from your perch and diving across the divide between you and her. Tackling Medeas mid-air, you clash with the force keeping her aloft, and drag her down like a deflating balloon. The two of you crash to the roof of a neighboring complex, and whatever that Witch did to cause the floating effect seems to be shirked from her in the fall.

“Maybe a half moment of warning next time?” Medeas rasps from beneath you.

“Can you run?” You ask as you remove your polearm from your maw and rise to your feet, off of your troll. Offering a hand to help her up, she accepts it with a grateful nod. “She’s winded, but I can’t imagine crazy like that is-“ Before you can finish your thought, the -shriek- of a whipping wind calls out from behind you, drawing your attention. “Easy to shake.” You finish, already knowing what to expect.

“Mia…!” Turning you see, floating before the face of the clocktower you first arrived in, Ephyrs, standing perched atop Know No Mercy as it hangs in the air, quite literally a witch’s broom. She rides the polearm on the front of her feet, the way a gymnast on a balance beam would. “I believe we have Unfinished Business.”

“This is just one of those days.” You mutter to yourself as you rotate out the kinks in your neck.

“I take it we’re not leaving just yet?” Medeas asks from your flank.

“Just get ready.” You answer. Preparing for the Witch, you cradle the staff of Heed No Warning in the crest of your elbow, holding its hilt in your hand. Your eyes meet hers, and you see the unadulterated excitement behind them. She really is a full blown nut-job, isn’t she.

Blinking first, Ephyrs flings herself forward, her blade angled directly for you while she rides Know No Mercy like a surfboard. You fling your own polearm from its cradle, grabbing it with your off hand and bringing it flat above your head. Placing a particular amount of umph into your movement, you spin your technique into a horizontal slash, evoking another echo of rage to tear from the blade. With a much larger sweeping motion, the echo brought forth from the attack is massive, about 3x the width of the clocktower. Like a game of chicken, the Witch stays headstrong, taking on the evoked energy with a respectable nerve. In the last second, she kicks down, forcing Know No Mercy into a dip as she flips over your attack, dodging the echo with grace as she lands perfectly onto her polearm once more. Damn, you didn’t expect her to be so nimble on that thing.

Sailing past your target, the echo clashes with the tower behind her, separating the top four and a half floors from the rest of the levels of the building, cutting through the structure in the blink of an eye. Still advancing towards you, the Witch rides her blade as an ear-piercing -hiss- trails behind her. You meet her head on, twisting your polearm vertical to your front, blocking the blade of her attack with the side of your own. The two of you clash as Ephyrs attempts to overwhelm you with the speed she built in her windup, but it seems she realizes you aren’t budging. Changing up tactics, she reaches out, making a grab for your face in what you can only assume is another exploding hand trick. You take her by the wrist before she has the chance, grabbing so hard that the bones there crush beneath your grip with a satisfying -crunch- and you toss her away.

She rebounds quickly, valuing off her good hand and landing back on her feet. The floating polearm spirals like a saw blade, its edge clashing against your staff one last time before returning to its wielder. Ephyrs catches Know No Mercy with her broken hand, unabated by the fracture. In the background, the decapitated clocktower finally crashes into the city below, undoubtably destroying more than a handful of buildings with how compressed the Land’s layout is.

Remounting her polearm, the Witch flies towards you again, aimed straight for the throat. You swipe her away with an exchange of blows and she diverts behind you, circling back for another charge. Again, you parry her to the side, causing her to divert and re-aim before charging once more. She tries the same move over and over again, and you swat her away each time. Seems she’s learned she won’t be able to overpower you with strength and has deviated to testing your stamina. On one approach, Ephyrs kicks off into a front flip, grabbing the back of Know No Mercy and spins into an executioner’s chop. You side step, preparing a counterattack when the blade of her polearm erupts with a concussive blast, sending you flying back.

The explosion really rings your bell, but you manage to catch your footing before you land. So those sonic blasts are an ability of Know No Mercy, like Heed No Warning’s echoes. Looking back to the strife, you notice the Witch’s attack has left a sizable crater where you were, and she stares at you from the ditch, her smug smile beaming at you. What you don’t notice, though, is Medeas, who seems to have vanished from the fray. Did she seriously ditch you in the middle of a strife? You didn’t take her for the absconding type. Redirecting your attention back to your strife opponent, the two of you stare each other down. Ephyrs steps out of the crater with an intentional elegance, keeping her eyes on you.

“You have quite a formidable defense, Mia.” She praises. “Although I believe I have enough of a grasp on your fortitude to be able to break through it now.”

“Just what the hell are you babbling about?” You ask her while taking a mental stock of any broken ribs that blast might’ve given you. Feels like maybe one of your vertebrosternals could be snapped, fourth or fifth one down on the right-side cage.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed I have a sizable array of abilities within my possession.” She explains. Yep, it’s definitely the fifth one down. “One such technique is the momentarily altering of plausible potentiality.”

“Potentiality?” You ask with a roll of your eyes, already knowing there’s a monologue prepared for this bullshit.

“The limitations that keep reality nominal.” Ephyrs elaborates. “You see, there’s a orderly nature to reality. Things don’t come into existence because they’re special or because they’re the works of intelligent design. Rather they exist by virtue of being able to adequately function under the systems the universe abides by. This is because if everything that could be conceived was possible, existence would be pure chaos. It has to be compartmentalized, organized even. So for something to exist, it has to fit into a long, long checklist of plausibilities in order to come to fruition. Thermodynamics, Lightspeed, Gravity, dimensional defining forces. Everything abides by the laws that define the material world that we find ourselves in. However, if I make a few tweaks here and there, I can reprogram things about myself, make different parts of me do things that they couldn’t plausibly do, at least for a moment. I can be faster than my particles would allow me to be, stronger than my muscular system could handle. I could make my nails sharp enough to slice through steel, make light proceed quicker to my sightglobes to See faster.”

“Is there a point to this lecture?” You groan, desperately fending off the urge to yawn.

“I’m simply informing you that I know how much I have to alter myself to break through your guard… so I’m going to come at you with everything I have now.” She informs you while stepping a foot back onto her floating polearm. If you didn’t know just how fucked in the head she was, you’d swear that her directly telling you what her next move is going to be was bait. However, you do know how crazy she is, and as such, can probably take her word for it. “Try and prepare yourself.”

With that, she takes off for you. Time seems to slow as you take in everything about the oncoming attack. It’s the same attack she’s been throwing at you for the past several exchanges, but there’s something off about it this time. She’s faster, that’s for sure, but on top of that, there’s a trail of force following her trajectory, leaving a deep indentation in the ground she flies over. So she’s really throwing her all behind this, huh? You remember the first time you clashed with her, the strength she displayed then and how it dissipated soon after. That must’ve been due to her altering her physicality to match yours. If that was before she started testing your defenses, perhaps she has a reason to be so cocky… Can she really just snap her fingers and surpass you like that? She’s been watching you closely, observing how you fight. She knows she can expect you to face her attack head on, so…

With the fleeting moment you have before the Witch arrives, you raise Heed No Warning, centering its blade dead ahead. Right as you see her smile, thinking you’re stubborn enough to take her killing-shot on the chin as if you were a slave to your own pride, you flip your polearm around with a particular amount of umph, cycling it across your neck, out and over your midsection, around your back and into your hand, directly into a cross-slash. Evoked forth from your blade is an echo of pure rage, tearing into the world to impose your will upon reality. At first, it seems to hurl itself towards the Witch, but at the angle you sent it from, it dips down just before it would meet her, sinking into the ground before erupting like a depth charge and ripping a chunk of concrete into the air. Too late to react, Know No Mercy stabs into the torn-up roof and is swiped completely out from under Ephyrs’ feet, leaving her to launch forward through the air.

Winding back one final slash, you had every intention to end the strife and be done with Troll Scar Face’s shit forever, but you notice something before you follow through. Ephyrs was focused straight ahead with a look of what you can only identify as joy on her face before gently letting her eyes fall shut, a smile of acceptance curving at the sides of her lips. In that moment, you lose any sort of aspiration to swing, and whether it be out of pity or to abstain from satisfying her martyr complex, she goes soaring by, tumbling against the ground as she lands. She lies there still, a fallen statue of self pity and despair.

“… Hey Ephyrs, you okay back there?” You call, half sarcastic, half somewhat wondering what the hell her deal is.

“Why?” She says, still unmoving from her spot. “You had me dead to rights, one clean sweep would’ve done it.” Sitting up from the ground, she keeps her back faced towards you. “Why? Why didn’t you kill me?”

“As tempting as that would be, I really don’t have any interest in giving you the weird suicide catharsis you’re itching for.” You plant the end of your polearm to the ground, holding it parallel to yourself. “If you want to kill yourself, do it on your own time.” She gets up, still facing away from you.

“This was supposed to be a Duel, Mia.” She reminds you. Her shoulders rise high before decompressing as she takes a deep breath. “Until one is slain, or until-.”

“Or until the unmaking of all things, yeah, I got the memo.” You grunt. “What the hell is your fixation with this one fight, anyway? Every strife is predestined on the timeline, you only have to care about that shit when you’re not doomed, and newsflash psycho, we already are. There’s nothing left that reality can do to punish you! Fucking Let it Go.”

“I will not.” She declares, finally deciding to turn and face you. There’s a controlled firmness to her complexion, the first time she isn’t smiling in some form. “Because there is nothing left to do but fight… So I will fight. And if there is nothing left to do but die, then I will die. Master of none in an uncaring sea.” A shutter rolls up through the skin of her face like a tidal wave as she cringes with chattering fangs. “It is true, Paradox Space can no longer dictate how I am to conduct myself, and there is no entrenching force compelling this strife. But in that same brushstroke, there is no reason not to…! I remember when I first read about the Polearm; Heed No Warning. When I first learned about you, dear Opponent. I was… happy. I was overcome with joy. In that Prophecy, I saw fulfillment. Completion. Purpose. Something that would finally fill the void that had formed from the monotony of a meaningless life. I saw my other half. Even if the end is pointless, I can’t think of a more fitting end than by your hands. And if you are unable to do this, then you will find your own end at mine. To me, this is just as good. To me, there is nothing more beautiful!” Raising her broken wrist out, the Witch offers you an open palm as if asking you to take her by the hand. “One must find beauty in the emptiness of life, must they not? Lest they find themselves thrown into the panrust of nihilism, doomed to a speck’s existence floating in the void. I was there once, in that hopeless tide, fighting with my entire strength just to stay afloat. It was an endless torment, day after day, doing the same exact thing just to keep breathing, again and again and again, the same nothing of yesterday’s yesterday, doomed to repeat tomorrow’s tomorrow! Until I could swim no more, until the day came where I could do nothing but sink. And in those depths… in the throws of damnation where despair filled my lungs under the endless weight of the world, I found the beauty in it all. At the deathbed of all things good and promising, I found you… And I can’t wait to see what you decide to do.” Slowly closing her grasp, Ephyrs purses the tips of her fingers together. “Yet if a martial fight is such a burden…” Your eyes widen as you realize what she’s doing. Quickly scouring the ground, you look for any glowing handprints, trying to locate the source of the imminent explosion she had somehow set without you noticing. Yet you find none. Out of time, the Witch -snaps-, and that warm yellow glow you had searched for comes from all around you this time.

With no time to react, you’re engulfed once more into a world of fire and pain. The air in your lungs burns away in an instant as your skin blisters under the heat. This attack is more intense than when she first sprung this trap, and you find that your sight falters for a moment when you open your eyes. As the smoke clears, you see the Witch, smiling once more.

“The hell…?” You hiss to yourself, furiously flexing every muscle in your body to keep yourself pinned together. “How-“

“I told you I could turn moisture molecules into explosive gel, Mia.” She explains with a graveness in her voice. “I never said I had to touch them to do so.”

“You-“ You grunt, feeling much more than a broken rib laboring your body now.

“Yes, yes, quite a dirty trick, I know.” She sighs with satisfaction. “I try not to use my abilities this way, on account of it tends to make a strife too one-sided to be any fun, but since you keep refusing to participate, I’m more than happy to make an Exception.” She raises her hand once again, ready to snap. She’s been holding back this entire time… Fucking reality benders.

 

Mia, prepare for the Witch’s Spell.

Notes:

Happy Halloween to all you Witches out there! Enjoy your stay on the Land of Ghouls and Bar Cars, where the drinks are half-off but the scares are free!

...Yeah, these Holiday notes just keep getting worse and worse.

Chapter 44: > For Whom the Troll Tolls

There’s an acrid taste on your tongue and a distinct leathery feel to your skin. It’s been a while since you’ve been completely engulfed in an explosion like that, but the feeling is always the same, like the worst sunburn of your life with a particularly ashy aftertaste. The Witch of Doom stands before you, the threat of another firestorm being dropped upon your head held between the pads of her fingertips.

She doesn’t hold that threat over you long, as the -snap- of her fingers echoes through the air and the space around you begins to glow. You grit your teeth in anticipation, and not long after, you’re enveloped in a scorching wave of apocalyptic heat. Okay, now it’s really starting to get to you. You feel the fatigue in your forearms first, straining to keep flexing away the pain, and the grip in your fists is beginning to waver. The air hisses past your teeth as you suck a breath into your lungs with a seething rage.

“Mother-“ You begin only to be cut off by another -snap- of the Witch’s fingers, re-enveloping you in the now familiar blanket of explosive hellfire. She’s really pulling out all stops, isn’t she. “… Fucker.” The moisture on your breath feels cool compared to the inferno taking place in your direct exterior vicinity. In that moment of release, your body gives out and your legs buckle. You slam your fist into the ground to catch yourself, falling to one knee.

“Oh dear, Mia.” Ephyrs tisks with surprise. “I had taken you for more tenacious than that.” The fist that props you up flattens into an open palm pressed against the ground, and naturally your fingers begin burying into the scorched concrete of the roof in rage. “Although, I suppose I can’t blame you for not holding steadfast against such a bombardment. Pure anti-life is quite an abrasive force. I suppose this is goodbye, then, my precious Opponent. It has been… an experience.” Raising her hand for yet another snap, the Witch gives you a soft smile, like a close friend saying a quiet goodbye. It pisses you off. No, it doesn’t just Piss you Off. It enrages you to your Fucking Core!

In a sudden burst of burning anger, you feel every ounce of strength return to you, and the chunk of concrete your fingers had worked themselves around is pulverizing to dust as you ball your fist once more. Your legs shoot out, taking a sprinter’s stance as you ready a charge for Ephyrs. Before the burst of energy can travel through your leg muscles, you notice something enter into your field of view. A bell, similar to the one you saw in the clocktower, flies at an impressive speed, slamming into the Witch’s back with a ringing -bong-. The hit transfers all its momentum into her, sending Ephyrs hurtling past you as the bell takes her place. Wrapped around the brass instrument are a series of glowing maroon wires. Following the line, your attention is directed to the neighboring rooftop, and standing there, hand extended forward in post-throw form, is the Thief of Heart, Medeas Colchi.

“Hey.” She says through huffing breaths. “You look a little cooked around the edges.”

“Where the hell’ve you been?!” You angrily sigh, pushing yourself out of your tripod stance and back onto your feet.

“Finding something I can fight with.” She nods to the bell, still wrapped in her tethers. “She can phase different parts of her body at will, which means something as small as my knife won’t be much use in a strife against her. There’s a flaw in that trick, though. She can’t make herself completely incorporeal, I don’t think. Otherwise she’d have fallen through the ground. So the way I figure, something large enough that can target her entire body might be able to bypass that little maneuver of hers.”

“That’s actually kind of clever, Colchi.” You commend. “When did you get so tactical?”

“Shape of my container, Mia. Adaptability is survival.” She calls back to the conversation you had before arriving to this Land. Hopping over the small gap between buildings, she joins you back in the fray. “Are we still running?” As she asks, streaks of necrotic rot advance upon where you stand, withering the ground like a growing shadow.

“It looks like that idea’s out the window at this point.” You update her, spinning Heed No Warning into a readied position. Back to it then. You slowly exhale, quelling the last bit of pain trembles in your hands, and ready yourself for the coming storm.

 

***

 

Your eyes snap open, only to immediately dry under the cold touch of the air in your room, compelling you to shut them again. You comply with your body’s demands, closing your lids once more as the throes of exhaustion rest on the back of your mind. Another shitty night of off-REM cycle sleep. There’s a bickering coming in from the other room, which is probably what’s woken you up in the first place. The walls are surprisingly thin for being made of concrete or whatever the hell this stone is. You open your eyes once more to stare at the drab ceiling above you. This is ridiculous, there’s no way you’re getting any rest under these conditions. You should probably just go see what all that noise is about already.

Getting up from the painfully small consort furniture you’ve scavenged into a temporary bed, you notice that besides yourself, there’s only one other person awake in the room. It’s one of the troll girls, Auratt. She’s sat in the corner with her legs tucked up onto her chair set to one side of her, quietly reading from a book. Her rusty red wings shifting every so often behind her while pressed against the cushioning of her recliner.

For some reason, you feel the need to take note of the fact that she’s a Breath Seer, which is odd because it’s not like you didn’t already know that. You don’t usually have an inclination to review overtly obvious things that you already know, but there’s a strange sensation imploring you to do so anyway, as if someone had asked you and you were simply answering. In fact, it feels as if that same strange sensation is asking you to review your own name and ranking as well, which is incredibly ridiculous, because why would you ever need to affirm who you are to yourself? You already know who you are, it’d be a waste of time to say! ………Your name is Dylan, alright?! Dylan Mendez, and you’re a Light Prince! Jesus, look at yourself, two weeks in this hell hole and you already need to remind yourself who you are. It’s pathetic. Ugh… Maybe your head’s just still in a morning fog…

“They’re at it again?” You ask into a yawn, drawing the troll out of her novel.

“They never stopped.” Her eyes follow you as you cross the room. Halfway to the door, you trip on Ignatius’s unconscious body sprawled out in the middle of the floor, nearly causing you to fall. You grumble something under your breath at him and enter into the exit’s threshold, looking out down the hallway to the office those two have been staying in.

“Alright. Time to put a quark in this lovers-quarrel crap.” You mutter to yourself as you begin your approach to the room.

“What was that?” Auratt calls, assuming you were speaking to her.

“Nothing, go back to your book.” You call back, working a knot out of your neck. Halting just before the door to the lovebird’s nest, you hesitate for a moment. Usually, you’d have no problem taking charge of a couple chuckle-fucks like the the sort you’ve been traveling with, but there’s something about this girl, your ‘leader’, that you just can’t stand up to. She has a tenacity to her, one that surmounts even your own confidence to take lead. Really sucks the energy out of the room when she decides she’s gonna be the one making the decisions for everyone, practically makes it impossible to argue with her. You don’t know how that poor sap she’s got leashed up with her does it.

Stowing the timid thoughts telling you to not intervene, you barge in on the two of them, still mid-argument. And Mid-argument they stay, as they seem to completely ignore your appearance in the room completely.

“What more do ya want me to say, Robbie?” LJ asks, gripping the bridge of his nose with his eyes welded shut. “He was more than I was expecting. And he was more than what you were expecting too. Otherwise you’d have sent me with more than just Hektor and fucking Kai.”

“Don’t you try and put this all on me.” Robin firmly snaps at him.

“I’m-“ He begins to yell but stops short, electing to control his volume. “I’m not blaming you. But what in god’s name does getting upset about it do for us now?”

“It was the only tactical advantage we had on them, god damnit!” She erratically snaps this time. ”It doesn’t matter if it was a fucking mistake, because now we have to change our entire strategy of going at these assholes, our entire approach to getting this guy and you expect me to not be pissed about it?!”

“You can be pissed about it all you bloody want! What I expect is for you to not be a bitch about it!” He starts screaming back.

“It was one fucking task that I entrusted to you! One task and you screwed it up, you incompetent Mutant!” It seems she’s going for the low blow with that comment. The quip really digs at him too, judging by how taken aback he looks. “What?… Struck a nerve?” She sarcastically asks, pretending to play innocent. LJ’s jaw clenches, and his hands ball into fists.

“Now you listen here…!” He snaps, pointing a finger shaking with anger at her.

“Oh, first it’s strifes, now you can’t handle a little name-calling either?” Robin keeps prodding, speaking with a faux-innocence.

“You-!” LJ goes for the bait.

“Ahem!” You exaggeratedly clear your throat. It’s getting pretty heated in here, and you’re not exactly fixing to see a bout of domestic violence on this particular morning.

The couple turn to you in synchronicity, both red in the face, be it from blush or exacerbation with their ‘better half’. It seems the hostility the two were bearing towards one another just mere seconds ago immediately finds itself placed upon your shoulders, as if you had been caught peeking in on their most intimate of moments like they weren’t notifying the entire neighborhood of their dirty laundry at a prim and proper hundred-and-fifty decibels. LJ shies away from a continuing confrontation, settling on giving you a dirty look while recomposing himself to address the new entity within the room in a rightful embarrassment at his previous volume and level of brashness. Robin, however, shows no such dignity and marches two paces in your direction, bridging the gap in the office between you and them with just as much ferality as she was showing LJ.

“Out.” She growls at you, pointing to the door.

“Wait-“ You argue.

“Now, Dylan!” She repeats with more bass in her voice. “Do you not see that we’re in the middle of something, asshole?”

“Yeah, I see it.” You passive-aggressively nod. “I also heard it as well… from all the way down the fucking hallway!”

“Ugh.” She groans, spinning back around to LJ. Guess she doesn’t like being confronted with her own fallacies.

“Don’t ‘ugh’ me.” You reprimand. “There are people actually trying to get some sleep around here without having to listen to your shit all night. Not all of us have the luxury of being narcolepts like Iggy, or run off of pure spite like you two psychos, so if you wouldn’t mind keeping it down, I, for one, would greatly appreciate it.”

“Fine, we’ll quiet down, now get out.” Robin tries to hurry you along, glaring at you from over her shoulder.

“You… being quiet? Feh.” LJ scoffs, glancing away from the both of you. “Yeah, that’s a load, innit.” There’s a visible twitch in Robin’s expression, and her head slowly twists around to face him.

“You really can be such a cock-bite, you know that?” She hisses.

“Oh, me? I’m a cock-bite?” LJ daintily puts a hand to his chest, j'accused style. “Because if memory serves correctly, the last time we-“

“You really want to bring that up-“

“Stop, stop, alright! Fuck!” You break back into the arguing before you can hear anything you’d regret. “None of that! None of aannyy of that. Christ, you two! Have you no shame? Not everyone needs to know every intimate little details of the toxic codependency you call a relationship.”

“Alright, take it easy.” LJ waves your advice off. “Just… we’ll try and keep it down, yeah? Get some rest while ya can, we’re gonna be moving locations tomorrow.”

“We are?” You raise an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with the storm shelter?” The two of them pause, with LJ looking to the floor in knowing tiredness while Robin looks at him as if just begging for him to say why himself.

“With the amount of information discussed on LJ’s previous message logs,” Robin finally takes lead, seeing her boy-toy’s staying quiet. “there’s a possibility they could figure out where we’ve been camped out. Since our quarry’s proven to be more than capable of handling himself in a strife, we’re erring on the side of caution with how we’re going about this now.”

“Well… as team strategist, don’t you think I should’ve been involved with the altercation in our strategy?” You inquire, perturbed that your capabilities are being further undermined by the nitwits you’ve associated yourself with.

“You mean alteration?” LJ asks, looking at you like you’re dull.

“Altercation’s applicable in this instance.” You make up off the cuff. He makes a weird face, questioning whether it is or not.

“It was a recent executive decision.” Robin asserts. There comes a cracking from your jaw at her smug declaration.

“An important decision, it would seem.” You nod along while trying to hide your annoyance. “What the hell is with this guy, anyway? The boys said he’s had a-…a-a bombardment ability? Doesn’t sound like typical Time player to me. And the way he’s shaken you two up, what’s the deal? Is he really that dangerous?”

“He’s the Symbol of Death.” LJ says as casually as telling the weather.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” You ask, profoundly confused by the Brother’s Grimm shit he just laid on you. LJ exaggerates a shrugs.

“It’s what I got from his blood. A realization of identity, the way he’s grown and operates within his Title.” He justifies. “How he functionally interacts with others.”

“He’s a real mean bastard, then.” You think over the various facets to the current situation. God, there’s always so many moving parts with thinking up a strategy. Really gives you a migraine. “Is that the only factoid you pulled from his blood?”

“No, it wasn’t.” LJ pauses, looking at you sideways. “How’d you guess?”

“Shot in the dark.” You mimic his exaggerated shrug. “What else was there?”

“There was something floating around in his veins. E-eh a blood transfusion from this… golem thing.” He explains having finally found the words to describe what he’s speaking of. “This coalition of dead entities that’s been traveling with them. His life-blood acted like a vitality boost, made the prick spry, let him fight for longer than he should’ve physically been able to.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have some of this guy’s blood, would you?” You take another shot in the dark.

“Caked all over my yo-yo, yeah.” He perks up. Seems he’s starting to pick up on your drift.

“What exactly are you morons talking about?” Robin looks between the both of you.

“I think I might’ve just given you a new edge over this guy.” You tell her. She narrows her eyes, skeptical at first, but a sly smile soon carves itself upon her lips. Time to get to work.

 

***

 

The crisp smell of burning city permeates through the air. Familiar, if not horrifying. You’ve lost track of how many city blocks have been destroyed in this little fight, but you’re pretty sure it’s verging on the tens of dozens at this point. Say what you will about that Witch, but she’s dead-set on making this strife happen. Like a scourge raking across the planet, you and Medeas have been engaging with the Witch of Doom for what seems like an eternity at this point. The battle has taken you halfway across LOCAR by now, and Ephyrs has shown no signs of losing interest in her predestined hang-up. To say you’re still holding strong on not killing her simply because you refuse to play along with her game would be a great exaggeration of what’s taking place here. Even if that was a hill you were willing to die on, this shit got old real fast and you’d have taken the opportunity to end this fight a thousand times over by now. However Ephyrs is proving to be much more of a challenge than she initially was in the first half of this strife. Guess you really pissed her off. Not surprising, that is your forte.

As of right now, you’re currently tearing through the skies just above the city at what you estimate to be roughly around 90mph. You got a mean backhand to the jaw that sent you soaring during your most recent bout with the Witch. That’s another thing you’ve gotten real sick of in this strife; her being able to just pull new abilities out of her ass like that. Makes any sort of battle strategy meaningless when she can do whatever the hell she wants on a whim.

This current line of thought is ended as you smash into yet another of the countless clocktowers in this hellhole of a Land, crashing through the face of the clock itself with a shattering exclamation! The impact breaks most of the momentum that sent you flying, and you ungracefully roll the rest of it off as you slam into the wooden floor of the belfry. Rising up, you brush off the broken glass and splinters that’ve embedded themselves into your clothes and forearms and get a grip back on the situation.

Looking out the shattered remains of the clock face, you see Medeas is leaping from rooftop to rooftop heading in your direction, trying to catch back up with you. Trailing behind her are the tattered remains of the current bell she’s been using for a stand-in weapon, wrapped up in her maroon wires. She’s burned through, what is it now, six of those bells so far? Behind her, around twelve or so blocks back, is the Witch of Doom, perched on her polearm. She floats in front of the face of a rival clocktower, silhouetted by the light from inside. Seeing she’s got your attention, Ephyrs swerves around on her broom and seemingly drives its point into the tower behind her. At first it seems like she’s trying to pierce through the glass of the clock-face, but you soon realize what she’s actually doing when you notice the tower itself is beginning to bend under the sway of her suggestive push, as if it were made of rubber. Fucking reality benders…

Looking down, it seems Medeas has just about caught up to you now. Hopefully that means she’s ready for what’s coming. You retreat back into the belfry and slash the mechanism holding this tower’s bell in place, letting it fall halfway into the floor, partially breaking some of the wooden boards under its weight. A bell by any other name, you suppose. Spearing Heed No Warning into a gear node to free up your mitts, you stretch your fingers out before grabbing hold of the bell, one hand gripping the rim, the other placed at its top. With a little bit of Ladygrit, you lift the dense piece of brass above your head and walk it over to the broken window.

“Colchi!” You call from the top of the tower, catching her attention. As soon as she makes eye contact, you chuck the thing out the window, leaving it hurtling through the air with the occasional -bong- when its clapper knocks around inside of it. At the same time, Ephyrs releases the enormous tension built up in her tower-slingshot, breaking the glass face of her clocktower off into a clay-pigeon-like fling, transforming the clock itself into a giant makeshift discus. Whizzing along just above the newly-made projectile, you spot the Witch as she places a hand to the enormous glass piece, spinning it like a record and further metamorphizing the discus into an oversized flying buzzsaw.

Meanwhile, the bell you threw sails by Medeas, still a good 20 feet above her as it goes by. Seeing her brand new weapon go soaring past, she forsakes her banged up chunks of metal to fall to the streets below, wrapping her tethers around the new Seventh Bell before it can get out of range. With all the velocity of your throw still coating that bad boy, Medeas is nearly taken off her feet catching the thing. Pulling the bell into a swing, you hear the tension on her tethers start to strain under the centripetal force of the maneuver as the instrument tears through the space above the city street below her like a pendulum, only lessening once it breaks into it’s upswing, soaring back up into the sky.

Directing your attention back to the main concern in this fight, you find that the Witch has purposefully aimed her gargantuan buzzsaw so that its path will slice the top of your tower off, taking meticulous care to have your torso at the center of that division when it does. Before her attack can arrive however, Medeas’s Bell reaches the zenith of its swing, and with the twerk of her wrist, the brass come barreling down straight through the center of the clock-face with a piercing -crash-, shattering the saw-construct and swatting Ephyrs out of the sky, directly into the concrete of the rooftop below. Snapping the bell back like a yo-yo, Medeas reveals the splattered form of the Witch painted upon the dented stone of the roof, appearing in the likeness of a smushed bug while proned there. For a few seconds you were foolish enough to think that this was going to keep her down, but unsurprisingly, she rises from the crater, rolling the knots out of her shoulders, quite literally walking off what should have been a death-blow with an almost cartoonish conduct.

Keeping with it, Medeas starts loading up her next attack, lugging the bell over to the closest ledge on her roof. She isn’t particularly proficient at using those tethers as a lasso, having to push the bell off a drop and use the momentum from its gravity to be able to fully swing the thing. You can only imagine this is because the actual intended use for those wires are soul-snatching and not bell-thwapping. Regardless, the troll tolls for uppity broads with that mean piece of metal. Strange though, she’s usually able to levitate the bell at least a foot or so into the air while she carries them with her wires, but with this new brass, she can’t so much as lift it an inch off the ground, leaving the thing to scrape against the concrete roof as she pulls. Bell #7 is a bit bigger than her previous six, so perhaps it’s more on the heavier side. It might be a while before she can line up her next swing. Oh well. While she’s busy with offensive prep, Ephyrs is cooking up something of her own. Fully shaking off that last hit, she takes a moment to observe her surroundings, particularly of the mounds of broken clock-glass that’ve rained down in her immediate area. With a swish of her wrists, she waves her hands over the shrapnel covering the roof, causing it all to float into the air. Adding on a flick to that swish, the flying glass begins to rotate around her, spiraling around the Witch faster and faster until blurring into a flurry of miniature daggers. Almost coming to life, the cycling blades elongate into a cyclone that arcs high into the air and coils back, like a snake reeling to strike, aimed directly for Medeas. You should probably put a stop to that before it can get outta hand.

Retrieving Heed No Warning from the gears of your tower, you rack the weapon over your shoulders, extending your arm along the length of the staff and resting the back of its blade against the base of your knuckles. In your free hand, you grip the bottom notch at the end of your polearm and move over to the edge of the window you initially crashed into the tower from. Taking your stance out at the shattered clock window, you eye the rising twister of broken glass that aims down upon your friend, and with a particular amount of umph, you tighten your grip on the notch of your polearm, and fling it out from over your back, slashing down at your target. Evoked forth from your blade is an echo of pure rage that tears through the heavy smog of the rising fires in the city, imposing your will over the Witch’s as it splits her cyclone in two, straight down its center. Quickly adjusting to your move, Ephyrs counters by reclaiming the two pieces of the now bisected storm by their tail ends, grabbing hold of and collating the glass shards into enormous whip-like tendrils. Slashing her arms forward, the Witch produces a thunderous cracking sound as the vectors snap at rocketing speeds towards the tower you’re in. Sparking under the velocity of the attack, the glass whips start glowing red hot, melting into plasma strips under the heat of the swing as they slam into the sides of your building, slicing clean through the brick and steel of your walls. You drop to the floor, ducking out of the way before the energy whips can take your head off as they go scorching by, flailing through your tower, flaying its entire length.

A metallic scraping sound screeches out from above you as what remains of the belfry begins to collapse in on itself, having been separated from its foundation. Pushing yourself up into a prone crawl, you peek your head out to the town below. It’s a real hellscape down there. Rubbled remains of buildings lit ablaze, entire city blocks scorched and shattered, some complexes melted to their foundations as if they were made of wax. Ephyrs looks up at you from the chaos, her eyes peering through the mess of floating skin hovering around the musculature of her face. Yeah, you really pissed her off.

Gripping the brick foundations of the smashed-up wall, you throw yourself from the floor, out of the clocktower just before it collapses. As you fling yourself from the imploding building, you spot Know No Mercy tearing through the sky towards you, hurled at a barely subsonic speed. Looks like Ephyrs was watching for your escape, taking her attack while you were mid-air. In the nick of time, you twist yourself, clashing the blade of the Witch’s polearm off the staff of your own. However, a downside to mid-air maneuvers like this is once you start spinning, there’s no stopping it until you land. Which you do, slamming into the rooftop on your side and bouncing off the edge of your shoulder, still in the throes of your spiral move.

Twisting your hips forward, you course-adjust midair with the up-bounce you get from your hard landing, and transition into a sprint for the Witch. Seeing your approach, Ephyrs readies herself for the oncoming bout. You meet her head-on, leaping forward through the air like a springing coil, taking a slash at her midsection as you spiral past her. You feel your blade clash against hers as she blocks your midair attack with seeming ease. Landing, you swing back around, slashing your blade across a wide arc, as if you were a scytheman reaping in a bountiful harvest. Springing upward, Ephyrs leaps over the attack with a spry bounce. Mid-jump, the troll kicks her foot out at you, evoking forth a torrent of shooting force to barrel froward, nearly taking your head off your shoulders as you reel back, shooting a hand out to stop you from falling on your ass as you dodge the attack. Pushing yourself back upright, you transition your momentum into a diagonal slash / at the Witch. As you expected, Ephyrs jukes back from the attack. Already having planned for this, you cycle Heed no Warning into its reverse grip and take another diagonal slash \ at her in the other direction. Again and again, you pursue her across the roof, cycling from one slash to another quick enough for your attacks to blur into a razored X.

Looking to divert your assault elsewhere, the Witch flings her own polearm out to the side, letting it spin like a helicopter blade as the flying armament takes a roundabout around your defenses, coming up on your rear flank with a spiraling attack. You rotate Heed No Warning to your rear defense, halting Know No Mercy’s spiral before slashing the living weapon away. In the split second that you’re occupied with defense, Ephyrs couches down, slapping two glowing yellow handprints down upon the ground before retreating from the area. Fending off her flying polearm, you turn back with barely enough time to react to the trap the Witch had laid, dodging away from a bulk of the blast as she -snaps-. So she’s back to the handprint method. But why? You already know she can cause explosions from thin air, what does she- Shit!

In the half-moment of hesitation you found contemplating the Witch’s strategy, you fail to notice she’s begun to chant an evocation, reaching her clutching claws up towards the heavens. You go to charge her before she can sic whatever magic she’s conjuring on you, but your first step over-extends more than you expect it to, as your foot plunges into what feels like a thick mud. Looking down, you find that your leg up to your mid-calf has sunken completely into the roof of the building. She liquefied the ground again! You try to pull out from the non-newtonian flooring, but the phase effect ends, solidifying you there as Ephyrs completes her ritual.

With a swift and powerful punch, you shatter the concrete and free yourself without delay, rising up from the gravel to face the Witch as her cauldron of goodies spills over. Searching for what she had evoked, you react barely fast enough as a javelin of pitch black nearly twice your stature is hurled at you from above. You look upward to the source of the attack and discover the smoke rising up from the burning city has animated, forming a heavenly hwacha above you as the pillars of ash and smog in the sky solidify into super-condensed bombardment rods. Raining down upon you like forking spears thrown from Olympus, you juke and dodge the dense carbon bolts as quickly as you can manage, however, the sheer rate at which they are flung seems only to quicken as the blitz continues. Overwhelmed now, you take to slashing the oncoming bolts when you’re too pressed to dodge them, dicing the dark ashen lances to pieces as the roof you strife upon takes the appearance of a mediaeval archer’s field. There are close calls in which you’re nearly harpooned completely, but you endure, as the Witch’s spell sends down its final bolt. Standing amidst a jungle of midnight oak, you take a series of deep and puffing breaths, regaining your stamina as you survey the field of solidified smoke.

“Hmhmhmhm.” You hear Ephyrs chuckle from somewhere within the tangle.

“Is that all you got?!” You shout to her, scouring the area for the Beldam.

“Dear Mia.” She calls from across the gap of a neighboring roof. “We both know that’s not even close to all I’ve got.” Upon her discretion, the solidified ballista surrounding you decorporealize into a fog of gaseous smoke once more, creating a cyclone of smothering fumes to envelop you. With the smoke still under the Witch’s control, you feel as the haze condenses upon you like a swarm of vicious bees, biting at your eyes and choking you under its oppressive presence.

You attempt to swat the smoke away, doing your best to clear the air, but the stuff sticks to you like a thick tar, laboring any movements you try to make. Seeing you won’t be able to get rid of it on your own, you try to push your way through the dense haze, but you can’t muster much energy, the smoke slowly strangling you as your lungs fill more and more with ash and dust. Shit, this isn’t a good spot. Much more of this and you’ll asphyxiate. You didn’t want to use your majyyks in this fight, but it looks like you’ve got no choice here. For the first time since the incident, you channel your abilities outward, and manifest into the world a Delusion of yourself. Before you in the smog now stands an illusionary doppelgänger, polearm and all. Sending the double out through the fog towards where you know the Witch to be, you hear Ephyrs exclaim at the sudden appearance of your likeness and feel as the smoke begins to lift from yourself. It seems your trick worked.

Now able to move through the smoke freely, you tear towards the Witch with a vengeance. Breaking out into visible airspace, you spot the troll just as she’s sliced through your illusory counterpart with Know No Mercy, dispelling the visage into a puff of smoke with the attack. Before she can figure out that she’s been had, you slam the back end of your staff across the back end of her head with a shattering -crack-! As she’s stunned from the hit, you grab hold of her broken arm and pull it behind her back, pressing the tip of your blade into the nape of her neck.

“Last chance, Crazy!” You inform Ephyrs as you twist her arm taught against her spine, feeling the bone fragments there shift as you try to keep her pinned in place. “Stop all this and you can walk away with your life! I’ve got you beat, just give it up!”

“hahahAHAHAHAHA!!!” She begins to wildly cackle, slowly turning on you despite you strengthening your pin on her. With her arm eventually reaching the limit at which it can bend, she keeps pushing forward as she turns around to face you, with several points between her forearm and shoulder twisting and snapping as her arm breaks and contorts from the rotation, disfiguring the limb until you’re stood face-to-face with one another. Despite holding your polearm raised to strike, you find yourself too astonished beholding such a display of derangement to follow through with the threatened attack. “Oh, we’ve long since past the point that we should’ve stopped!” She says in frantic frenzy. “But let’s keep going and see what happens, shall we?!” Slamming her own polearm into the ground, Know No Mercy erupts with a concussive blast, breaking your hold on the troll and nearly shattering every bone in both your feet. You’re blown back a short ways away, landing upon the ground with an unceremonious -thud-.

“Mother-…!” You exclaim as you attempt to push yourself back upright, finding your ankles to be in a less-than stellar condition. Definitely fractured, if not outright broken altogether.

“I think I’ve had an epiphany.” Ephyrs tells you as you struggle to get back on your feet. You look to the psycho and see her staring off in the distance with an elated look of delight on her face. Following her gaze, you spot Medeas off a ways, still struggling to pull her bell towards the nearest corner of the roof she’s on. “And I believe I’ve just decided the fate of that friend of yours.” Without another word, Ephyrs takes off, racing for the Thief.

Pushing the pain to the back of your mind, you spring to your feet, hurrying after her. Damn it Colchi, be more mindful of your surroundings in a fight! While she’s busy pulling the bell towards the roof’s edge like a mule leading a plow, Ephyrs’ advances upon her position completely unbeknownst to her, intent on dispatching your combat support. Your attention bounces between the two of them, trying to determine if you can beat your opponent in a relay to your ally. It doesn’t look likely, as she’s nearly doubling your speed at the moment. You can, however, reach something else before her instead. Changing targets, you quicken your steps and ready your side as you charge head-on for the Thief’s Bell that sits a good thirty feet diagonally closer to you. The Witch nearly doubles back when she notices you rushing her flank, and before she can figure out what you’re planning, you shoulder-check into the bell and send it into a sideways pendulum swing.

“Whu-” Medeas sputters, nearly falling at the sudden disappearance of resistance on her tethers.

“Colchi, swing!” You shout, alerting her to the advancing Witch. Quickly adapting to the situation, Medeas grips her tethers and tweaks the trajectory of the bell, panging the brass off the corner of a high-rise and sending it spiraling up into the air. Heaving the tethers forward, she slashes at her target, breaking the bell from its spin into a jabbing meteor strike.

Still distracted with you at her flank, Ephyrs takes the hit square in the back. You’d say she didn’t know what hit her, but the distinct -bong- sound likely clued her in on it. Hurled towards your direction on the roof from the collision, Ephyrs tumbles through the air toward you. Picking up the rebound attack, you door-breach your foot into her ribs, completely breaking her velocity and crumpling her down onto her knees before you. Following this up, you reel back another kick, aiming to boot her just under the chin, but she falls back flat to the ground on her calves, your foot just grazing the skin orbiting her skull as it goes by. With your leg up in the air from your missed-kick, you easily transition into a stomp, already being in the perfect position for the maneuver, however the Witch lurches forward before you can trample her, striking the arch of your foot with the middle knuckles of her first two fingers. A bolt of pain flashes through your leg, erupting from your knee with an explosive power, causing you to reflexively pivot to the side and fall to the ground.

Silently, the Witch’s eyes dart to you, peering from behind her veil of flesh as she quickly swipes the tips of her fingers across the concrete. Suddenly, sickly green shadows jump forth from the contact point, creeping towards you through the stone of the roof. You quickly throw yourself off the ground and to your feet, but soon buckle from a scorching pain radiating from your kneecap. Glancing down, you see why, as blood seeps from your leg out into the purple of your god tiers. Well shit, isn’t that just perfect. Directing yourself back to the fight just in time, you leap back with your one good leg as the creeping shadows quickly advance on your area, nearly engulfing your position. You’ve seen what happens to living creatures unfortunate enough to make contact with this attack when a few of the Owl consorts got caught up in it. Crawled up their legs, clinging to them like napalm as it ate their life force into dust.

Keeping you pressed directly after you land, the shadows continue advancing on your position, not giving you a moment’s breath. You continue to pull away, taking consecutive tiny hops to juke back, springing off the front of your foot in an attempt to keep your balance. The crawling darkness is fast though, and is gaining on your retreat. Before it can fully get you you, however, Medea’s Bell comes swinging in from above, smashing into the stone of the roof and turning it into rubble. The shadows soon begin to wind themselves infinitely around the smaller gravel pieces, halting the attack’s advance on you. With a moment to rest, you test the severity of your injured leg only to find that your kneecap’s been shattered, bits of bone shrapnel protruding from beneath the skin. Mother fuck.

Dropping in beside you on the battlefield, Medeas arrives to your aid, yanking her tethers to retrieve the bell from the pit of winding shadows before taking cover behind it. Seeing they’ve prematurely reached their limited range, Ephyrs retracts her attack, allowing the darkness in the pit to dissipate. While she’s busy coming up with her next offensive, you join Medeas by her side, tucking behind the bell with her to take cover from the Witch.

“You alright?” Medeas asks while peering out from the side of the bell at Ephyrs. You look as well, spotting the Witch spinning some sort of winding flame around her forearm as she steps onto Know No Mercy.

“I’ll be fine,” You assure her, eyes still glued to the Beldam as she hops onto her polearm and advances on your position. She extends her flame-engulfed hand at you, pointed with a crooked finger. “We just need to- Fuck!” Your strategizing is cut short as shooting from the tip of the Witch’s nail comes a bolt of crackling plasma, aimed for the eye you’ve got peeked from behind the bell, just grazing the side of your cheek with an aggressive singe. You pull yourself back, completely hidden behind the bell as you grip the stinging in your face. “Gah!”

Before you can sulk about the new wound, the Witch flies by, the flaming radiance coiled around her hand still aimed directly for you. Wordlessly, you push Medeas forward, hurrying her around to the other side of the bell as Ephyrs rapidly fires beam after beam of energy at you, melting into the brass of the bell with a stifled dinging as you duck out of the way. You grit your teeth tighter and tighter with each step, having to use your injured leg in order to keep pace with the bombardment.

From above, you hear the Witch cackling as she chases after, hurling red lightning like it’s going out of style. Quickly growing tired of this retarded game of chase, you juke backwards, catching the Witch off guard as she sails on while you spin to the other side of the bell, out of her sight. Finding this brief opening, you lean on your polearm, using the weapon as a temporary crutch, and kick the hunk of metal as hard as you can muster on a bad leg. The bell hurls upward through the air, directly for Ephyrs. In the splitest of seconds, she dodges out of the way, tumbling to the side and off her broom. If the universe had ever known a modicum of justice, it would have let her plummet to the streets below and splat on the pavement. However, with a flick of her wrist, the Damn Beldam’s stupid poofy dress puffs up, slowing her fall as if it were a makeshift parachute.

You take a forward stance, hoping to cut her in two with another echo while she’s an easy target in the air like that. Before your rage has a chance to escape from the blade of Heed No Warning, Ephyrs brings forth a hand, lazily arched at you with her thumb against her middle finger. Oh hell, she’s gonna snap again. Gritting your teeth in preparation for the hellfire that’s about to rain down on you, there comes an audible cracking from above. Without a moment’s hesitation, Medeas jerks her tethers, hurling the bell back directly towards you. A half-twitch impulse rockets through your calves, screaming to dodge out of the way, but you hold steady, noticing the finesse the troll had recalled the bell with. The way it’s spinning, it’ll land directly over you, placing you within its interior.

You glance back at Medeas, looking to gauge what she’s planning. The instant your eyes meet her’s, the world goes dark. The bell has landed, placing you within a brass dome. And not a second after, there comes a cascade of heat as the Witch’s explosion engulfs the world outside the bulky instrument, muffled from the thick metal protecting you from the blast.

“Medeas!” You call to her from within your shield. A weak and coarse moan answers, prompting you to start lifting the bell to get to her. Making contact with the metal, the skin of your fingers blister, causing you to flinch back. A curse flutters from your lips while your digits curl inward, attempting to ward off the pain. While you’re busy boo-hooing about a few 3rd degree burns, you hear a skirmish break out on the other side of the bell. Shit, the Witch has already gotten to her!

Putting your back into it this time, you grab hold of the still-scolding metal and tear up, flinging it over your head and releasing you back into the world. Before you, the Witch of Doom has Medeas pinned, heel placed upon her shoulder with Know No Mercy reeled back for a swing. With a swift motion, the Witch’s blade rakes across Medeas’ throat at the speed of sound, evoking a stream of sparks as your ally’s barely able to block the blade of the polearm with that of her knife. The Witch follows up with a kick, knocking away her prey’s defense and readjusting her pin to Medeas’ wrist, making sure she can’t guard again. Bringing Know No Mercy over her head, you hear her grip twist and tighten around the staff, slamming it’s point down at the Heart on Colchi's chest. In a desperate reflex, the Thief summons her tethers once more, evoking them from her pinned hand and bringing them taught with her free one, forming a cat’s cradle from the maroon threads. The defensive mesh catches the tip of the Witch’s polearm, weaving around the blade and halting its killing blow. You go to intervene, but your shattered knee buckles, and your broken feet finally give out, throwing you to the floor.

“Yes, fight! Till your nails are splinters and you fangs come loose!” Ephyrs cackles, twisting her polearm, slowly slipping it past Medeas’ wires as it inches further and further toward’s its target. “Claw at that fleeting light you call life with a fiery passion! Let your agony buy you seconds more of horrendous existence as you slowly descend into that blissful night! Is it not better to die with a thundering rage in your chest than a pleading whimper on your lips, my friend?! Who could ask for a more idea end?!” Shakily, you push yourself back upright and steel your resolve.

“Let her go, Ephyrs!” You shout, trying to get her attention off your troll before she can spear the girl. Not waiting to see if she responds to your diversion, you flip Heed No Warning into a reverse grip and take your stance, already in the motions of ending this.

“Oh-hoho, not on your life!” She shouts back, still pressing on against the Thief. Finally able to force past Medeas’ defenses, Ephyrs slowly pierces into her flesh with the tip of Know No Mercy. The Thief writhes in pain as a deep cobalt begins to soak into her shirt, still holding taught to her wires in a failing attempt to keep the blade from sinking any further into her. “Like it our not, dear opponent, the only way this will ever end is if one of us is Slain, or until-“ You’re done fucking around. With every bit of fury your muscles can muster, you hurl your polearm like a thunderbolt, sending it tearing through the expanse between you and the Witch with an authority over the universe that nothing, not ever her stupid fucking reality bending powers, could stop.

Nothing could stop you from hitting your mark, and nothing does. Heed No Warning slams into the back of the Beldam, completely obliterating the 5th, 6th and 7th thoracic vertebrae of her spine as it erupts into her chest cavity, piercing her heart from behind. You let the air in your lungs escape with a decompressing sigh, and a torrent of steam pours from your throat. Looking down at your hands you find that they’ve blackened with a thick carbon of destroyed skin, a slight pulse of purple energy just piercing through the cracks there.

“How’s that for an ideal end, bitch…” You mutter as the Witch glances down at the tip of your blade poking out from her chest. With her hold on Medeas broken, the Thief squirms away, gripping her wound as she scooches back on her hand.

“Well…… crack shot.” Ephyrs commends as a steady trickle of jade blood begins to leak from her. You march up behind the troll and grab hold of Heed No Warning once more, jerking the edge of your blade diagonal, tearing it out the side of Witch’s torso with a swift slash. Once it’s free, you quickly pivot the staff, and take the blade back into the exit wound, carving through to the other side of the sunder, cleaving her left arm and shoulders off from the rest of her body. The two pieces of her land with meaty thuds as they hit the ground, and you hang over your opponent, watching in a stoic temperament as they wheeze through slashed open lungs, still clinging to the meager spark of life caged within them. Somehow, despite your best efforts, Ephyrs has managed to evade death once again. Or perhaps it is that she simply hasn’t welcomed her demise in yet, still believing that the fight has not yet found its victor. With the one arm she has attached to her meager form, she grabs hold of your calf, pulling at your leg wrappings. No, not pulling, more rather she caresses them, as if they were a cherished artifact from her youth. “Come now… Mia… that… can’t be the best… you’ve got… How about we… go… another Round…?” With a thorough plunge, you stab your blade into the center her head, making sure the Witch is finally dead.

The Strife is over. You are victorious, though you don’t feel like it. Turning away, you close your eyes and find pause, letting all the adrenalin from the fight work its way out of your system. You’d like to think she was just crazy. Just some psycho who decided on a whim that you were the perfect servitor to wrangle into her suicide. Yet somehow you can’t help but think it was something more. She wasn’t just crazy, she was broken.

You open your eyes again to look out at the decimation your battle clawed across the Land. The distant sounds of sirens blaring fill the smog filled skies as countless consorts scramble around the streets below. The fires you left in your path seem to have spread to the neighboring complexes, setting a good portion of the horizon ablaze. You spot the time on one of the clocktowers, stating that it’s 11:10. You still aren’t sure if that’s AM or PM.

Looking out at the destruction you wonder how many others in the Arena are like her. The Witch. Inconsolable, with an axe to grind with the world. Ranting and raving as they spastically strike out at whoever’s closest. You wonder how many are forced to carry the weight of a shattered mind like she was. Maybe… maybe there’s a reason the people here have to die. Maybe it’s a mercy.

“You alright, Colchi?” You stow yourself, glancing over to your ally. She’s facing away, staring mindlessly up at the sky.

“Fine.” She grunts, not turning back.

“…Right.” You say to yourself, knowing something is probably up. “We should get out of here. No telling what kind of vultures are gonna show up after all that. C’mon.” You start heading for one of the bridges that reach over to the neighboring buildings, hoping to find an exit down. This city is rather intertwined, after all. Can’t be too hard to find a building with a staircase leading out.

“No.” You hear from behind, halting you in place. “No, I-I’ll be taking my leave now.” Medeas says, still looking up at the sky.

“Huh?” You turn back, confused by what she’s saying.

“I said I’m going off on my own.” She firmly declares, turning to face you this time. “So goodbye.”

“What the hell for?” You ask, slowly walking back to the bloody pool of jade she’s lingering at. “If you got something that needs taking care of, I could tag along before I find my group.”

“I have no business elsewhere. None that involves you, at least.” She emotionlessly says, lazily strolling over to meet you as well. Something’s different about her. There’s this air of uncaring enveloping her now. Like you’re speaking to your fucking Mother.

“You hit your head or something?” You ask as you finally meet up again, both hovering over the butchered remains of the Witch. “Why would you wanna go running around by yourself? It’s dangerous enough in the Arena on your own, but god’s sake, Colch, look at you, you’re hurt.” You can’t see her injury all too well, but with how much blood is staining her shirt, her stab wound has to be deep. “Look, just tell me what’s up and I’ll help, okay? It’s no big deal, you don’t have to go storming off on your own.”

“I’m telling you this is where we part ways.” She insists. “What I do afterwards is none of your concern.”

“How about we-“

“You got your fucking emotions back, alright?!” She snaps at you, nearly making you jump. “That’s all I wanted you for, to get that poison out of my veins. We aren’t some traveling partnership, the only reason I’ve stuck with you thus far was out of convenience.”

“Fuck’s a’matter with you?” You snarl at the sudden hostility. “Why the hell are you so dead-set on going off on your own all of a sudden? Especially after what just happened, you think you can-… Oh, you can’t be serious. You aren’t still going after the Survivor’s Prize, are you?” She breathes out and lifts her chin up at you, sure of herself. “Come on, think it through, Colchi. There’s no way you could make it with freaks like this running around.” You gesture down to Ephyrs’ body as it lies in a puddle of its own juices. “There isn’t even gonna be a prize if me and my friends have anything to say about it. And where would that leave you? Stuck in a cage with a bunch of stab happy psychos?! Is that really what you want?”

“You seem to be laboring under the impression that I still need your protection, Mia.” She murmurs, as if she can’t be bothered to explain herself. “I’ve a new servant to do my bidding now.”

“Servant? The fuck are you-“ Before you can finish asking, Medeas extends a single tether from her finger. For a split second, you think she’s going to try and stick you with it, but slowly, the dark pink thread snakes its way down to the body at your feet. You’re soon washed over by a wave of grizzled disappointment in the person you were beginning to think was halfway decent. “…So that’s how it is, huh? Soon as you find a new bodyguard, you up and ditch me?”

“Yes. That’s… how it is.” She arrogantly explains, unequivocally breaks off your alliance in full. She doesn’t even bother to look at you now, keeping her eyes on Ephyrs’ body, watching as her tether worms its way in and out of the corpse, stitching the pieces back together.

“You know I thought-…” You pause, wondering if you should even give her the satisfaction of knowing how well she tricked you. “I thought…”

“Thought what? That I was your friend?” She asks, already knowing your answer. “Friends with a human…? You were useful. I needed a ride and sucking up to you got me one. There’s no more reason for me to pester myself with your company any further.” You scan her face, looking for the slightest indication of if she’s fucking with you or not. Up until now you thought you were getting along at least somewhat well, but right now, her expression’s stone cold. If she’s messing with you, she sure as shit doesn’t want you to know it.

“… yeah, okay.” You begrudgingly accept her decision, furrowing your brow at her. “Don’t have to be a prick about it.”

“Yes, well… that’ll be all.” She dismisses, turning her back to avoid even having you in her peripherals. Ignored now, you glance down at Ephyrs, watching as the tether has all but put her back together again. Her shambling zombified hand slowly reaches out towards Know No Mercy, trying to reclaim its discarded armament as it’s roused from the dead. Feeling a spiteful impulse come on, you quickly snatch the weapon from the pool of blood it lies in before she can lay her filthy clutches on it.

“…I should’ve left you on that island.” You scoff before turning to march away, angrily whipping Know No Mercy to your side, leaving a green trail as you flick the blood from it.

“I take the shape of my container, Mia.” She informs you as you leave. “Adaptability is survival.” You reach the bridge connecting to the next building over and stop, glancing back one last time. Medeas is still looking away, gazing out at the destruction of the city with her new slave floating by her side.

“Who fucking needs you…” You mumble to yourself as you cross the bridge, slamming the doors in your exit.

 

***

 

As the frazzled and sullen Maid of Rage storms off, newly won boon unknowingly in her position and hard-struck feelings locked in her chest, you pull back to the somber scene she’s left behind, as the story hasn’t yet ended for all players upon this stage. Unbeknownst to you, in the time that Mia Kruger had taken to decompress from the Strife that brought her across the Land of Regimen and Clocktowers, a fate most foul had befallen her newly found friend and ally, Medeas Colchi. In her moment of triumph, after her foe had been vanquished and forgotten of, the Maid had made one fatal mistake;

 

[She turned her back on the body.]

 

And with a freshly produced corpse came a freshly unsecured soul. Being of a more devious and cunning nature, it was never a matter of If Ms Colchi would take this Soul, rather How Long would it take for her to try and make claim upon the Anima. And as it would turn out; not very long at all. Ever the opportunist, the Thief of Heart had seen the sudden appearance of this soul as a chance to bolster her capabilities, for this was a very powerful soul indeed, capable of bending the rules in her favor. However, the Thief had also known her friend, the Maid, to be a lady of caution, and would’ve certainly disapproved of her resolve to claim this power, declaring it unsafe to keep. And so, the Thief aspired to steal this soul unannounced.

The moment Ms Colchi reached out to grab hold of this soul, she was struck with the immediate consequences of her would-be-ploy. For this soul was not only powerful, but persistent as well. It determined to come back to the world of the living as more than just a mindless slave. And as it was desired, so too it became. Taken hostage by her own powers, the Thief was made complicit with the soul’s demands, and thus Ephyrs Sixsis was able to manifest her will upon the mortal coil once more.

“Hmhmhmhmhmhmhm.” The Witch chuckles to herself as she hears the doors to the tower behind her slam, successfully angering the Maid into abandoning her friend. “Such a hothead, she is. Wouldn’t you agree, pet?”

“…” Medeas remains silent, her lightless eyes staring out at the vast wreckage of the Land before them, unable to comprehend what trickery had befallen her.

“Not the talkative type, ey?” Ephyrs jeers, circling behind the Thief, holding her by the shoulders. “That’s fine, I’m happy either way. So cocky you were, thinking you could steal me away like that. But in the end, all that got stolen was you. How regretful.”

“…” Medeas, still unaware, continues to idle. Unmoving, unspeaking. How could she? Being captive in her own body.

“Don’t you worry, my dear.” Ephyrs gleefully sighs, placing a finger on Medeas’ chin, turning her head to face her. “You and I are going to paint the town red together.” She whispers, smiling a wicked, witchy smile.

A tale as old as time. One of a foolish thief, who’s fortune she took could not sate her avaricious desires, and so aspired to take more than her due. Who thought themselves cunning, though themselves splendid to outsmarted a witch. Folly in her hubris, so boldly claimed she did the wicked one’s grimoire as her own, yet the only thing claimed was her soul. And so, in her reckoning did the foolish thief learn; ask not for whom the Troll tolls. It tolls for thee.

 

Continue reading?

Notes:

Happy... *checks notes*... U.S. Election Day?

Chapter 45: > Do Biologists Dream of Cellular Memes?

It’s been about a day and a half since Medeas told you to kick bricks, and you’re still in a pretty deep funk over it. You had thought after everything that’d happened with the Troll, she was actually turning out to be a relatively alright person to be around, but as it turns out, you were sorely mistaken. Seems you always put your faith in the wrong people these days… You know what? Fuck her, who needs that noise anyhow! If she wants to revert back to her stab-happy ways, then who the fuck are you to stand in the way? You’re tired of breaking your back trying to turn these pieces of shit into better people. If everyone wants to be garbage then by all means, you’ll be more than happy to take out the trash.

Setting your sudden bad mood aside, you take the moment to assess your current status and standing in the Arena. At the moment, you’re drifting through the streets of LORAC, scouring the festering city in a blind attempt to locate the nearest portal out of this concrete jungle. Since you broke it off with your star-crossed gal-pal, you had managed to get a good distance away from the quickly-spreading destruction you and the Witch of Doom had left in the wake of your fight, holding up in a motel for the night while your legs healed up. Your stompers aren’t back to 100%, but hey, whaddya gonna do? This isn’t preschool, you aren’t gonna have the luxury of a hospital stay every time you’re grievously injured. The most you get is a halfway decent bed to rest on and a couple hours to try and Kill Bill ‘Wiggle your Big Toe’ your legs back into working again. Except there was no creepy director around to get closeup shots on your feet or choke you with a fucking chain when no one else wanted to film the scene. Anyhow, like you said, your gams are still a bit iffy. You didn’t really have anything to bandage them with, but the pants of your God Tier already come with free leg-wrappings, so you just ended tightening those up a fair deal, which seemed to do the trick.

And so now you wander the noisy streets of Owl City, wracking you brain about how the fuck you’re gonna get back to the others. The memories you have during your stretch as an emotionless husk are a little foggy, but if memory serves you right, the last time you were with your group, Jason had told you to run while he fought with that Douche of Life guy and some other jackass who’d cornered you. You’re having a hard time recalling what Land you were on when all this went down, something along the lines of Friendly and Trash, but it’s not like going back there would do you much good anyhow. You doubt the team would stick around looking for you after you didn’t turn up in the first day trying to reconvene. They could be just about anywhere by now. Suppose you’re just gonna have to try and find them with brute force, tearing through every Land in this absurdly large Incipisphere. And if that doesn’t work, well… you’ll cross that bridge when you get there. You made fun of Jason for it a while back, but maybe asking for directions might not be the worst idea in this situation. Your group has likely been getting around in the Arena, and let’s just say it’d be hard to miss those jerks in a crowd. Maybe someone’s seen them around? That’ll be plan B if your search turns up dry. For now, you walk.

“Can you believe this?” One of the owl consorts sitting at a street-side cafe hoots. You look over to see him and two of his feathery friends sat at the diner stool chairs by the bar, all looking up to the box tv hung above the barista’s workplace. Glancing in, you find that the afternoon news is broadcasting footage captured at the battleground from your Strife with Ephyrs the previous morning. Turns out that fight was in the AM, you’ve since found out. “Of all the days that blasted Augury were to be fulfilled, it had to be today…”

“You had that meeting this afternoon, right? The one at corporate?” The bird to his right asks, glancing at his friend. A headline comes across the footer of the news, saying in scrolling words;

‘Vast Rescheduling finally ensues as Prophecies predicted’

 

“Sure did.” The center one nods. “All my notes were in my office at work, and wouldn’t you know it, Prozax’s ink department was smack dab in the middle of it all. Three months of planning for that presentation. All down the drain.”

“I hear you.” The left bird sighs. “I’ve already ended up rescheduling half my calendar trying to account for time delays. I’ll probably have to end up scrapping this entire quarter’s agenda based on the way things are going.”

“You Prozax boys are too pampered.” The one on the left chimes, taking a sip of his latte. “All that’s gonna get filed under collateral anyway. A salaryman has no idea of the woes this poor freelancer’s felt.”

“Ah cripes, cry me a river why don’t you.” The middle groans, taking a bite from his pie.

“Yeah, boo-hoo for the poor outsource consultant with the six-figure paycheck.” The one on the right laughs.

“I’m serious fellas! I don’t think I’ll ever be able to financially recover from this. Especially since my apartment got caught in all those runoff fires. All my equity, gone in the blink of an eye!” The left one squawks at the other two.

“Oh?” The right one sarcastically prompts, leaning back to speak directly to the one on the left. “Then shouldn’t you be hurrying along to that Four O’clock conference? Since your finances are gonna be so tight.”

“Nope. The client canceled.” The left one sighs while crossing his wings. “Said their liaison was on the other side of the Deep-Heights district when everything went down. Apparently it’s expected to be a seven hour detour to get around all that mess, coming and going.”

“What the hell even happened, anyhow?” The middle comments, looking back to the TV. “All those reports about the Rescheduling and no one even got a good look at what caused it? It’s like a hundred different districts just started exploding all at the same time.”

“You know what? I bet my bottom boondollar it has something to do with what’s going on in LOFAC.” The left one comments.

“Why, what’s happening with the Snakes?” The one of the right disregardingly laughs.

“You didn’t hear?” The left asks back. “They’ve finally gone to war with the Mongeese. It was announced just last night.” Guess word travels fast in the Medium. You wonder how Haddock and the Muzzle’s Grip are holding up.

“Get outta town.” The right gawks in surprise.

“Swear on my favorite feather.” The left says, holding up his wing like he’s swearing-oath.

“Where do you hear all this malarkey, anyhow?” The middle asks, pulling out a small consort sized phone. “There’s nothing in the social feed beside the Vast Rescheduling right now.”

“I’ve got a contact on LOHRAC, they drop me a line every now and then with some juicy info.” The left owl brags with confidence.

“No kidding. Don’t tell me it’s that Lizard gal you were seeing way back when. The-, the one with the Frilled Neck?” He gestures his feathers around his throat.

“You dated a Frill Neck?” The right asks, baffled. The left one gives him a single confident nod. “Shoot, how in the hell did you put up with those High-Rise schmucks?”

“They ain’t so bad once you get past the conceitedness.” The left one shrugs.

“Hey, is all that true with how they can shoot blood from their eyes?” The middle asks. As you eavesdrop on this probably meaningless conversation, you notice the cafe menu board hanging up next to the television. Only ฿10 boondollars for a coffee? Hot damn.

“Hey, can I get an espresso?” You ask, leaning over the short trio of consorts to speak to the barista. “Double shot. Hold the seeds.” You tack on as you place the appropriate payment on the counter. It’s been a hot minute since you’ve last opened up your Porkhollow, and you’ve still got hundreds of trillions left in reserves. The coffee-artist takes the payment and goes to work.

“No, you’re thinking of Horned Lizards, Tom. Those fellas are from LOSAC.” The left corrects as he shakes his head.

“How’s it going boys.” You say, sitting down next to the consorts in the free stool at the bar just to the right of the group. “Tough day at the office?” You hadn’t realized, but there was a fair bit of mist raining down in the streets of LORAC, and it’s only until you’re under the slight awning of the cafe chairs that you feel dry.

“Yeah, you said it.” The owl on the right sighs. “Probably gonna be the last free lunch-breaks we get for the next decade.”

“It’s gonna be pandemonium for the rest of the week. Hell, probably the next dozen.” The middle comments, taking another bite of his pie. “I’d say I’d come in on the weekend to try and catch-up but I’ve got no office to work in anymore.”

“Maybe I could take up part-time in construction…?” The one on the left ponders. “Certainly going to be a lot of work there now.”

“Please, I’ve seen you in the office gym, you can barely lift a stapler.” The one on the right jeers. “What are you gonna do on a construction site?”

“I could be a foreman!” The left one answers, defending his idea.

“Stick to corporate. It suits you better.” The right retorts.

“How about you, pal?” The one in the middle asks, leaning back to look at you. “Don’t think I’ve seen you around town. You new to the city?”

“Hell of a time to move in, I’d say.” The left one adds.

“No, just in town on business.” You tell them, glancing back up at the news. “I, uh… lost an investment here recently, so I’m not gonna be sticking around.”

“Someone stole it out from under ya, huh?” The middle asks, sounding sympathetic to your situation.

“Something like that, yeah…” You grumble, still sore over the matter.

“That’s the name of the game, I suppose.” He notes as he finishes off his pie. “Gotta be vigilant. The people around here are vultures, never know what kind of tricks they’ve got up their sleeves. You got a name then, friend?”

“Kruger.” You nod to him.

“Here you are ma’am.” The barista says, setting your cup down. You take a sip and it perks you up a tad.

“Well then, Kruger, where you headed to next?” The middle owl continues to question while handing his dish to the barista.

“Probably gonna try reconvening with a few associates.” You say between sips. “We’re partners in a, uh… startup.”

“Hey Wally, you hear that? A startup! Now there’s an idea.” The right one says to the left. “Maybe try your hand at entrepreneuring, eh? Maybe you’ll hit it big for once!”

“Sure thing, Robert. So long as you two are along for the ride with me, I’ll give it a go.” The left owl shrugs.

“Well shoot, owning my own business doesn’t sound so bad.” The right one laughs. “Beats the hell outta shuffling around my schedule for the next forty months."

“No better time than now, right fellas?” The left one asks. “I’m sure we could find something in high-demand during these hectic times that’ll need sellin’.”

“How about steel manufacturing? Or we could rent out concrete mixers!” The right owl proposes. “Probably make a mint with all the rebuilding that’s gonna be taking place.”

“What if we went interLand with it?” The left one proposes. “I’m sure my friend on LOHRAC could get me a few Connections. Broaden our scope, get a larger market going.”

“Alright, cut the nonsense you knuckleheads. Where the hell would we even find the finances to get a business off the ground?” The middle chastises the other two. You’re in the middle of counting out a tip for the server when an idea strikes you. You pause for a moment, contemplating whether or not to do what you’re thinking. Ah, fuck it. What’s the harm?

“I’ll be heading out now, but here.” You say to the group, setting a Booncase down on the counter in front of them. “Shoot for the stars, fellas.”

“W-wh-w-what?” The middle owl stammers, looking at the colorful case in complete befuddlement. “Why?!” He looks over to you as you get up and start walking away.

“Think of it as another investment, for that startup of yours.” You nod before heading off. “Be seeing you boys.” Making your way down the street, you can’t help but feel a smile creep upon your face as the frantic squawking fills the alleyway behind you, chuckling to yourself as you go along. While an entire Case is a lot of do$h, you don’t particularly mind giving away that amount of boonbucks on a whim. Like you said, you’ve still got more cash than you’d ever know what to do with. Most of it’s blood money anyway, earned from contracts you took as a Mercenary back on your own world, the Land of Misery and Warfare. So if you can help a few owls kickstart their unstoppable business empire, why not? It’s more than you were gonna do with that billion anyway.

 

***

 

”Is it done yet?” Robin asks for the eighth time in this past hour alone. You’ve been making sure to waylay your progress by at least five minutes every time she does so, just to silently spite her for crawling up your fucking back the entire time you’ve been working.

“Yeaaah.” You sarcastically nod, grimacing back at her from the workstation she ‘allowed’ you to set up in her office.

“Really?” She perks up, glancing at your labors.

“Fucking no!” You yell back, just about fed up with all this shit. Just your luck to join up with a group who not only relegates you from the leadership role that properly belongs to you, but also feels it necessary to micromanage your every move while you perform a task they can’t even begin to comprehend. “Ever been on a fucking car ride before? Asking if you’re there yet doesn’t make it go faster.”

“Watch the attitude, MacGyver.” She glares at you. “You’ve been working on this all day, I expect results.”

“You want this done? Doyouwantthisfinished? I’m giving you a gift right now, I am giving you a gift and all you’re doing is berating me as you breath down my neck.” You say, reminding her that your work is strictly voluntary and you can walk away at any time you please. “It’ll be finished when it’s finished. Learn a modicum of fucking patience, I beg of you.” She doesn’t say anything in return, just lowers her chin and narrows her eyes at you. Yeah, that’s fucking right, bitch knows she can’t say anything. Pretend-leader or not, she knows you hold all the cards on this one.

“Ahem.” LJ phonily clears his throat, reminding you he’s still here. “Can we get back to work?” He seems to ask the both of you, pen in hand, ready to continue note-taking.

“I don’t know. Can we, oh trusted leader?” You direct the question entirely to her now.

“Get it. Done.” She growls at you before leaving the room to annoy some other peon she’s suckered into working for her.

With a huff, you turn back and focus your attention on the task at hand once more, peering at your work through the Bicroscope, a custom designed microscope outfitted with two sets of eyepieces, enabling multiple people to view the same sample simultaneously. Apparently Archie alchemised this thing back in his session and had it squirreled away in his sylladex for some reason ever since. Why that little mongrel had this equipment on him is beyond you. Someone alchemizing something so purposelessly unique when they themselves have never had any use for a two person microscope or showed any interest in the field of micro-studies in the first place is weird, yes, but the odds that they also felt a compulsion to bring said device along with them to a multi-universe scale fight-to-the-death, and furthermore that this device proved to be useful in a substantial way to an individual that they are only tangentially allied with is so stupidly astronomical, it hurts. You try not to ponder too long on the statistical impossibility of things that transpire before your very eyes, but it’s getting harder and harder to ignore when they consistently happen on a daily basis. It’s like Probability overdosed while on a bender in Las Vegas, and Statistics turned to the bottle, unable to cope with the loss of anything making fucking sense anymore without them.

Anyway, you look into the stupid fucking bicroscope that some random shitheel in Hell just so happened to have with them on standby and observe the blood cell that you and LJ have been altering for the past several hours. It was taken from the sample that LJ had on his yo-yo toy, belonging to that Page Robin wants to kill so badly. According to LJ, the cell originated from a donor, some weird mutant golem creature that’s been traveling with the Page’s group as their resident blood-bag. Right now, you’re deducing a method that’ll turn this blood cell into a killer agent in the Page’s body, one that will convert the donated blood flowing through his circulatory system into a biological weapon, ideally killing him when subjected to it via a systematic Collapse of functionality in his vein highways. To do this, you’ve transplanted a single cell from the Golem’s blood into a sample of LJ’s, which allows him to make alterations to the physical composition of the cell using LJ’s psionic control over the plasma. What’s taking so long is the actual deduction part. You aren’t an expert on blood cells, so you’ve been having to take guesses with the changes you’ve been making, documenting the behavior each configuration displays and basing further changes on what you’ve deduced from trial and error, essentially hoping you get lucky with finding the formations you need to produce the desired outcome. You’ve made significant strides, however. So you can look on the bright side, knowing this grueling task you signed yourself up for in a moment of judgmental brain-death is almost finished.

“You shouldn’t do that.” LJ says as the two of you observe the blood cell, watching it clash against the others.

“Do what?” You ask, jotting down the new behavior the cell has been displaying. It appears twisting the cell into a corkscrew-like shape has caused it to spiral in a counter-clockwise consistency, regardless of what angle it bangs off the other cells from.

“Piss her off like that.” He clarifies with his eyes still on the samples. “She doesn’t take it well.”

“Oh, are we giving advice now?” You say, looking up from the ocular lenses, waiting for him to look you in the Eye. He doesn’t, opting to continue looking at the sample, pretending to study the cell to avoid a visual confrontation. You readjust your eyes to the bicroscope again, observing the blood cells. “Here’s a penny’s worth; dump the bitch, you’ll live longer.”

“I would. Truly I would, but we’re joined at the hip, me and her.” He sighs, scribbling something down in his notes. “There’s a reason they say ‘for better or for worse’.” You pause, unsure if you heard him right, before looking up from the bicroscope.

“… No… oh no, LJ no, you can’t be seriously thinking of marrying that she-devil, can you?” You ask like he’s your oldest friend making the dumbest decision of his life. And for all intents and purposes, he is. Even though you’ve only known him for less than a month, he’s probably the oldest friend of yours that’s still alive, and this is without a doubt the worst decision of his rapidly concluding life.

“Well… I figure, at most, only one of us will be making it out of here alive, if either of us survive at all.” He shrugs, actually looking up from the lenses to look at you. “So maybe the ‘death do us part’ of it all won’t be so far off. If after a few days we realize we aren’t fit for each other, even if we’re married, then… you know, no harm no foul.”

“Fit for each other.” You mockingly repeat. “You say that like it was ever a possibility between you psychos. It’s like Hannibal Lecter started dating the Tasmanian Devil.”

“…… I’m Hannibal Lecter, right-“

“Yes, you’re Hannibal Lecter.” You cut off his stupid question.

“… Is it because of the blood tasting thi-“

“Yes it’s because of the blood tasting thing!” You cut him off again. A long moment passes as the two of you observe the cell’s actions. The runic engravings you had LJ carve onto it seem to cause a particularly interesting swaying motion, you’ve noticed.

“Not to agitate, but are we anywhere close to being done with this?” LJ finally asks, between notes. “I think Robin had thought this would only be an hour or so endeavor. I’d like if we had it done before the end of the day for her.”

“We’re getting there.” You assure him, pitying your whipped friend and his psychologically ingrained need to satisfy the thing he calls a girlfriend. “We’re still missing a few key characteristics, but the sequence is almost done. We should only need a few more modifications until we get the right response."

“We’re not gonna have to do this to every single cell, are we?” He hesitantly asks.

“Fuck no. If that were the case, I never would’ve suggested it.” You scoff, getting a headache at the mere thought of how tedious that shit would be. “Ideally, this single cell will convert all the other cells we have from the Golem. Since we only have a small culture to work with, we’ll unfortunately only have enough to produce one dose of the bioweapon. Whoever we end up have taking the shot better make it count.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, actually.” LJ notes while he looks over the notepad. “We have more cells from Jason than we do the golem, why not just use his blood to make the disease instead? We’d have enough for two, maybe three shots. It’d give us better odds, and we’d have a contingency if we missed and had to retreat.”

“Aside from the fact that we’re almost done figuring out the encryption procedure for the Golem’s blood and the fact that I ain’t finna do this again?” You sarcastically ask, making it clear that this was a one time deal. “Because then we run the risk of them being able to fix him faster than the Collapse can kill him.”

“How’s that?” He raises an eyebrow at you.

“You said one of their injured had something lethal in their blood, right? Poison, venom, disease, whatever, but he was still alive?” You recall for him. Looks like you’re going to have to explain yet another facet of this plan again.

“That’s right, Creed Lederman.” He nods. “When I found his blood, I could taste that there was something in it that should’ve killed the bloke, but he was with the Page when we confronted him, still kickin’.”

“Think about it, then.” You tell him, tired of these people not being able to see the obvious. “That means they have a blood specialist on their tram. Maybe a Blood player like you, or maybe someone who knows their spit about Hematology. Either way, they have someone who’ll be able to figure out what’s happening to the Page once we get this into him. If they figure it out too fast, they could mend the Collapse before it has a chance to kill him. By using the Golem’s blood as the base, we’re creating a red herring for whoever’s going to try and fix him. Medical professionals make it a practice to assume Horses when they hear hooves, not Zebras. You know what that means? It means they assume the most likely scenario is what’s transpiring. So when they see that the Page’s blood is killing him from the inside out, is their first course of action going to be to drain him of all the O- blood he got from a donor? No, they’re gonna try to create a cure for the blood being produced by his own skeletal system. They might even crack him open, try and see what’s wrong with his bone marrow. And the best part is; in the most drastic scenario where they attempt a complete Blood Transfusion, where they drain the Page’s natural supply to try and flush the bioweapon out, the only blood they’d be able to replace it with is their resident donor’s, the Golem, only to pour more fuel on the fire, sealing the bastard’s fate. Either scenario, the important thing is that they’ll be looking in the wrong direction, right?”

“I suppose so.” He mumbles, sounding uncomfortable with this idea. Hey, it’s his girlfriend who wants this shit, he’s either gonna have to grow a pair and stand up to her if he doesn’t like it or suck it up.

“And while they’re busy working on the wild-goose-chase, trying to fix the Page’s blood, the actual cause will have already worked its magic. Ding dong, the prick is dead.” You lean back in the rickety office chair, folding your arms while more than satisfied with your work. “It’ll be like lacing a carbon fiber nanowire in a necktie. It’ll kill whoever puts it on, but no one will realize why they’re dying until they’re dead.”

“Still though, what if we miss? Only having one shot is risky.” He suggests, as if he didn’t just have the entire logic behind this explained to him, point-by-point.

“LJ, these people are a dynamic animal. They learn from what doesn’t kill them.” You explain, trying to break it down into simpler reasoning. “If we hit them with an easier-solved Conundrum, then that’s it, they have the solution. Even if we have a backup dosage we can hit them with, they’ll be able to shake it off in-stride. You never take a shot at an animal that can learn unless you’re sure you can kill it. Otherwise you’ll never get that same shot again.” He sighs, still uncertain of this relatively simple operation, anxiously tapping his notepad with his pen. “…Anyway, about the kill-shot. I’ve been giving it some consideration, and I think we should give it to Auratt. She’s a troll, so I can’t imagine she’d have much opposition to the duty, along with the added fact that she could hit a fly’s left wing from a mile out, I’d say the responsibility is best left to her.”

“Right.. I’ll run it by Robin…” He says, looking back into the bicroscope. The hell’s got him so fussy? “It seems the cell’s run through its reaction cycle. Time for another alteration?”

“Yeah, let’s try making a stronger barrier.” You agree, more than happy to ignore whatever moody bullshit has him all dour-like. You look into the bicroscope as well, spotting the modified blood cell you’ve been working on. “Thicken the cell membrane by seven-hundred-and-fifty nanometers.”

“You do realize my control over other people’s blood is only so finite, right?” He asks, slightly looking up from the lenses to glance at you.

“That’s the reason why we’re culturing the cell in a dish of your blood, is it not?” You glance at him as well. “So you can make all the micro-changes with a pinpoint proficiency.”

“Hey, that’s another thing, I don’t really see how making the cells act a certain way is really doing anything for us.” He says, changing the subject, sounding somehow protective over the blood sample. Not the furthest of fetches, though. Maybe that psychic connection somehow forged a kinship with him and his blood. It wouldn’t be the weirdest obsession some of these freaks find possessiveness over. “How are all these changes making the cell more deadly?”

“It’s all a part of the process, you’re just gonna have to trust the Science.” You assure the Mage, waiting for him to actually be useful and make the alterations and stop asking stupid fucking questions.

“Can this even be considered science at this point?” LJ asks, continuing to propose stupid fucking questions. “All we’re doing is molding blood cells like playdough. We’re not even doing it by any calculations, we’re just eyeballing it.”

“That’s what Science is.” You say, just about completely exacerbated with the ignorance of the people around you. “It’s observation, then it is adjustments. We are observing how the cells react to their alterations, then we are adjusting them further until we get the behavior that we desire.”

“The desired behavior being…?” He prompts you to continue. All you do is force your fingers through your hair, as you roughly massage your skull.

“… To kill the Page, have you not been paying attention to Anything for the past twelve hours?” You can feel your brain cells dying off by the second.

“Obviously, jackass, what I’m sayin’ is; what’s this actually going to do to Jason?” He defends his point, sounding unsure of the process. “What is the cell actually going to do once it’s in his veins.”

“It’s simple, the Golem’s mutant blood cells will act as the catalysts for mass cellular Collapse within this Jason-prick’s own blood. Since he has the mutant blood in him already, all we have to do is create an agent that will stimulate it in a way that creates an outcome we desire, and the effect will spread like a disease to the other mutant blood cells present in the body.”

“Wait, I thought what we were making was the disease.” LJ bores, falling miles behind in the conversation.

“No, what you’ve been doing with all these little tweaks to the blood is effectively programming a certain protocol into the cell via physical encryption. The protocol, in essence, will create a memetic effect among the blood cells that came from the Golem, and activate them like sleeper agents to cause damage to the Page from the inside, rattling his vein highways and churning the different organs the blood gets to, eventually finding its way the brain, which is likely when the bioweapon will kill him.”

“… So we’re going to hurt him… with memes…?” He hesitantly asks, seeming to already understand how stupid his question is this time.

“Not memes as in the internet colloquialism, memes as in the non-genetic transfer of information and behavior!” You harshly clarify.

“Wait, how is this not genetic if we’re programming it into a blood cell?” He brings up.

“Where the protocol is housed is genetic, the manner in which it’ll spread is memetic.” You continue to clarify. “The response isn’t meant to be a transference of genetic material that compels the blood vessels to act, what we’re trying to do is invoke a sympathetic response, like how you gain the urge to yawn when you see someone else yawn, or like how you start manual breathing when you’re told to by someone. That’s the difference. We’re really on the cutting edge of science here, try to keep up. Or at the very least, pretend like you understand so I don’t have to keep stopping every five minutes to explain it to you.”

“Okay, so we inject the meme into him-“ LJ begins.

“Don’t say it like that.” You dismiss. Turning your attention back down to the blood sample, you notice that LJ’s already made the adjustment. Looks more like 900 Nanometers, not 750, but at this point, whatever.

“We inject the meme into him and it seeks out the other Golem cells present in his body to infect them so that they’ll start acting out.” He surmises in a partially correct manner. “So it’s sort of like that one zombie-fungus thing with ants, right? Is that what we’re doing? We’re making zombie blood cells?”

“They’re not zombie cells. It’s more like the cell we’re programming will reallocate the other cells it come in contact with to a different purpose.” You elaborate to the simpleton. “It’s like- h-have you ever heard of Grey Goo?”

“Grey Goo?” He cocks his head to the side.

“Self-replicating nanomachines.” You clarify, scribbling down the effects of the thicker cell membrane in your notes as the runic inscriptions begin to pale in color, becoming translucent to the point of being nearly completely clear. “They eat matter and use it to make other nano-machines, it’s like the mechanical equivalent of DNA. It’s how some scientists believed we would colonize the universe, you know, before anyone knew it was a giant frog. We’re basically turning the Golem’s blood into the biological equivalent of Grey Goo, except it’s not consuming old cells to make new ones, it’s just altering how the other cells behave by making contact with them, essentially converting them to working agents.”

“Sooo like zombie blood cells.” He reiterates, completely ignoring everything you just said.

“They’re not like zombie blood cells, it’s way more complicated than that!” You exclaim, feeling yourself begin to descend into madness. “It’s a contact-based reprogramming. If anything it’s like brainwashing the other cells with a series of movements and shapes, sort of like a ritual dance that conveys the protocol that’ll activate the effect within them.”

“… So like snake charming?”

“First off, snake charmers use music, and second, that’s a hoax, the snake isn’t charmed when someone blows a flute in its face. They simply feel the vibrations from the instrument and have a defensive response, which is often misinterpreted as the snake dancing to the music.” You educate the absolute cro-magnon apeman before you. “Now shut the hell up before I blow a blood vessel.”

“That’d be a bit ironic, wouldn’t it.” He laughs. “We’re working on a blood sample to kill someone and you… blow a…” He peters off, seeing your unamused demeanor. “Right, what are we doin’ next.”

“Try morphing the ends of the cell into cones again.” You instruct, recalling the previous glow effect this formation had the last time you implemented it. Before your eyes, the cell slowly begins to sprout a horn on either end of its corkscrew shape as the plasma massages the pieces into place. As it does, a dull luminescence begins to radiate out from the clear runes carved upon the cell. “Add two more to both ends.” Customizing the cell to your specifications, LJ slowly works four more spikes onto the body. As he does, the glowing runes brighten until forming an almost aura around the body. You go to jot down the results in your notebook, but your pencil stops short when you see the cell begin to rapidly zig and zag in an upside-down triangle pattern. “Introduce an Observation Sample."

“Already?” LJ questions, driving you up a fucking wall. “Shouldn’t we test out a few more configurations before we-”

“Stop asking questions you’re not smart enough to get the answers for and just listen to the expert here.” You double down, not taking your attention off the cell on the off-chance its membrane bursts.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a real ray of sunshine?” He sarcastically derides as he sets down a microscope slide with a small sample of blood resting on it. “We don’t have many more of these in reserve. Most of the blood cells were lysed by the time I started collecting, so we can’t keep testing with them at such a frequent rate.”

“Just do it.” You say, refusing to justify yourself any further. Wordlessly, LJ rolls his eyes before hovering a hand over the sample slide. Psychically commanded, the blood begins to elongate, extending a small red vector out from its own slide to the one under the bicroscope. You watch under magnified view as a parade of blood cells march into the observable field of your slide, escorting one cell in particular towards your modified agent. Say what you will about LJ, he’s annoying, impatient, has a horrible taste in women, talks kind of funny, but he’s got one hell of a precise control over his bodily composition, able to accurately identify a single foreign cell in a sample of his blood not even housed in his own body. You can only imagine what he’d be capable of if only he weren’t a knuckle-dragging moron.

Low IQ Plebs aside, you observe as the new Subject is introduced into the theater, slowly drifting towards your Demonstrator Cell, as you’ve just named it. Once in close enough proximity, you feel a satisfied smile find its way onto your face as you witness the Memetic conditions start taking effect. Shuttering as if it were about to burst, your new cell suddenly begins to mimic the movements of the Demonstrator, following the same triangular maneuver. During this dance, the new cell shifts and morphs from the movements, its membrane calcifying into an almost exoskeletal wall, like what you’d see in plants cells, before growing a series of spikes around its circumference, transforming it into a Morning Star. After 13 consecutive cycles through the upside-down triangle pattern, the now reprogramed cell breaks off into a rapid spiral, kicking off towards other cells present within the slide, tearing into them as if it were a living blender. Your genius… it simply knows no bounds.

“Whoa…” LJ mutters, beholding the product of your efforts.

“Bingo.” You grin, looking up at him.

 

***

 

In a last minute vie for control over your relevancy in this story, you snatch the perspective back from whoever the hell’s been stealing it from you these past two days. You’re Mia Kruger once more, and you’re getting kinda sick of having to fight tooth and nail just to hold a presence in this narrative, so you think this might be the last time you try to force your way into it. If you have to struggle this much just to be included in a story you’re a main character in, then screw it. You know when you aren’t wanted.

That doesn’t mean you’ll go quietly into the night, however. You haven’t taken kindly to being so adamantly excluded from the Cosmic Relevancy up until now, so you’ll be leaving a little gift for the next bastard bold enough to swipe the perspective from you. A special kind of H/E/X for that special kind of dumbass who thinks they can silently force you out of your own story. Whoever gets the POV next, that’s their problem. And whoever takes it next can keep it, for all you care. Until that happens, you’ll keep doing what you’re doing.

And what exactly are you doing? Fuck-all nothing. For the past several hours, you’ve been traversing the city in search for your portal off-world, and aside from being Kino as Fuck, there hasn’t been any major breakthroughs. You had taken to bursting into random buildings in hopes of discovering it was actually a gateway temple, but that hasn’t really gotten you anywhere. More often than not, you were bursting in on a family of Owls just as they were sitting down for dinner. Anyway, with breaking-and-entering not working out for you, you’d decided to go back to roaming the streets, figuring you’re bound to stumble upon a portal of some kind eventually. You’re pretty sure there’s a subterranean portion of the Land too, but you’ve got no intention of making your way down there. LORAC is enough of a cluster fuck on its surface, you can only imagine the absolute travesty of a sewer system it has just beneath its streets. It’d really suck if that’s where all the portals in this Land are located, though. Oh well, that’s a regret for the future.

“So did you hear?” A consort asks their companion as they walk just ahead of you, catching your attention.

“About?” The other asks, eyes still glued to their phone as they walk.

“According to a buddy of mine, there’s going to be a pretty big auction tonight. Some crazies from LOTAN are supposed to be hosting. Super hush-hush, only the bigwigs in town are being invited.” The consort explains.

“Who in their right mind would hold an auction with everything that’s been going on here?” The other scoffs, looking up from their phone. “I’d have figured those wackos in the Cabal would be holding tight to their assets in times like these.”

“Apparently one of the higher-ups in their cult had a premonition. An ominous one, bad enough to spook their entire order. Now they’re trying to offload all their valuables into the Lands that’ve already experienced their Prophecies to try and keep the items safe.” The consort continues. Hmm… visitors from another Land…

“I don’t know if I’d consider LORAC safe at the moment… Where’s this auction being held, anyhow?” The other inquires as the two of them round a corner.

“At the Central Terminata.” The consort excitedly informs their friend. “They’re gonna be starting the auction in the middle of the night. Freaky, right?”

“Yeah, freaky is certainly a word for it.” The other huffs, tucking their phone halfway into their back pocket. “Certainly sounds like some Eyes-Wide-Shut business, if you ask me.”

“So whaddaya say? Wanna try getting in on it?” The consort offers, trying to tempt their friend.

“Are you nuts? And wind up a proud new owner of some hexed trinket?” The other emphatically rejects the idea. “I’m not about to end up some poor Antiquarian losing his mind after getting too familiar with a Cursed Crown. No thank you.”

“Aw come on, do you know how easy it’d be to recoup our losses if we got ahold of one of those Jujus?” The consort asks his companion. “They’d go for millions on the back markets, maybe more!”

“There are better ways to financial recovery other than selling your soul, Julius.” The other lectures as the two round another corner. You halt at the crosswalk of the street, watching the pair as they disappear into the crowd before turning to look at the phone you just lifted off the one Owl.

You aren’t sure when your talent for pickpocketing first developed, but over the years you’ve come to find that you’re startlingly good at it for someone who didn’t grow up on the streets. Anyway, what did they call that place? Central Terminata, right? Plugging that into the phone’s search engine, Hoogle, a page for it pops up. Some enormous train station-looking building smack dab in the middle of the city’s hub. The maps app says it’s only a couple miles south from here, too. It’s not a solid lead, but if consorts from other Lands are going to be there, then there’s probably a pretty good chance you can follow them back to the Gateway portal they take when they go home. As good of a place to start as any, you suppose.

 

Mia, make your way to the Heart of the City.

Chapter 46: > Frangere Terminata

The mist that’s been drizzling down these past couple hours has slowly progressed into a steady rainfall as afternoon drifts into night. With the amount of smog in the air, you can only imagine it’s an acid rain of some kind, so you’ve kept your hood up as you walk. This planet’s already fucked you up enough as is, no need to add damaged hair cuticles to that list as well.

It’s just pushing past two in the morning now, with all the clocks in the area shifting their hands to the 2:06 positions on their faces. You’re feeling rather ragged, having spent the entirety of the day scrambling about through the gutters of LORAC, but you’ve got a feeling your night’s far from over. It’s been about ten minutes since you made it deep enough into the Central Hub district of the city to be able to physically see Central Terminata from street level, but with how winding the alleys are on this planet, it feels like you’ve made no progress getting there since seeing it. You know what? Screw this, you’re spider-manning this shit.

Leaping into a high-jump, you just manage to grab hold of a pipe hanging a few feet above the street. Swinging off it like it’s part of a set of asymmetric bars, you fling yourself upward, latching onto an overhead walkway between buildings. Mounting up onto the bridge, you notice you’re almost to the top of one of the smaller buildings nearby. Hopping upright on the guardrail, you easily kick up off the wall and mantle onto the ledge of the roof. Pulling yourself up, you spot a fire exit leading to the roof of the next building. Climbing it like a breeze, you eventually find yourself back on top of the urban canopy of the Land, beholding a majestic sea of industrial hellscape. You mean that literally, too, since the distant fires still going from your Strife with the Witch illuminate the distant horizon, making it seem as if the entire planet were lit ablaze. You spot Terminata rather easily, as it’s a considerably larger building sitting in a cluster of smaller businesses and apartments. In addition to this, there’s also a nearby billboard that you spot with just the words ‘EZEKIEL SAVES’ written on it with a small string of what look to be coordinates printed on the corner of it, only adding to the ominous vibe currently enveloping this Land. Also, who the hell would pay for a billboard on this planet? 95% of the immediate area probably have no idea this thing even exists with how heavily obscured the airspace in the city is. Who is that even supposed to be advertised to? The one dude who’s apartment window faces it?

Regardless of the asinine placement of advertisements, you proceed forward towards your destination, able to move at a much quicker pace now that you don’t have to navigate the winding labyrinth of the street-level alleyways. You’re just about halfway there when you notice something peculiar about the surrounding area of buildings. Terminata sits at the center of a circular dip in the city, with all the surrounding buildings being only three or four stories tall as opposed to the usual seven or eight an average building on LORAC tends to have. On its own, that might seem insignificant, but what really caught your attention is the fact that there are twelve clocktowers perfectly positioned in sprawling increments at the very edge of this dip, surrounding Terminata and forming an enormous sundial, hundreds of city blocks in size. What the hell is this place?

Shaking off the creeping sensation crawling up your back, you continue onward, trying to ignore the bad feeling you have about this district in the city. Hopping from rooftop to rooftop, you eventually manage to cross the divide, arriving before the enormous tower and perching at the edge of the closest apartment complex in the surrounding structures, looking down at the crowd as they shift from place to place throughout the streets before the building. You’ve come to notice that business never really stops on this planet, with Owl consorts rushing from place to place pretty much 24/7 trying to keep up with their overly-pact schedule, no time to ever really stop for anything other than work. It reminds you of your Mother in a lot of ways. Which is to say that it pisses you off in a lot of ways. You’re gonna stop thinking about this now.

In an attempt to move on from your pathologically ingrained Mommy Issues, you go to hop down from the ledge you’re on, however, you find a moment of pause before you do. With your legs still the way they are, you should probably try to avoid any kind of superhero landings for another day or two, to avoid any further fractures. The question is then… how do you descend safely? You had been able to fly some several days ago, but you’ve since discovered that this handy ability has mysteriously vanished from your Repertoire Wheelhouse, so… y’know… that really fuckin’ sucked. You had also previously tried to get Know No Mercy to fly like Ephyrs had it doing, but as it turns out that was just a Witch of Doom power. You had a feeling that was the case, but you wanted to be sure of it. Looks like you’re just gonna have to cause a bit more property damage then. Add it to the pile, you guess.

Summoning your trusty polearm Heed No-… or you guess your trusty polearm The Raven? Instead of summoning Heed No Warning to you, your strife deck spat out one of your older armaments, The Raven, a dark feather-blade polearm with a dirty gold staff, wrapped with black leather grips that’ve a few symbolic runes etched into them. Guess your sylladex is on the fritz… Oh well, a lance by any other name, you suppose. Stepping off the building, you sink The Raven into the brick wall of the apartment as you fall, slicing through the material as you slow your descent, eventually landing softly upon a connector bridge that leads to Terminata.

With a quick jaunt across the walkway, you stroll up to the set of doors leading inside. And inside you go, discovering the interior of the structure to be a kind of government building, judging by the notably regal yet overtly bureaucratic feel of the architectural choices here. A lot of arches and marble staircases, and a metric fuck ton of intricately designed ornaments connecting the walls and ceilings. You’d swear you were standing in the holiest of God’s houses if the halls here didn’t reek of political scum. With a quiet demeanor, finely dressed owls walk about the halls with various pages and documents in their clutches, pencil-pushing their way about the place as they peddle their assumably abhorrent administrative agendas. Makes you absolutely sick.

Moving over to a nearby atrium, you find a small void in the center of the building’s tower, letting you see part of the upper and lower levels there. You glance down at the foyer below and spot an odd procession moving across the hall as they pass over a large dragonfly emblem engraved upon the center of the floor. What looks to be a group of Crow consorts parade through this area, carrying a large coffer as if it were a coffin. You aren’t a Betting Gal, but if you had to guess, you’d say these shifty figures are a part of that midnight-auction you’ve heard so much about. Just a feeling.

Vaulting over the guardrail into the atrium, you grab hold of the slight lip at the bottom of the barrier and lower yourself until you’re hanging completely off the ledge by the fingers of your left hand, holding steadfast to The Raven in your right. Once your hang there is stable, you let go, falling a short distance before grabbing hold of the guardrail on the next level down. You repeat the process once more before landing on the bottom floor with an echoing -clack- from your shoes hitting the polished granite. Now on the ground, you trot after the murder, intent on hitching a ride with the feathery flock of fiends when they inevitably go off-world.

Just before you’re caught up with the group of crows, something down a side hallway catches your eye. A wall of rentable lockers is tucked away over by a nearby exit, with a few Owls withdrawing and depositing different items as they come and go. Glancing back to the Crows, you take a mental note of the passage they take before wandering over to the lockers, pulling out the phone you stole from that one consort on your way here. You dive into the contacts and pull up the one with a little heart next to the name, ‘Rebecca♥’. Hitting the small phone button, you at first think the call won’t go through, since all you get is the idle busy tone, but after a sudden -zzz-, the ringer switches to a normal buzz.

“Neil?” The person asks when they pick up. “What’s up, babe? I thought you were going to be busy with work tonight.”

“Oh, this isn’t actually Neil, I just have his phone right now.” You explain as you insert your hollowcard into the locker’s transaction scanner, forking over the boondollars required to rent the space out. You don’t really pay attention to the amount you type in on the small screen of the keypad and end up renting the locker for the next hundred years.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. You have his phone?” She asks, put off by a stranger contacting her through her partner’s profile.

“Yeah, and I’m not sure where he is right now, so I can’t return it in person.” You explain as you open up the storage space, uneventfully finding nothing inside. “I rented a locker at the north wing of central terminata to leave it in for him. It’ll be locker…” You flick the door back to check the number on the front. “Two-eighty-five. Whenever you see him next, tell him it’s here waiting for him. The combo’ll be zero-zero-zero-zero.”

“Oh, okay, umm… bit of a lazy combination, isn’t it?” She criticizes, still sounding taken off guard by the sudden intrusion of an outsider into her relationship.

“Easy to remember though.” You shrug.

“I suppose.” She agrees. “But wait, what was Neil doing at Central Terminata?”

“Huh? Oh he wasn’t, I just stole his phone when I was passing him on the street and now I don’t need it anymore.” You promptly explain before lowering the mobile from your face.

“What?” You hear quietly asked from the distant receiver.

“Okay, bye.” You say, hanging up and tossing the telephonic device into the container unit, slamming it shut.

With that taken care of, you move on to your original goal. Getting the fuck off this planet. Hurrying down the hall you last saw the Crows go down, you eventually come to a small foyer with stairs going both up and down. Shit… You didn’t count on this. You’ve been warned about stairs before, but you always figured it was just to be mindful of dumbasses falling down them, not of their potential to interrupt your tracking of consort-gangs. Down, you guess? Yeah, down seems like the right choice.

Descending the marble steps, you’re quickly confronted with a small landing leading to a single door flanked by two old fashioned sconces. Ominous as hell, and a clear sign that down was not the right choice. Nothing ever good happens when a sconce is involved. Fuck it, you’re already here. Walking through the door, the lighting in Terminata that’d already been dimming in the section you were in because sconces don’t illuminate for shit drops off completely, going from ambiently lit to near pitch black in the room you’ve entered. Retrieving your Mother’s Antique Lighter, quite literally the only thing of value she left for you in her will, from the pocket of your God Tier hoodie, you flick a flame to life with your thumb, basking the dark dungeon you find yourself in with a faint firelight. It looks like the basement storage of an antique shop in here, with various trunks, chests, wardrobes and display cases strewn about the dusty room.

You walk about this basement area, casually examining the various artifacts left about the place in the off-chance something worth appropriating catches your eye. Phonographs, grandfather clocks, various navigational tools and maps, globes, an interesting set of silver spoons of various sizes, fine china, at least five different types of vintage lamps, fancy teacups, and painted artwork fucking anywhere there’s room for it. Man, this place has it all. Antiquing always felt like a neat hobby to get into, like a kind of poor-man’s treasure hunting, but you never really had the chance to try it out between being locked up most your childhood and the world fucking exploding. Shame. Might’ve been a bit of fun.

Continuing to peruse for a short while, it isn’t until you hear the distinct sounds of someone moving about the place that you’re shaken from your would-be pastime. Snuffing out the light, you sneak up on the area you’d heard the commotion coming from. There’s a meager form hunched before a small circle of ornamental relics, wrapped in dark robes. It’s one of those Crow consorts again, and he’s frantically looking through a chest, flinging various jewelry and religious paraphernalia out of his way as he searches like a spaz.

“Where is it, where Is It?! Oh Crone, save us. Surely they wouldn’t…! Surely! It must be here!” He mutters to himself in a panic. “Those bastards! They don’t deserve the Seventh Seed if they’d so readily give it away! The Fools! The Heretics!” Quietly still, you creep forward, aiming to get a closer look at the flailing bird from the vantage point of your shadows. However, your silent advance soon comes to an end when a sudden -creak- erupts from beneath your foot, as you press against a loose floorboard with your step. Wildly, the Crow spins around, alerted to the presence of someone nearby. “Who goes there?!” He demands, searching the dark of the room. You had hoped you could stay hidden while still concealed in the dark where you are, but you figure your cover’s blow when the Crow’s search ends while focused directly on your position in the room, and you watch as his little bird eyes widen in fear as he begins to tremble. “Mu-mu-mu… Maiden, M-mother and Crone…” He mumbles when seeing you. Okay, you should probably unveil yourself from the shadows before crow boy has a fear-aneurysm beholding your undoubtedly terrifying figure. Consorts are easy to scare under normal circumstances, so you can only imagine how frightened he must be seeing some heavily armed goliath peering at him from just beyond the light in his area.

“Hey there… little crow…” You awkwardly approach, bridging your lighter back up to spark it awake. Lifting the antique, you notice there’s a distinct fog creeping into the room, falling in from behind you. Strange… Anyway, you flick your lighter back on and in doing so, the consort falls to his knees, groveling with his beak to the ground.

“My Lady and Crone, I-I-…I beseech thee!” He bellows, pressing his palms to the floor before him.

“Crone?” You repeat, faintly insulted by the sudden brash description.

“The Cabal is in chaos! Brother Gregorio has succumbed to madness and the clergy has fallen to temptation! There’s surely no other explanation for how they could act this way.” He continues to babble, looking up at you with pleading eyes. “He and the members of our order aim to pawn off the Seventh Seed to this planet of ravenous greed as if it were petty wares to be sold upon the street corner. Please! My Lady and Crone, you must-“

“Hey, cool it with the ‘Crone’ talk, alright ya little cluniac.” You scold, starting to get annoyed by the constant insults directly to your face.

“Aah!!! A thousand pardons, my Lady, I forget myself!” He exclaims, tucking back into his grovel as if expecting to get a lashing. “Dearest Maiden, forgive this brazen sinner’s arrogance, but Gregorio’s plan mustn’t come to pass. It’s heterodoxy! Blasphemy! P-please, Maiden, with your vast power, claim the artifact and return once more to The Fell, where it might be safeguarded before the Unmaking of All Things.”

“…What did you just say?” You ask in befuddlement.

“There’s no telling the measure of ruin that might befall the realms if our holiest of sacrament is lost to us. Even if not in our care, the Seed will be safeguarded with you. Sheltered against the End of Joy and Prosperity.” Seeing that the Crow isn’t going to start making sense any time soon, you wander past him as he raves upon the floor, walking towards the small circle of goods he’d been searching through to investigate what’s got him so agitated for yourself. Among the various necklaces and golden iconography scattered about the Persian-style rug the area sits on, nothing much stands out to you in this collection of artifacts. All except for one disconcerting piece of art.

“What the hell…” You mutter to yourself as you grow closer to the painting. Leaned against the wall before you is the depiction of a cloaked figure. She stands upon a cliff looking out at a vast and misty sea, holding in one hand a glowing lantern, and in the other a great spear, who’s blade was a black Raven feather. While the face of the figure is partially obscured by the cloak they wear, through the shadow of her hood peer two emerald green eyes, beholding the sea with a cold indifference. She wears beneath the cloak a blue ruffle-frill mutton sleeve blouse and dark brown knee-length pantaloon styled pants. And though her outfit may differ from yours in appearance, the figure wears bandages wrapped taut around her legs. Is this… supposed to be you?

Entranced, you slowly reach out towards the art piece, lightly brushing your first two fingers against the paint there depicting your likeness. Upon contact with the canvas, you feel a sudden rush of energy surge out from the center of your palm, wrapping around your fingers and hand until completely engulfing the limb up to your mid-forearm with a coursing power. You’ve activated one of your abilities? But why? It wasn’t intentional, or… at least you don’t think it was. Dumbstruck by your premature casting, you observe the power in your hand, unsure of what ability it is you even summoned. As you watch the aura pulsate across your palm, you feel a strange phenomenon come over you. A kind of rhythmic knowledge starts pounding in your chest, as if the drums from the Wild Hunts of Old were channeled through your very heartstrings, thumping the ancient and ritual beat against your rib-bones. Almost instinctively, you slowly curl your fingers in, tightening your hand into a fist, and as you do, that power housed within your paw curls back down your arm, enveloping the entirety of your body as it creeps over you. Your breath cools as you exhale out, and the power hangs over you, coating your form with a buzzing static. Your eyes close so you can focus on the sensation, and as you contemplate upon this feeling, you’re able to find a calm in the storm, quelling the tingle in your flesh into an afterthought. When you open your eyes again, you come to find that your outfit has transformed, changing from that of your God Tiers into one more alike to the woman’s in the painting, disguising you as a kind of False Idol of the figure. The only difference you can see between your attire and that of the painting’s is your blouse is a Rage purple with a metal brooch of your Aspect’s symbol at your hip, and your pants are a charcoal black, bearing the pockets that’d normally be on your God Tier’s hoodie.

“My Lady…?” The Crow squawks, finally seeing you’re no longer to his front.

“What is this?” You demand of the consort, alerting him to your presence behind him.

“Brother Olivarius’s work.” The Crow tells you, hurrying to your side as you survey the painting. “Nearly three centuries old… I-is the depiction not to your liking, my Lady? I’m told Olivarius was a devout follower of yours, despite his order being devoted to another divinity.”

“Divinity?” You glance down at him. He nods.

“If my memory serves correct, he belonged to the sect on LOAEAF. He was quite renowned for his work there.” He informs you. You remain quiet, looking back to study the painting once more. “I-… I-I’ve heard tale of you appearing before members of the Cabal during times of great strife in the past, but never in all my years would I have imagined someone as unworthy as I would be so blessed as to be in your presence, and during my hour of most need as well. You heard my prayers, yes, my Lady?”

“You were praying?” You look down at the robed consort.

“I was.” He confirms, looking up to you. “After hearing what Gregorio had planned for the Seventh Seed, I was so panic-stricken, I simply didn’t know what to do. I tried to dissuade them, to show Gregorio and his followers the error in their ways, but they would not listen. With no other option, I came to this storage hall in a half-baked scheme to steal the Seed back from him and his acolytes before they had the chance to sell it, but when I saw your mural here, my mind was filled with all the memories of the stories I had heard of you. The tales of your piety towards the masses, of how you were a principled and righteous judgment goddess, one who would see the folly in the decision to give away the Seed. After that, I could do nothing but pray for your guidance as I searched, hoping you might share with me your strength in this time of trial.”

“…What’s your name, kid?” You ask, feeling a strange sense of obligation to the consort for some reason.

“Theadore. I-I am Brother Theadore.” He happily answers, smiling the most a bird can manage. You crouch down to the boy, taking his feathery hands into yours to steady the shaking in them.

“Okay, Theadore, how about this, if you promise to tell it to me calmly, I’ll listen to your problems with your brother. Alright? What’s going on here?” You offer the Crow, hoping he’s calmed down enough to speak coherently.

“It happened but a fiveday ago, Brother Gregorio had a premonition spurred on by the clashing of worlds, a proverbial ringing of the Second Bell. In it, he saw the final moments of the realms, the Unmaking of All Things, and how it would ravage the kingdoms, destroying every last thing before its path. When he woke, he said he knew then what the Seventh and Final Bell would sound like when it rang, saw how the last Bowl of Judgment would be filled.” The consort explains all with a single breath. “He refused to prophesize what he had seen in his dreams to us, keeping others from interpreting the message he had been gifted. Instead, he instructed all to act in blind faith, not in the Gods but in his own delusional ravings, with nary a divine providence to assert his claims. He became sure that the only way to save all life among the realms would be in selling the Seventh Seed to the Owlings of LORAC.”

“And this is a bad thing?” You tilt your head to the side at him.

“Very much so, my Lady.” He affirms with certainty. “Without the Seed, nothing could stop the Unmaking. To simply cast it out into the wilds of a city wracked in sin, one so mired in its own greed it can’t see the world in front of it? It spells certain doom for us all. We need the Seed to ensure the safety of LOTAN, as well as the rest of the Realms. And so even if the Cabal doesn’t have it in our possession, with you, at least the Seed will be safe, unlike how it would be here.”

“What’s this seed thing do anyway? Grow some kind of super food or something?” You inquire, finding a particular curiosity about all this nonsense.

“Not food, my Lady. Salvation.” He emphasizes. “It is said that even through the Heat Death of the universe, the Seventh Seed will make fertile again the soils of the world, spark stars to life out of vacuous nothingness, a cosmic array of nuclear giants, counteract the fundamental laws of Entropy to make new again all that has perished. The Seventh is the flowered oasis that will bloom in the barren wastes of a desert universe. To give it away, t-to pawn it like a cheap piece of lizard-art… it is Madness! My Lady, I would never be so arrogant as to believe I could ask of you a task of any kind, and yet I must! Brother Gregorio must be stopped, even if the price of doing so is the damnation of my eternal soul for demanding of you your intervention. Please, whatever the cost may be, take it from me willingly!”

“Alright, alright, ease up, Shakespeare.” You attempt to calm the bird, gripping his wings a little tighter. “I’m not gonna damn your soul for asking for help, so relax.”

“Oh, thank you, my Lady! You are too merciful!” He praises, trying to grovel at your feet again. You keep him upright, holding him back from basking on the ground. “Might this mean you will aid me in my plight?”

“Hmm… yeah, why not.” You shrug, agreeing to the request. It’s not like you have anything better to do, and if you help the little weirdo, maybe he’ll show you the way to his portal home. Plus, getting an all-powerful, mystic artifact out of the deal doesn’t sound half-bad either. “So where is this seed thing, anyway?” You ask, letting go of Theodore’s wings and standing back uptight.

“Marvelous! Simply marvelous!” Theodore celebrates, performing a happy little bird dance before hurrying down a narrow passage between the antiques in the room, prompting you to follow after. “I’ve searched the archive crack-to-crevice and could find nary a sign of the Seventh. That can only mean they’ve already brought the relic up into the theater, entering it into the queue to be auctioned. We must make haste if we are to prevent this dire folly!”

Hurrying after the Crow, your temporary companion leads you to a new door hidden by the cluttersome maze of heirloom junk that fills this basement floor. The two of you pass the threshold and enter into a dingy stairwell going up. Following the steps for a considerable amount of time, you’re brought to what you can only assume is a projector room, further diminishing your understanding of what Central Terminata is actually supposed to be. Is it a state building? An auction house? A movie theater? You’ve got no fucking idea.

Out of curiosity, you take a look through the small projector window, out at the large theater in the room next to yours. Before you is a sprawling gallery, maybe three or more balconies tall, hosting an enormous court of owls as they all stare down at the main stage. At the center of the room’s attention there is a presentation area with a small podium to the side, with a Crow consort behind it, presenting the item currently up for auction. The artifact there looks to be a jade colored egg, with its bid currently at ฿5.8 Million Boondollars.

“Hey, is that the seed?” You ask Theodore, still looking out the window. With a look of dread on his face, Theo joins you at the rift, breathing a sigh of relief once he does.

“No, the relic there is the Imperial Birthing Vase.” He gladly informs you, looking down at the scene. “The Seventh Seed must still be backstage. Fates willing, we’ll arrive there before they decide to exhibit the piece, but I’m afraid we must hurry. I’ve no idea what order the items auctioned will be in.” Briskly, the little crow hops down from the crate he had crawled up to see out the window on, moving to the door on the other side of the room. “I believe the passage down the neighboring hall will take us to the exiting lobby, but from there, I’ve nary a clue which way leads behind the curtains. It’s possible the entryway there could be plainly seen, however I fear our time may run short if it isn’t. In either case, we’ll need to find our way around the theater’s auditorium. I know your holy domain to be Judgment, my Lady, but your portfolio wouldn’t happen to extend to Directions as well, mayhap?” He asks, the tone of his voice growing higher as the question goes on, as if trying to mask behind a guise of innocence the fact that he basically just asked you if you were a divine GPS.

“You’re in luck, Theodore. Because I mayhap, indeed.” You affirm his presumptuous guess, confident in your brute-force style of navigation. “Which is why we’re going to skip finding a way around entirely. Here, hop into my hood.” Kneeling down beside the projector window, you offer up a small pocket of cloth within your cloak for your crow friend to ride in, tucking The Raven in next to where he’d sit in the hood so he has something firm to hand on to.

“Heavens! I could never, my Lady!” He emphatically refuses. “Someone as unworthy as I would surely-“

“Listen, Teddy, you’re going out the window either way. I can either toss you out over the balcony or you can jump into the hood and I’ll carry you. The choice is yours.” You say, shutting down the ‘humble servant before god’ routine he was falling back into.

“Right away, ma’am.” He quickly agrees, now hurrying back over to you by the window and scurrying up into your cloak. Taking a moment to situate himself in the cloth, he eventually settles and looks back to you. “Um… r-ready, my Lady.”

With the Consort’s go-ahead, you crawl out of the projector room through the hole in the wall, creeping into the next-door theater as you scale the walls there up towards the ceiling of the assembly hall. The higher up you go, the harder you have to grip the walls to keep from falling off them, however thankfully for you, the ceilings here have extensive decorative plaster designs carved all along them, making for a much easier to grab onto surface. Finding yourself at the zenith of the auditorium, you continue to scurry along, crawling completely upside-down now as you hang over the crowd of unaware auction-goers as they raise their bid-signs and call out numerical offers. Eventually you make it halfway across the roof of the room, reaching the small rift in the ceiling that leads into the rafters letting out into the tension grid of the theater. Now able to stand up right on the support beams here, you get back onto your feet and begin to balance your way over towards the more steady walkway up ahead.

“How you holding up, boy?” You ask your feathered backpack as he trembles within your cloak.

“Fine! Yes, perfectly fine!” He squawks, sounding the opposite of fine.

“Hang tight then. We’re almost to the catwalk.” You assure the crow, slightly quelling the fearful shaking in him. Hopping up onto the walkway and setting down on stable ground, you navigate the rafters above the stage until you find yourself hovering over the fly loft of the theater. Glancing down, you’re able to peer backstage, spotting a number of consorts moving and sorting an assortment of chests and crates about the place, likely organizing the auctioned goods as they get them ready for pickup by their buyers. “You think the seed thing is down there, then?”

“It must be.” He nods, looking over your shoulder with you. “With how significant of an artifact the Seventh is, the audience would’ve been in an uproar upon its appearance on-stage. For the most part, they’ve kept their chatter to a dignified murmur between bids, which can only mean that the Seventh has yet to be brought up for auction.”

“Makes sense.” You agree. “So, how you wanna steal this thing?” You’re no stranger to covert ops like this. You can’t recall how many retrieve-the-package type missions you had to go on when the griffins of your world lost a couple pounds of uranium, or when one of their president’s daughters got kidnapped. Thinking about it now, that’s probably where you got your spider-climbing skills from, with how often you’d have to scale in and out of towers and bases unnoticed for payload retrieval.

“Steal? Surely you needn’t.” Theodore disagrees. “All you need do is present yourself before the order and demand they turn the Seed over to you. Gregorio may be a madman, but he’d have to be a complete fool to think he could defy the demands of a deity.”

“All above board, huh? Lame.” You sigh, removing The Raven from its place in your cloak. “Cmon then, let’s get down there.” Grabbing hold of a rope in the rigging system, you slash through its fibers with your polearm and step over the edge of the catwalk, using the severed line to slow your fall.

“That leaves the Gentleman’s bid at ฿14-and-1/2 million. Sold.” You hear from the speakers in the auditorium as you descend. “And so we move now to Lot #13, previously left blank on the catalog for this evening, we present a considerable item and centerpiece within the Cabal-“ As the auctioneer continues on in his announcement, a sudden commotion breaks out in the theater, causing you to glance out on stage. You can’t entirely see what’s happening with the angle you’re at, but you just manage to spot one of the crow consorts as they wheel a glass box on a podium out toward the center of the presentation area. “The Seventh Seed, sacred relic belonging to the Land of Toil and Noise. We open this at ฿100 million. Already, to the Madam in Red, that’s ฿105 million. ฿110 mill- ฿120 million-” He continues on as the bids roll in.

“We’re too late…” Theodore whispers to himself from within the cloak, a palpable tone of defeat in his voice.

“Not until he bangs that gavel, we’re not.” You inform your passenger as you approach the floor. From within the hood you feel the crow grip tightly to your shoulders, worried but confident in you. As the rope continues to lower you down to the backstage area, you’re just about to set foot against the wooden flooring of the platform when your descent suddenly halts in a -snap-, your legs dangling a foot or so above the ground. It appears your rope has reached the end of its length, just short of your destination. In the split second after the sudden stop, before you have the chance to let go, something on the other side to the rope -snaps- as well, and your line begins to pull you back up at a rocketing speed. “Shit!” Is all you manage to exclaim as you’re flung up and over the rigging system, taking out a series of likely delicate instruments in the fly loft as you crash through the systems there, causing a few of them to partially collapse in your plummet back down.

Seeing the oncoming stage quickly approaching as you fall, you slash The Raven through the air before you, summoning a dark rift to appear in your path. Falling through the portal, your form is temporarily shrouded in a shield of black feathers as you pass its threshold. You’d forgotten since it’s been a while since using the weapon last, but The Raven certainly comes in handy for mid-air saves like the one you just required. Something about the murder-bird aesthetic of the weapon grants it a kind of anti-gravitational magic. It doesn’t let you fly, per se, or even really slow your descent in any substantial way, but cloaking yourself in The Raven’s feather-constructs does soften any impromptu crashes by a very large margin. So while you still land at terminal velocity, it doesn’t completely shatter your already-broken legs like it should’ve.

Slamming down centerstage, you remain crouched there a moment before straightening back upright, slowly and methodical-like. It’s something you used to do to try and look cool when you were a kid after accidentally falling, but you’ve done it so often, it’s practically habitual whenever you get up from the floor, despite how goofy it can look at times. Tilting your attention up, you face the hoard of owls as they stare back at you in shocked surprise. And not without reason, as your trip into the rafters violently knocked loose a good few pieces of scaffolding and light fixtures from their position in the ceiling, causing them to swing wildly about the air, partially suspended by still intact wires, or fall completely, smashing into the stage below. Due to the sudden loss of stable light fixtures in the theater, an unsettling ambience has settled within the auditorium, as all eyes seem to focus on you, waiting in bated breath to see what else you do. In the midst of your awkward staring-contest with an entire arena, you notice that the same mist that had appeared in the basement storage has once again creeped up behind you, funneling out into the crowd on the ground level. After a moment beholding the anomaly, a strange thumping pumps through your chest, and you have a realization. Similar to how your powers activated when you made contact with the painting, it appears this mist is also an extension of your illusory magic, subconsciously called forth by what can only be a glitching ability of some kind.

“What’s happening?” Theodore whispers from within the hood. Oh good, he’s still tucked in there. You’d thought you might have lost him in the crash.

“Shh.” You hush him. Turning around to the presentation area on stage, you see the auctioneer crow as he cowers behind his podium, attempting to hide. There were two security owls-guards flanking the case containing the seed who’ve fallen to the floor, most likely frightened in the fiasco you caused. You stroll up to the case and as you grow closer, the two guards scurry away while still on the floor, giving you a wide berth in your approach. Able to see it up close now, you find that the dim lighting in the room has glinted the glass of the Seventh Seed’s container, but you can see the outline of the item rather clearly, looking like a perfect sphere on a pillow pedestal. You look a moment for some kind of clasp on the case or some other way to unlock it, but not seeing anything, you instead opt to simply slice it open. Raising your polearm, you slash the top of the glass case off with a concise strike, evoking a few gasps from the audience to ring out after having witnessed such violent actions. With its top off, you reach into the case and-… what the hell? “……This is a pool ball.” Pulled from what remained of its container, you held the ‘seed’ in your hand, expecting some ancient relic of immense power to be in your grasp. Instead all you hold is a single billiard, the 7-ball to be exact. “Teddy, what-“

“What in the Quarter-Hundred Realms is going on here?!” A shrill voice erupts before you can get an answer from your backpack. Looking over, you see a crow consort in fancy green robes come storming out from behind stage, confronting the scene you’ve created. “Put that down at once, you godless nullifidian! Guards, seize the intruder at once! Who do you think you are, raiding our sanctuary like this?”

“Uh… the Crone?” You gesture to your outfit, figuring it should be obvious enough who you are. Theodore seemed pretty convinced, at least.

“You’re the-“ He begins to shout, but quickly drops an octave when he hears what you had said. “Y-y-you’re the Crone…?” He asks, nearly curling into himself.

“Ah, right. Probably don’t recognize me without this.” You mutter, digging around through your pocket for your lighter. Fishing it out, you spark up a flame, presenting yourself as you’d seen in the depiction of the crone-lady in her painting.

“Aah-!” He exclaims upon seeing the complete likeness. “U-uh, t-t-to what do we owe such an h-honor as glorious as being visited by t-t-the Goddess of Judgment, dearest Maiden and Crone?”

“Oh, well I was in the neighborhood.” You nonchalantly explain. “Figured I’d stop by, pick up some milk, eggs, this thing.” Holding up the 7-ball for emphasis, you can hear an audible -gulp- escape the crow when he realizes your intentions.

“I see. W-well, unfortunately, we’ve already allotted the Seventh Seed to Central Terminata for registered auction, in-in-in accordance with the revelation of the Final Dream.”

“Suppose that makes you Brother Gregorio, then?” You ask, seeing that this crow seems to be in charge.

“No. That would be me.” An arrogantly-reverent sounding voice calls from behind you. Turning to face them, you watch as an unusually tall consort strolls down the rightmost aisle in the theater and saunters up a side staircase, onto the stage. “Maiden, Mother and Crone.” He addresses you as if impressed at your mere existence. “You humble us all with your presence. Yes, Brother Bartholomew here is not the one you seek, simply our honored Curator. I am the one the call Gregorio.” Dressed in a regal black cassock with a golden trim, adorn by a crimson red ferraiolo, the ‘one called Gregorio’ presents himself before you on stage. Looking at him up close, you can see that he’s nearly as tall as yourself, standing at 5’4’’, maybe 5’5’’, compared to your 5’9’’.

“Well, well, well. The man of the hour.” You greet the Crowdinal. “I had a feeling you’d be around here, somewhere.”

“To what do we owe the glory of your presence?” He asks, clearly perturbed at your sudden divine intervention. Who does this mortal think he is, walking around with this much insolence towards the Divinity?

“Nothing special. A little birdie told me that you were planning on selling this bad boy.” You state as you toss the 7-ball into the air, playing catch with yourself. “So I figured I’d come and take it off your hands for you.”

“You cannot.” He dismisses. You cock an eyebrow at him. “I’m afraid I simply won’t be able to allow it.”

“Is that so…” You shift out your jaw.

“Apologies, your holiness, however it’s imperative that the Seventh Seed be entrusted to the fine citizens of LORAC on this day.” He ambiguously explains, resting his hands behind his back in a poor attempt to seem like he’s confidently in charge of the situation. “It is with great reverence that we express our gratitude to you, indebted that you would take such a concern in our affairs, however the placement of the Seed in this Land has been decided with much forethought. To prevent this from transpiring would be a foolish error.” Is this douchebag seriously trying to big-time you right now?

“So I am a fool, then? You believe to know better than I?” You ask, putting on a fake indignation, pretending that you’re surprised a mortal could be this arrogant. You’ve been living with mortals all your life, you’re in no way surprised one would be prideful enough to come face-to-face with what they thought was their God and still tell them to butt-out.

“I would never be so presumptuous.” He smugly dismisses. “I simply mean to say that I’ve carefully planned out this arrangement in accordance with the revelations bestowed upon me in my vision. The call for it being on LORAC was prophesied by the veil itself to me.”

“Yeah, I’ve gotten pretty sick of prophecies as of late. So I think I’m gonna take this with me anyway.” You casually explain to him how this exchange is going to go, holding the 7-ball out for him to see.

“The Seed’s placement upon LORAC is crucial.” He reiterates, sounding more firm in his demands. “Return it. If you would.”

“Come take it, then.” Your dare, holding out the ball for him to make a grab for, flaunting the catch-22 you’ve proposing directly to his face. His disposition visibly sours, no longer able to keep the priestly composure he had retained up until now.

“…The arrogance-“ Before Gregorio has the chance to go on whatever ecclesiastic-dogma rant he was just teeing up, you give the tallboy a firm caning on the skull, smacking the staff of The Raven against the top of his head. "Gah!"

“The Crone has spoken.” You declare as he collapses to the floor, a small stream of blood trickling from his forehead, rolling off his beak. Hm. That… probably didn’t kill him, you don’t think. Was the hit gratuitous? Maybe, but hey, what’s the point of being a god if you can’t smite a pompous mortal or two every now and then. It’s all a part of the natural order of things, keeps em in line.

Moving over to the edge of the stage, you hop down into the house section of the theater, causing a few owls in the nearby seats to jump slightly, worried that they were next on the chopping block for a world-class whipping. You give the birds no mind and start making your way to an exit door. Entering into one of the middle aisles, you swear you could hear a pin drop with how quiet it is in the room. There are a few murmurs here and there, some wondering if this is all apart of some performance, others questioning if the auction would be able to continue once things settled or if the previous sales would be honored if they had to shut down, one or two questioning if any other Gods were scheduled to appear on tonight’s program. Finally making it to the back of the room, you reach the exit out and are about to walk through when you hear a call from back on stage.

“Crone!” Gregorio calls. Glancing back, you find the crow still on the ground, propping himself up on an elbow while holding his head with his other hand, letting the blood from his injury coat his feathers. “You shortsighted, vulgarian fetish! You will rue this hour when the time of reckoning falls near… Blood!” He holds out his red-stained wing for you to see. “The Seventh and Final Bell will be Blood. And it will drown us all… That is what I have seen. Go forth, you uncouth philistine, for the Bowl will spill unto thee same as us.”

“.........Neat.” You shrug, turning back and exiting the theater.

Leaving behind whatever the hell that whole fiasco was, you enter out into a foyer back into the political-looking part of the building. As you move through the halls, there’s an almost skip to your step, feeling a kind of satisfaction in your accomplishment. You look down at the 7-ball in your hand and marvel at your simple prize. Could you have simply placed a bid and bought it at the auction? Easily. You’re a trillionaire without a need for money, you could’ve out-bid any owl in there. Was convincing an entire room that you were their vengeful deity and having them let you take it better? Undeniably so. All-in-all, it was a pretty fun Side Quest you just went on.

“Is it okay to come out now, my Lady?” You hear a muffled voice murmur from your cloak.

“Holy shit!” You exclaim with a laugh, realizing Theodore’s still in your hood pouch. You had almost forgotten about him. “Yeah, come on out, little guy.” Kneeling down, you allow your crow companion to slither out of your drapings.

“You’ve secured the Seed?” He asks while turning around to face you, his talons clicking against the marble floor as he waddles in place.

“That I did.” You say, showing off the billiard to him. “So this thing is really the crux of your religion, huh?”

“Not the entirety of the Cabal, but the orders on LOTAN revere it as God-Flesh.”

“That’s pretty cool. The people of my world would play a little game with it where you’d hit one ball against another couple of these things to knock them into a hole.” You tell him as you look over your newly claimed goods.

“… You are truly a mighty and fearsome goddess, my Lady.” He says, baffled by what he’s just heard.

“Preciate that, Teddy.” You pat him on the head. “Now, you mind if I ask you a favor?”

“Anything!” He emphatically agrees. “I am forever indebted to you, dear Maiden. Do you wish me to erect a cathedral in your name upon my world? Or start a coven to pay forth tribute to you?”

“Not particularly. I’m just looking for a portal off the planet.” You clarify before he starts suggesting child-sacrifices. “You crow guys came from Lotan, right? Any idea where the portal back is?”

“Oh! Well if it’s a route to LOTAN you want, I can certainly help with that.” He informs you, his already bright expression illuminating 2fold. “The established portal leading there on LORAC is on the other side of the planet, but I can program a Concretion Portal to my monastery for you. Please, follow me!”

“Sounds adequately acceptable.” You say, following after the crow as he trots through the hall. Weaving through the sizable crowds of owls still going about their business, your consort guide brings you across what feels like the entirety of the building, eventually leading you to an almost exact brick-for-brick replica of the Terminal at Grand Central Station. You’re a bit put off entering into the room, as you’ve been to the Station what must be a half dozen times in your childhood. Your Mother, whenever the usual sitter was unavailable to watch you when she had to leave town, would bring you along on her business trips. On the ones to New York, Grand Central was the one part of the city besides the hotel room that you actually spent a significant amount of time in, waiting for your train to arrive. Looking around, the only real difference you notice between here and the real thing is the constellations painted on the ceiling. They’re completely different from the ones on Earth.

“Look, there you are.” Theodore says, pointing towards where Orion would be in the mural. In its stead is the Crone, her lance and lantern in hand in a similar position as the huntsman giant. This is… weird. Like some fucked-up dream you’ve just stumbled into.

“Yeah…” You hum, looking at the depiction with an unusual discomfort. While you’re in the midst of an existential funk, feeling as if you’d been placed in your own shadow, Theodore leads you to the desk at the center of the room.

“How might I help you sir?” The owl-clerk asks your crow.

“Requesting Portal usage.” He answers. “Destination set; St. Venunum Monastery, the Land of Toil and Noise.”

“Understood.” The clerk nods, typing something into their terminal. “Gate 13 now available. Please make your way there in an orderly fashion.”

“Many thanks.” Theodore nods, looking to you before moving off to the side of the room, where the ticket booths should be. Instead, you find a stone Gateway portal in its place, which for some reason further deepens your uneasy feeling being here. Like you desperately need to find a way out. The fuck is happening? You having a panic attack or something? “Well, this is it.”

“Huh?” You look down at the crow, doing your best to snap out of whatever’s happening with you.

“I have a few affairs I must attend to here on LORAC regarding the Cabal, otherwise I would gladly join you in your journey to my home.” Theodore tells you while messing with the portal, turning it from stone grey to a shining white. “Even if we aren’t to meet again in the foreseeable future, I do hope to one day be blessed with your presence once more, my Lady. And I wish you luck in whatever venture you seek on LOTAN.”

“Thank you, Teddy. You’re like the second coolest Consort I know.” You tell him. “The first is a pirate, so it’s some pretty stiff competition.”

“I can’t express the jubilation I've felt hearing you say this.” He smiles, pressing his wings together in front of him. Seeing him standing there like that, he reminds you of someone you used to know. But you can’t quite place who. You feel… sad, you think.

“Take it easy, Brother.” You tell him, reaching out to touch the portal. He simply bows before you, sending you off. While not the focus of your attention in this moment, you spot something strange about the portal from the corner of your eye. Just as your hand makes contact with the energy construct of the gateway, the light it emanates shifts from a stark white to a light green. Too late to pull away, you vanish from the world of Regimen and Clocktowers.

 

***

 

As you appearify into your new environment, you feel a kind of soft summer breeze blow by you, alerting you to the fact that you’ve been transported outside. Looking about the place, you find a rather familiar landscape surrounding you. That of an extensive grassland suspended in a constant state of sundown. This isn’t LOTAN, you’ve been here before. This is the Land of Savanna and Dusk. How in the hell did you end up here?

It’s quiet here. Eerily quiet. You don’t trust it. Feeling like this could be some kind of trap, one where another God Tier has rerouted your Gateway portal mid-transit, you break out into a sprint, racing through the open fields, looking for some form of cover. You aren’t sure of what’s going on, but in the case someone actually did bring you here intentionally, you want to make sure no long distance shooter will be able to get a line-of-sight on you.

Glancing back as you run, you peer over your shoulder, searching for a glint or some kind of tell of a marksman hidden on the horizon. The search is cut short when you feel the ground beneath you disappear, as it appears you’ve run straight off a cliff at full speed.

Whipping your attention back around to address your fuck-up head on, you assess the situation as best you can in the middle of a fall. It seems like the portal you took placed you on some kind of plateau, and you’ve just reached its edge. With just enough time before impact, you drag The Raven across your body, slashing a dark rift into your direct path. Passing through the rift, you’re bathed in a shroud of feathers, and you go slamming down into the ground at the base of the cliff.

With a few heavy breaths, you calm yourself into a battle-ready composure, looking out to your surroundings once more. Expecting some form of ambush lying in wait for you, instead you’re presented with… a… carnival? Bright lights sparkle throughout the valley below you, coming from the countless games and rides and tents spread about the place, sprawling across a huge portion of the Land. Moving around through the fairgrounds are small Moose consorts, going from attraction to attraction. That’s weird. Weren’t the consorts on LOSAD lions or hyenas or some shit? You don’t remember seeing any moose on this planet the last time you were here. What’s even more weird is the large number of pumpkins strewn about the place. Like, a lot of pumpkins. Some as small as your fist or as big as a minivan, the patch extends for what must be miles in each direction. It’s a regular harvest festival up in this bitch.

“Quite the peculiar night, isn’t it?” You hear someone ask from off to the side, slightly above you. Instantly, you’re facing the source of the voice, polearm at the ready. Sitting upon a moderately sized boulder a short ways away is what looks to be a girl, casually looking out at the festivities down below with you. From her position on the rock, her silhouetted form looks as if it were blending into the void of this Land’s darker roofed sky. She’s a weird one, paper-white skin with a set of platinum white locks that almost twinkle like starlight. Leaning back with her palm pressed against the surface of the rock, she holds in her free hand a martini glass. Still looking at the fair, she takes an elegant yet thoughtful sip, and a slight breeze blows through again, causing a long pink and purple scarf around her neck to drag in the wind behind her. “Good evening, Madam.” She says in a playfully formal manner as she looks over at you, giving you a friendly smile. Well… this can’t be good.

 

Mia, greet this New Character.

Notes:

And on this day, the people will eat of the Turkey, as it shall be good. And on the morrow will they spend their hard-earned gold upon the luxurious artifacts of life, and it shall be less good, but still 30-60% better than it usual would be.
(Happy Thanksgiving and Black Friday!!)

Chapter 47: > Tui Meminero

The tension in the dusk air weighs heavy over the moment as mystery-girl remains before you, sitting confidently upon her boulder, not in the least bit fazed by your clear signs of aggression. The distant sounds of tilt-a-whirls and swing rides running fill the ever-setting skies of LOSAD as the two of you stare one another down, you waiting for her to make a move and her waiting for god knows what. Still watching you, the girl takes another sip from her martini, as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Greet this new character? You glare at her a moment, before dropping your guard and walking away.

“Nope.” You say to yourself as you march down a dirt path, making your way to the fair. You’ve had enough of these freaks turning up with all this overly-theatric titillation bullshit, like it’s some kind of monumental character reveal pivotal to your story. Who the hell do they think they are, emerging from the forest like they’re the king of the god damn fairies, thinking they just get to suddenly show up and be important to the plot without warning? Fuck that and fuck them. You’re the one who decided who’s important to your story, not every other schmuck who comes fumbling down the road.

“Aww, what? Are you for reals?” The stranger asks like the whiny teenager she probably is, upset you won’t engage with her dramatic introductions. “I’ve been waitin’ here all mysterious-like for like ten minupes!”

“What…?” You glance back, seeing she’s broken character. The girl no longer confidently sits on her rock anymore, instead leaning on her hands and knees to see you as your dirt path has taken you partially out of view from her perch. “Why?”

“Fer like, gamesome intrigue!” She defends. “U’re not the least bit curious about the sexy dame revealin’ herself from the shadows to you? No -gasp- who’s that bangin’ babe, an what is she all about? Nothin’?”

“I’ve had my fill of mysterious strangers and certain onlookers this week, so you’ll have to forgive me if I find it hard to feel enamored when you weirdos keep popping up from outta the woodwork every five feet.” You say, quickly dismissing the insane person.

“Man, that’s heckin’ rude.” She pouts, crossing her arms. “Rejecting the m’sterious intrigue is one thing, but name-calling is just bad mammers.” As the troublesome girl speaks, you notice that she’s slurring her words a lot. Is… she drunk?

“I don’t care? Leave me alone.” You tell the girl before turning to walking away again. Why the hell do you always attract the weird ones?

“Y’know there are nicer ways to reject a laday.” The girl says, her voice popping up from right beside you now.

“Jesus!” You exclaim, jumping slightly away from her as she suddenly appears next to you.

“Y’don’t have to be so mean ‘bouts it.” She tacks on after you settle. While the startling maneuver she pulled coming out of nowhere like she did was surprising, the minor fear-reflex you felt from the jumpscare suddenly compounds upon getting a closer look at your stalker, as seeing her up close you receive a chilling realization that the creature you’ve been talking to isn’t human. The paper-white skin you’d thought was just terminal basement-dweller completion is in fact an almost alabaster void, and the platinum blond hair you thought was dyed appears to be a natural silver color. And her eyes… good lord, her eye’s. They’re like vacuous pits of nothingness. Infinite portals of nighttime, peering at you from the depths within her skull.

“What the hell are you?” You ask, suppressing the primitive urge to kill something so uncanny. Studying her even closer now, you realize for the first time that the creature isn’t wearing a God Tier like most of the other contestants in the Arena, instead sporting a set of dark-stained leather armors, a strange yet familiar curly symbol emblazoned upon its chest piece. In addition to this, you take note for the first time as well the fact that the creature has two sets of arms, a larger upper set you’d seen before, but also a smaller lower set, coming out towards the back of her ribs.

“Do you means that biolobically, categorically, or metaphysicsally?” She asks back, unfazed by your alarmed response to her presence.

“Any?” You hesitantly inquire, taking a step back from the creature, getting a wider look at her on the off chance you missed any other alien features. And as a matter of fact, you did. She has a tail, dragon-esc in appearance, with a small tuft of pink fur or feathers spreading out at its end.

“Well, judgin’ by the absolutely gob-smacked expreson you’ve got pain’ed all up on your face, I can only imagine you’re less than familiar with my genus, so that could be a fun place to start!” She tells you while crossing her lower set of arms. “I am a Dwarf!”

“Oh my god, that is… ridiculous?” You tell the creature as your head spins with how stupid what she just told you is. A Dwarf? Like from a German fucking fairytale? Does she really expect you to believe that shit? With the eerie presence this thing gives off, you’re more inclined to believe it’s a skinwalker than some stocky miner. “Like you live in a mountain-keep or such?”

“No!” She quickly denies. “I doubts my species lines up with what you’re picturin’. It’s probs just that out languages share a similar naming convention, so we haf’a few words that overlap between our speciesis, but they gots different meanings to our cultures and stuff.”

“Okay… so what the hell is a Dwarf then?” You demand for an explanation, causing the creature’s expression to brighten, seeing your interest.

“Oooh, suddenly curi’us now, are ya?” She jeers, seeing she’s got your attention. “Is the mystique of it all finally peepin’ your interests?”

“I can still very easily walk away from you.” You remind her.

“Fair enough.” She nods, promptly agreeing with your assessment. “Dwarves r’like space-fairing voidlins. Creatures able to survive the vacum of space and travel from planet to planet via a rather simplistic method of hurling asteroids at wher’ we wanna go with us still ridin’ on it. That’s about as simple as you can derscribe us as a peoples without havin’ to get into the nitty-gritty of how our culture fundumb’entally operates. Pretty great tho, right?”

“I feel like I shouldn’t comment.” You mutter, knowing how absurd being a human would sound if you described it in 20 words or less.

“See?! That was a v nice way of rejectin’ me.” She commends your accidental efforts, her smile beaming at you like the headlights of an oncoming truck. “How vry kind of you.”

“Guuuuuh…!” You moan, gripping your face. “Fuck it. What’s your name.” You begrudgingly demand, knowing you’ve already been defeated. You are currently 0/3 on avoiding the propositions of companionship made by preppy alien chicks. You swear to god, you must be cursed or something because it keeps happening!

“I, my fair lady, am Roxirainius of clan Gamma, but friends, that’s u now, usually just call me Roxi-Gamma, or Roxi-G if ur cool enough.” She introduces herself. Upon hearing the entirety of her name, you realize that the curvy symbol emblazoned on her chest armor is actually the lower case symbol for Gamma. You thought you had seen it before. Huh, funny that. “It is ever so lovely, to make your, acquaintance.” She says in a weird rhythm, taking care to curtsy with her lower set of arms using a not-existent skirt. You had originally thought the slurry speech pattern to be due to the fact that she’s intoxicated, but it dawns on you that this might actually just be how dwarves normally talk.

“Okay, Roxi. How the hell didn’t I notice you when I first landed?” You inquire, still perturbed that she managed to sneak up on you.

“I’m a void champion, dude. Tha’s like our whole schtick.” She informs you while beginning to walk down the dirt path you’d initially started on, slowly heading for the fair as well. You decide to follow after her, against your better judgment. “Yep, you’re lookin’ at the onm and only Scout of Void. Is like a super impressive designation, so I understang if ur a lil jelly.”

“Nah, sounds weird.” You shake your head, receiving a quiet ‘hm’ back. “Anyway, I’m guessing Title is what you meant when you said categorically. And you already covered biologically, but what was the third thing you mentioned?”

“Oh yeah, me-ta phys-ica-blly” She repeats with a slur. “In essence, I’m froms a universe related to ur own. Which is pe cool, since that makes us like inter-dimensional cousins or something.”

“I don’t think I follow you.” You tell her as the two of you enter into the fairgrounds. Various families of Moose consorts run about the place, carnival food in hand as they board onto different coasters or gravitrons, winning various stuffed toys from ring-toss games, arguing with carnies manning the rigged attractions. There’s an almost etherial feeling to this place as you wander through the crowded pumpkin patch, and a kind of sedating sensation begins to mellow you out as you wander further and further into the grounds.

“Yeah, that makes cents. Iz kinda this whole random absurd thing, really.” Roxi begins to explain. “Basically, like two iterations back on the ol’ universe chain, one of the peeps in charge of the reality frog process bunked up big time, and they ended up makin’ two genesis-ies at once. Not that unusual in prog beebin’, but it’s pretty typical in those cases for one of the two froggos to die from malnutrition, since the grist horbs don’t got enough to make em both fully adult. Ya know? But as it turns out, these two frogz are, like, the perfect little gentlemen, and shared the grits evenly with one another, and ration it out until they get big on their own. And so there the breebers are, with two whole ass frog-boys, dapper-dressed and ready to take on the town, and so they thought; fuck it, send em out there. So now, instead of one ultimate reward, there’s two. Just two big ass frogs floating through existence. And as fate would have it, those two frogs ended up bein’ twins. Total womb-bros, almost exactly the same, save for a few minor differences, kinda like how slime-clones get churned out.” She continues while leading you to a line for cotton-candy. “The thing about minor differences tho, iz when they get expanbib to the size of a universe, they can end up bein’ pretty glaring when comparb side-by-side. Things that happen in one universe might repeat in the other, almost like an echo from their sibling, but there’s really no guarantee what’s the same and what’s all wonky. Is like poetry, it rhymes, but like sideways. Like the cosmic equivalent of your brother kinda looking a bit like you, but still not exactly alike.”

“And so you’re from the twin universe?” You ask, starting to get the gist of what she’s saying.

“Kinega.” She says between bites of fairy floss. “I’m fromb the universe that the twin universe produced. Our parent universes were siblin’s, soz I’m from your cousin-universe.”

“That’s… hm.” You hum, unsure what to make of all this. Does something like this even matter still? It’s not like you’re still residing in that universe anymore anyways.

“As I said; is just some random absurd thing.” She shrugs, taking a sip from her drink. “Anyways… tha’s who I am, long story short. Just a Dwarf gal from a cousin-frog.”

“How do you know all this, anyway?” You ask her as you find your way to a small lake at the middle of the fair. “You’re not making it up, are you?”

“Psh. As if ya girl would lie like that. Everythang that comes outta these lovely sets of lips is one-hundred-precent fax, baby. Uncovered by yours truly, Roxi-Gamma; Roguish Truth-Seeker Extraordinaire.” She boasts, pointing to herself with the thumb of her lower right hand as she crosses her upper set.

“Uncovered?” You glance at her as she moves down towards the shorefront.

“Uuuh, hellz yeah!” She exclaims as if it were obvious. “You’d absolutely shit your pants if you knew all the crazy stuff hidden out there in the void. And when you’ve got a skill set like moi? The secrets come pouring out like sap from a freshly tapped tree, and there I am, the hungry lumberjack with a pipin’ hot plate of flapcakes, ready to slather that secret-syrup-sauce all over the place.”

“You’ve got a really weird way of saying things.” You bluntly tell the girl.

“A’thank you.” She says, sitting down on a wide and flat stone by the pond that resembles a kind of park bench. You decide to sit next to her and look out at the water. You aren't sitting long when suddenly, a flash of color explodes in the reflection of the small lake, followed by a loud -pop- and your attention snaps up, looking for the source of the explosion in the sky. Again and again, -pop- -pop- -pop-, the night sky lights up with vibrant bursts of color, as it appears a firework display is taking place. “Whoa… coolsies!!”

“Secrets, huh…” You mutter to yourself as you watch the paper bombs go off. Hearing the explosions echo through the skies above you, you focus on the reverberations they make, and the chaotic noise dominating the festivities around you fades out, replaced by a kind of sobering silence. In the lucidity of the moment, you’re given back a few of your previously abandoned mental faculties, allowing you to critically analyze the situation you’ve stumbled into. You look around, taking in the atmosphere of your surroundings, and watch as the nearby moose set up blankets on the ground, picnic style, hoping to watch the show. Why are they here again? Wait, more importantly, why are you here? Up until just a while ago, you were on high alert around this chick. Now you’re sitting with her, lakeside, watching fireworks? It feels like you mind’s in a haze right now. Like logic isn’t as rigid as it used to be. Isn’t it weird that there’s a fair going on in the middle of nowhere? “If you’re good at finding secrets, any idea what’s going on with this carnival?”

“The carnival?” She repeats, looking around with you. “Yeah, it is a bit weird, isn’ it. It’z totes fake, if that’s what you’re wonderin’. Actually, it’s because of a pretty good friend of mind, I think. Plucky little Apprentice boy by tha name'a Ohjakehsul-Tau.”

“Your friend?” You ask. Something at the back of your mind tells you to be on guard. Some half-forgotten instinct cautious of groups that might be your enemy.

“Yeah. He’d told me ‘bout ths dream he kept having once. Every night, the same thing; Moose at a carnival. Dude’s got a crazy imagination on him.” She explains, looking around still. “Not the only thing on him that’s crazy, tho, if you know what I’m sayin’. Wonk.” She blinks at you. “But yeah, the knucklehead’s probs sleepin’ around here somewhere nearbyz, and his dreamings is creating some kind of actualization field, making everything he’s seein’ in his snooze-fest real to some degree. Which… now ponderingz it, probs explains why I’m slurzin’s so much r now. And, where this bad boy came from.” She holds up her martini for you to see.

“You didn’t make that yourself?” You look at the intoxicative liquid splashing around in the glass.

“Nope! For you see, this glass is merely an illubeshun.” She waves her hand behind the glass, pretending to do some kind of magic to it. “A figment of my friend’s weird-ass dream about mooses.”

“The martini is an illusion.” You say aloud, as if asking yourself if you can really believe the stupidity going on right now.

“Has to be. I’ve been off the sauce for quite some timez now.” She clarifies. “I’m usually much more elokimbs than this, I prombiss. I guess Ohjakehsul only rly rememberbs me back when I was drinkin’. Which, I mean; fair. I was a bit of a boozehound, but still, like damn this is how you see ya girl? Tipsy as fuck with a ‘tini in a death-grip? Harsh, man.” She pauses, looking down at the alcoholic beverage. “Still though. Hard to pass up a scrumptious looking drink like this when it’s literally right in your hand, ya know?”

“Not really.” You disagree with the sentiment. “Never bothered with drinking.”

“No? Well here, takea sip.” She holds the glass out for you to sample. You hold a hand up to reject it.

“I’m also not dumb enough to accept drinks from strangers.” You explain. “Especially not when we’re supposed to be murdering each other.”

“Smart lady.” She compliments as the explosions from the fireworks peter out. “Me'thinks I’m takin' a shining' to you, Mia. You remind me of somen' I know. She’s a Smith too.”

“I-…… How’d you know my name?” You ask in the quiet after the display, realizing Roxi was the only one who’d introduce herself.

“Secrets, girl. I’ve got my way with em.” She promptly explains with a cheeky smile, putting a shushing finger to her lips.

“Right, right.” You nod. “You… remind me of a friend I knew, as well. She liked secrets too. Only she didn’t share them as much as you do.” You tell her, thinking about Jess. All the times she’d flaunt some classified piece of intel from your Land to you, forcing you to barter with her to get it back. Or when you’d break into the banks on her world and clear out their security boxes before she even got the chance to crack its vault door. The shit-talk you’d get into, ripping on one another in a way only a soldier and a spy could come up with. The pure banter the two of you would share with each other, it was golden. God, you miss her...

As you reminisce about the old days with your former ally, you inevitably recall the conclusion to your relationship with the Thief. The conclusion to your relationship with your friend group as a whole. And a kind of heaviness finds its way into your heart, like a winding pit had just formed there. You sniff hard, trying to force back the mist forming in your eyes. Damn it… Why are you… Why can’t you…!

“Hey.” Roxi says, pulling you back to the moment as she rests a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I’ve lost people too. I know how tough it can be.” She softly smiles at you.

“Yeah, well…” You pause, checking the harshness in your tone before you lash out at the kind voice trying to comfort you. “…Thank you.”

“…” She remains silent, looking at you with those endless voids she calls eyes. Except, when you look now, you see she’s got little pink irises at the center of her sight globes. Such a weird creature, she is. Suddenly, the pink dots snap up, as she looks to the sky where the fireworks had been. “Hey, take’a look at that!” You follow her instructions and look up, spotting a cascade of little specks of light as they come floating down from the heavens.

“Fireflies.” You mutter, watching them dance about the open air. After a moment swishing around in random fashion, one of the many insects flying about the place breaks off from their group, heading straight for you and Roxi. Once close enough, the firefly starts zipping in and out of the airspace around your face, instantly annoying the fuck out of you. Immediately, you go to swat the pest, but Roxi holds a hand out in front of you.

“Wait!” She claims, carefully watching the bug. “Look.” Under her advice, you look at the bug once more, noticing it’s flashing a series of blinks before you.

..- .--. / .- .... . .- -.. / .. -. / - .... . / -.. .. ... - .- -. -.-. . / .. / ... .- .-- / .- / ... .... .. -- -- . .-. .. -. --. / .-.. .. --. .... - / -- -.-- / .... . .- -.. / --. .-. . .-- / .... . .- ...- -.-- / .- -. -.. / -- -.-- / ... .. --. .... - / --. .-. . .-- / -.. .. -- / .. / .... .- -.. / - --- / ... - --- .--. / ..-. --- .-. / - .... . / -. .. --. .... -

“Oh fuk, tha’s lovly.” Roxi tells the bug as it continues to fly around your face. “So beaubifuls.”

“What is that, what’s it doing?” You demand, really having to restrain yourself from taking a swat at this thing as the stress of it constantly circling your head presses into you.

“She’s singing.” Roxi tells you, lightly clapping for the bug as she watched it fly.

“Singing?” You ask in disbelief, glancing at her.

“Yeh.” She nods.

“Singing what?” You inquire, trying to weave your head out of its flight path.

“Dunno.” She shrugs. “Song, by the sounds of it.”

- .... . -. / ... .... . / .-.. .. - / ..- .--. / .- / -.-. .- -. -.. .-.. . / .- -. -.. / ... .... . / ... .... --- .-- . -.. / -- . / - .... . / .-- .- -.-- / - .... . .-. . / .-- . .-. . / ...- --- .. -.-. . ... / -.. --- .-- -. / - .... . / -.-. --- .-. .-. .. -.. --- .-. / .. / - .... --- ..- --. .... - / .. / .... . .- .-. -.. / - .... . -- / ... .- -.--

“Well tell it to stop.” You order.

“Can’t.” She disregards.

“Why the hell not?” You demand again.

“She’s feelin’ herself right now, you can’t harsh a vibe like that!” She tells you off. Circling back around, the bug finds its way to the front of your face, slowing its fluttering as it inevitably lands right on the bridge of your nose. What. The. Fuck.

“What the fuck!” You sputter, trying to keep your eye on the insect while so close to your eye.

.-.. --- -. --. / - .. -- . / -. --- / ... . . --..-- / .... --- - .... . .- -.. .-.-.- / .... --- .-- / ..-. .- .. .-. ... / -- -.-- / -... .-. --- - .... . .-. ..--..

“Oh? The plop thickums.” Roxi notes, completely intrigued with the blinking now. “Mia, this traveling thespian claims you know her brother. Anythin’ to say on the mattr? Somethiinge spicy mayhaps?”

“Brother?” You dubiously repeat, having never really contemplated the concept of insects having siblings before. “I don’t associate with bugs.”

... - .. .-.. .-.. / .- ... / -... ..- .-.. .-.. .... . .- -.. . -.. / .- ... / .- .-.. .-- .- -.-- ... --..-- / .. / ... . . .-.-.- / -.-- --- ..- --..-- / .... .. --. .... . .-. -....- -- .- -- -- .- .-.. .-.-.-

“Me?” Roxi points to herself, surprised yet giddy, as it seems the bug is addressing her now.

-.-- . ... --..-- / .-- .... --- / . .-.. ... . .-.-.- / -.. --- . ... / ... .... . / -.- -. --- .-- / .- -... --- ..- - / .... . .-. / -... --- --- -. / -.-- . - ..--.. / ..-. .-. --- -- / - .... . / .-- .. - -.-. .... / --- ..-. / -.. --- --- -- ..--..

“It doesn’t appeer so.” Roxi shakes her head, shrugging both sets of arms.

-.. --- / -- . / .- / ..-. .- ...- --- .-. --..-- / - .... . -. .-.-.- / . -..- .--. .-.. .- .. -. / .. - / ..-. --- .-. / .... . .-. .-.-.- / --- - .... . .-. .-- .. ... . / ... .... . .----. .-.. .-.. / -. . ...- . .-. / ..-. .. --. ..- .-. . / .. - / --- ..- - .-.-.-

“Sur, ‘suppose itz a sim- symbol enouf concept to essplain.” She nods, prompting the bug to remove itself from your nose, going back to flying around your head again.

.- .--. .--. .-. . -.-. .. .- - . / .. - --..-- / --.- ..- . . -. .-.-.- / .- .-.. ... --- --..-- / .-.. --- ...- .. -. --. / - .... . / ... -.-. .- .-. ..-. --..-- / -... -.-- / - .... . / .-- .- -.-- .-.-.-

“Ooh, thank yous!” Roxi coos while stroking her scarf. “It was my mother’s.” With that, the insect takes off for the skies once more, rejoining its group as they vanish into the night, blinking one last message as they go.

.-..-. .-. . .-.. .- -..- --..-- / .-..-. / ... .- .. -.. / - .... . / -. .. --. .... - / -- .- -. / .-..-. .-- . / .- .-. . / .--. .-. --- --. .-. .- -- -- . -.. / - --- / .-. . -.-. . .. ...- . / -.-- --- ..- / -.-. .- -. / -.-. .... . -.-. -.- / --- ..- - / .- -. -.-- / - .. -- . / -.-- --- ..- / .-.. .. -.- . / -... ..- - / -.-- --- ..- / -.-. .- -. / -. . ...- . .-. / .-.. . .- ...- . -.-.-- .-..-.

“The hell was that about?” You firmly ask Roxi, turning to her once the last of the blinking disappears.

“Ah. Your firefly friend wantit me to tell youz that you’ve got a booze now. Er- bOon.” Roxi explains, correcting her slurred words at the end there.

“A… boon?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Yeah! Is like a prize for defeatin’ an opponent in the Arena.” She continues. “Fly-girl says yoo’ve got a boon from a ‘Which of Domes’ I guess?”

“The Witch? I got a prize from her?” You inquire, prompting her to go on.

“You’ve got some blue on you, by the way.” Roxi says, not going on, instead pointing at your face as she diverts the conversation. “Figured it’d be hella rude not to tell you at this point. Weave been talkin’ for like thirty minz now.”

“Wha? Blue?” You look at her funny, confused as to what she’s talking about.

“Right under your eye.” She swipes her finger in a line across her cheek, just below the eye. “It kina looks like a weird face paint design, so that’s prob why no ones mentioned it so far, I figured u should knoll.” She finishes, turning to take another sip from her drink.

“Roxi, focus.” You center here, taking her by the sides of her face to force her to look at you. “What did the Witch give me?”

“Well, if bitchz are anyfing like th e Sorceresses Dwarf games feature, it probs means that doom is like… bendin’ to your goalz now, and such.” She finally reveals something. “Heav you ben essperiensin’ any stringge phenomena as of late? Any trip ups in the matrix? Strange glitches in tech? Esplosons actin’ funny?” She continues, pressing for any details. “Go on any adventures that endead quicker than they most ought to?” She finally completes her list, causing you to ponder the possibilities of what she was saying. You did just pound out an entire Side Quest in under an hour. Does that count? “Owh! I totes know that face! It for-realz has? Wha was’it? Come on, you gotta tell me, what’s been goin’ on?”

“Nothing! Jeez.” You exclaim, rising from the stone bench by the water, starting to get annoyed with the yelling. “It’s just… little things, here and there, I guess. Small inconveniences that minorly altered my path. It just seemed like a bit of bad luck…”

“Yeah, the sympdumbs hou’ve been notticin is basicallies your subconscious mergin’ with concepts like decay and finality to bring about ur will into the textile fabric of the universeisies. Like total girl-boss manifestin’ your inner most desires into realitea, you wanting sommin so you gettin’ sommin, you feel?” You honestly have no idea what she’s talking about at this point. You’re willing things into existence is what you think she’s trying to say? You feel like you were already able to do that with your rage powers, but you guess this ‘boon’ thing adds a kind of doom after-taste to your process? Or maybe it’s something a little less subtle than that, perhaps more like a power buff or active aura? “S’now, wheneves you’ve got a specific task in mind, your doom-boom will bend destruction and explosions and laws n shit towards that outcome, like cauzalizzy is gravititin’ towards a single focal point. I think I’m futsin’ up this explanation a bit… here, wha’z your current goalz in life?”

“Um… I guess as of right now just reconvening with my group.” You shrug, not really having much going at the moment. Roxi stands up next to you.

“Perfic! So now that yous got a clear intention in mind, doomb is gonna start foldin’ over itself to try and help you get there. That’s how the Sorcer-Witch boon works!” She completes her seminar, confidently resting the fists of her lower arms against her hips. With a lot to think about, you start back up on your trek through the carinal, slowly walking the perimeter of the pond, making your way towards its other side. Roxi soon follows after, spitting crazy facts as she goes. “There are other boons, too. Scout boons spread their asspic around to other people and places, leanin’ an absolute blue’s clues mess of the places they go. The peeps who’s gotteded my boon is spreading pockets of void all over the place. And if someone got your Smithy boon, your rage would start genecrating from witin them, makin’ em stronk as heck and mad as fuk!”

“What’s the point of all this?” You ask, now fully trusting of the insight this Dwarf seems to be teeming with. “Why is the Arena giving us power-ups for offing one another?” You look around at the fairgrounds surrounding the pond as you think, curious what kind of boon one would get from a person with enough power to conjure up a festival from just their dreams.

“It promotes a healthy competitive spirit.” She confidently says, holding her composure for a brief moment before bursting out laughing. “Hahaha! Idk dude. Maybe that’s like how ya win this game. You gotta Pocketmans it. Collect all the boonies to get out alive, lol.”

“…Did you just say ‘lol’… in real life?” You stare at the girl.

“Hehe. Yeh, lmao.” She laughs, repeating the sin.

“……Okay.” You awkwardly acknowledge the transgression.

“OH!” Roxi suddenly exclaims, bounding with excitement. “By the way, I’ve gotta say, super nice hax, by the way! Hax… Ha- Hex! Yeah! Gnarly hex, babe. I give it like a C plus plus.”

“Isn’t that a… bad grade?” You ask, questioning the C+ comment. Also, a Hex? What’s she talking about?

“Yeah, cause it’s basic as fuck, my guy. Total Hello World tier bullshit.” She suddenly scolds, doubling down on the bad grade sentiment. “If ur gonna go galavanting around, fox hunting lik'a fancy aristocat with that boobs in yur pocket, ya gots ta learn how to work it, girl. Doom it up, learn to code er sommthin. Anything! Just step up yur shit!” You pause a moment, for one, wondering what the fuck Roxi is talking about, and for two, if you should be offended or not. You eventually settle on ‘not’.

“Yeah, alright.” You slyly smile, using her jeers to find inspiration. “I’ll step my shit up into overdrive!”

“That’s what mama likes to hear!” Roxi laughs. In the midst of you finding motivation in the aggressive words of your companion, a sudden -sploosh- catches your attention from off to your right. Looking over, you see that a moose from a small group had fallen into the pond by mistake, and his friends are all cracking up as he flails in the water.

“Uh, should we help them?” You point the scene out to the Dwarf.

“Nah, moose are deep water predators, they should be fine.” She waves off the idea.

“…What?” You look at her, expecting an explanation. She simply nods, reaffirming her statement. Looking to move the conversation on from whatever that was, you continue. “So… Moose at a carnival… weird dream.”

“Yeah, Ohjakehsul still has some daemons to work through, I guess.” She nods in agreement to something you weren’t really implying.

“What I don’t get is what’s with all the pumpkins?” You ask, looking around at all the various nodes of orange gourds popping up about the fairgrounds. With so many around, some of the moose use them as impromptu seats, while others gnash on them with their wide cow teeth. You’d seen through the front flaps of one of the tents while walking by that it was dedicated to pumpkin carving, with a few tables lined with moose, all dissecting their jack-o-lanterns into being. More than a few vendors in the food stall area were making pumpkin pie out of the stuff as well. It’s been quite some time since fall festivities held any place in your thoughts, but it’s actually kind of nice seeing it in person again. From what you remember, your town had a rather involved autumn tradition, with fairs and fests being held basically every weekend from mid-September to the very end of November. You had always wanted to go to one growing up, but things never really worked out that way…

“Pumpkins? What Pumpkins?” Roxi asks, breaking you from your reminiscion.

“What do you mean ‘what pumpkins’, all the pumpkins around the-“ Your rant stops short as you turn to look at the girl, only to find that she’s no longer there. “Fair…?” You turn back around, thinking she’d wandered off towards one of the attractions. This time you find that the carnival, along with all its tents and rides and pumpkins, are gone as well, leaving you by yourself in an empty field...

Alone now, you feel that dream-like haze lift as well, and with a clear mind, you realize the absurdity of what you just went through. Dwarves, Frogs, Moose… All that was real… right? You didn’t just imagine everything? Like it actually happened and wasn’t some hallucination brought on by a head injury from when you first fell off the plateau?

As you try to figure out what had actually just transpired and what might’ve just been a dream, an uneasy feeling rests on your shoulders and you check your surroundings. A quiet wind blows through the grass of the empty field, eventually disturbing the surface of the water in the nearby pond. Entranced by the small waves it creates, you can’t help but watch as the liquid ripples outward, the remnant of this disturbance brushing against your shore as a void creeps into your mind. You should keep moving. You can contemplate the realness of things later, but for now, you need to get out of the open like this. You’re too vulnerable out here.

“Fucking reality benders…” You mutter to yourself while marching through the grass.

Under the ever-setting sky, Mia walks, towards a fate she not yet knows, but sure she will find her way to where she needs to be. However, unbeknownst to her, a certain onlooker lies prone on the grassy knoll of a far-off plateau, observing with watchful eyes as the Maid makes her way through the field.

“Ma’am, I think I’ve found someone who could help.” She whispers into her palmhusk, satisfied with the secrets she had stolen.

 

***

 

It appears that while the Perspective was unsecured during your observation of a certain onlooker, some greedy bastard thought it was up for grabs and swiped it from the Maid of Rage. The foolish bastard.

With all the parameters for execution met, Hex.cpp has begun to take effect.

 

#include <iostream>
using namespace std;

int main ()
{
          int pov = 0;
          int cure = 0;

int pov;
cout << “Select Character” << endl;
cin >> pov;
          do
          {
                    if(pov == maidRage);
                              cout << nominal << endl;
                    else;
                              cout << cog.spiral << endl;
                    } while(pov != maidRage);

          if(cure == rslvd) {
                    break;
          }
return 0;
}

Hmm… Well that looks like a non-functioning mess. Roxi-Gamma was correct, Mia really should learn how to code if she’s going to keep churning out shit like this. It’s a good thing that her powers run primarily on ignorance, otherwise who knows what would’ve happened now that it’s running. Anyway, it appears that you are now someone else, but the question is; Who?

Let’s find out, shall we?

 

***

 

It’s raining outside. That’s the first thing you notice.

As you open your eyes for the first time in what feels like an eternity, you glance around the room. Almost immediately, you’re alerted to the fact that you’re unfamiliar with your surroundings. You appear to be in some kind of medieval gothic bed chamber, tucked neatly under the blanket of the king size bed you had just been sleeping on. You sit up, taking a look around. On one side of the chamber, a large bookcase reaching all the way up to the ceiling is installed into the stone wall of the room, filled with tomes and novels, and on the other is a large arch window looking out at a sea of dark storm clouds. Before you, off towards where the foot of your bed points on the other side of the room is a set of two large wooden doors. What is this place, a-… and who even are you?

You’re… Jason. That’s right, you’re Jason and… and you- AGGH! What is… What is that? What the hell is th- AHHh, Fuck, your head! It’s like it’s on Fire! What’s going on here? Where are you right now? And… and where are the others? There were others with you, weren’t there? No… no, you were alone. But wait, then there was- GAAH! Christ alive! It Hurts! Why does it Hurt?!

“Fuck!” You growl to yourself, tightly gripping the covers of the bed, trying to cope with the pain. Just when it feels like it’s too much to bear, a bolt of lightning erupts from outside, basking the dark room in a flash of light. The sudden shock jolts your attention away from the searing migraine currently drilling its way into your head, off to the world outside your room. Getting up from the bed, you nearly lose your footing, feeling a distinct weakness in your leg muscles. How long have you been asleep?

Steadying yourself against the dark oaken nightstand beside your bed, you ensure that you’re stable before slowly walking to the window on your wobbly balance beams. Once there, you move the partially-opened drapes out of the way, getting a clear look out the window as heavy raindrops bound against the glass, leaving countless tears to streak down in their wake. Able to see its clearly now, you find that you’re not simply unfamiliar with just your room, but of the Land it resides in entirely. A dark, cavernous hellscape of a world sits far below you in the valley at the bottom of the mountain you currently reside on. You’re in the tower of an already tall castle, which at the angle you’re able to see it at, appears to be built into the rocky cliffside of the landscape. You can see other mountains close by in the valley, impossibly steeps and jagged like daggers, making for a small gorge between where you are and there. Faint lights pepper the entire length of the rival mountain ranges, letting you know that castles just like the one you’re in populate the majority of the Land's architecture. Okay, so you’re no longer on… what world were you last on again? It was… LOHAN, wasn’t it? Yeah, that’s right, LOHAN. You had gotten in a fight with someone, because… because they had a working…

“…lexie.” You mutter, at least partly remembering how you got into this situation. Quickly diving into your inventory, you tear through the maze your fetch modus generates, retrieving Catalog #116, your Phone. Opening up your pesterchum, you scan through the last message log you’d received, finally reading what she had sent.

 

PESTERLOG:

-- unabridgedLexicon [UL] began pestering senileMinor [SM] at 23:45 --

UL: Hey Jay. You there?
UL: …
UL: Doesn’t look like it.
UL: Dang.
UL: I was hoping I could speak with you since it’s been a while.
UL: I guess it’s not the end of the world. We can alway talk later.
UL: I’m with Rich right now, by the way.
UL: He’s been helping me with frog breeding since you’ve been out.
UL: We’d love to have you!
UL: I know you said you wanted to figure out your time stuff first before you started helping again.
UL: But it’s really no bother if you don’t get it right the first few times!
UL: There is *literally* no risk of running out of frogs any time soon on LOFAF.
UL: So there’s always room for trial and error for you!
UL: How else are you supposed to get the hang of something, right?
UL: But don’t feel pressured if you think you’re not ready still!
UL: Rich is pretty handy at hunting down those frogs after we spot them, so he’s more than capable to fill in for you.
UL: That’s actually why I’m contacting you, though.
UL: The appearifier was acting up a bit. For some reason, it was constantly skipping over the 2’s and 0’s on its coordinate screen. Which was… frustrating.
UL: Anyhoo, when I was banging on the machine, trying to fix the glitch, it suddenly took me to a feed of you!
UL: Where are you, by the way?
UL: There’s a frog with you there, but you’re certainly not on LOFAF.
UL: I don’t think I’ve seen that forest anywhere in the Medium before…
UL: Oh well, I’m sure you’ll explain it to me next time we chat.
UL: But since I saw you, I thought I’d give you a poke, see how you were holding up.
UL: I even tried appearifying that frog with you, and can you guess what?
UL: I got slime!!!
UL: See? I knew you’d get the hang of frog breeding.
UL: Mark my words, Jason; This is the first of many!
UL: Anyway, if you ever get around to reading this, give me a ring.
UL: We can hang out.
UL: Talk to you then. :]

-- unabridgedLexicon [UL] ceased pestering senileMinor [SM] at 23:48 --

 

You’ve wandered over to the bed again, sitting down as you read through the log. The lump in your throat’s begun to slowly choke you as you desperately clutch the phone in your hand, barely able to keep yourself from crushing the thing in your grasp. By the time you reach the end of the message Lexie sent you, your vision’s blurred to the point of hardly being able to read. When did she send this? How long have you had this in your inbox? Why is this happening?! W-why can’t you Breathe?! Your head is pounding and you can’t think straight. Fuck, your chest won’t move, i-it won’t let you take air into your lungs! There’s a twisting torque in your nape, as if your spine were trying to burst from your throat and you realize that you’re bleeding. You don’t know where and you don’t know from what, but the smell of pungent rust lies heavy over the room. Jesus, your lungs are on fire! Burning as the weight of spent breath hangs heavy within them. You hear a hissing. You look around but you can’t identify where it’s coming from. It’s all around you, watching you, berating you! You hear a hissing and it comes from the walls. It is voices. They are voices… Voices! There are Voices in the walls! Hissing! Shouting!!! They are pleading! Pleading to you to stop! Why? WHY?! What did you do?! What did you break?! What did you do?! Why is it GONE?! WHY IS IT GONE?! Why-… why…

 

…

 

It feels like you’re going to die… And you think you know now, why you cried at the death of your Frog, Hansel. You think you’ve known for a long time now. There’s-……

There’s something pressing into your neck.

Slowly, your eyes, still heavy with mist, drift over to the source of the sensation gripping your throat. Someone is there? With their head buried into your collar, they press into you unaware of your notice of them. Your first reaction is confusion, but soon, their rough treatment of your person makes you understand this is not a gesture of kindness or comfort. They are… biting. They are biting you. It hurts. I-i-it hurts! You attempt to push them off, now alerted to the danger of this entity, but they don’t budge. You try again and they force away your hand, pinning it down by your side. With its other, the creature wraps its arm around you, grabbing hold of your face with razored claws and forcing your head to the side, exposing more of your neck to it.

“GAH! AAAGH!” You shriek out as you’re forced into compliance. Tearing into your throat like hot irons, the teeth of the creature sink further into the soft flesh of your jugular and pouring into you is hellfire. You scream and writhe and struggle, but nothing is stopped. Evermore, the hateful scorch floods your body, finding rest in your mind, just behind the eyes. It hurts! It Hurts! IT HURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTS!

“GYAAAAH!!!”

Be Someone Else! BE SOMEONE ELSE!!!

 

***

 

Well, it looks like Jason is working through some… personal problems at the moment. It’s been a while since you were last him, but it looks like he still needs some time before he’s ready for that level of responsibility again. Maybe you could be him some other time? When he’s feeling a bit better. In the meantime, perhaps it’s best that you take his adamantly given advice and find someone else to be. It doesn’t have to be someone pivotal to the plot. Anyone will do. Hm… How about this one? Yes, this one will do, you think.

Your name is Leah Luchra, and you are on patrol. They call you the Knight of Hope, but you aren’t entirely sure if that means anything. In this current moment, you walk the grandiose halls of a Transylvanian mountain manner, taking your turn on guard duty while the others in your group get their rest. That Seer gal, Dallra, when you first arrived had assured you she could monitor the entire estate with their space powers easily enough, and that ya’ll only needed guarding while you were back on the Horror planet. Personally, you don’t know how much you quite buy that. If her peepers weren’t working there, who’s to say they’ll be completely fine here? Anyways, you didn’t kick up much of a fuss about it, simply excused yourself to the hall under the pretenses of going for a nighttime stroll and started on your rounds. It’s been a couple days since then and you’ve gotten used to the foreboding feel of the castle halls here.

When you were first going through, you admit, there was an eerie feeling to the building, but after a few tours on your patrol, you’d gotten comfortable walking the place. You figure the caste just has old bones, is all. Bit of a fancy dig, too. Huge stone corridors with snazzy red carpets stretching across the floors, and big ol’ chandeliers at just about every crossway. Drapes and paintings and such decorate the walls around the passages, and every so often, there’ll be a sitting area with a fireplace set up to the side of the hall, sometimes between a few windows, sometimes with a large portrait above the mantle, usually always lit. Apparently the world you’re on is the Land of Castles and Lightning, but you aren’t certain of where the others got that from. Someone always seems to know the names of these blasted planets without ever really asking someone who’d know. You would’ve, but there’s no one around, consorts or nothing. Suppose the manner’s abandoned then. You think you’ll call it Livingston. Yeah, that’s got a ring to it. Fort Livingston. You had a yankee friend who came from a Livingston once.

In your hand you spin Colt Action around your finger, before slipping it neatly into the holster on your thigh. Once it’s secured, you draw it once more, repeating the process. It’s a bit of a bad habit you got, whenever you’re nervous or bored, to twirl the old gal around. You’d say this moment is more of a bored spin, but you can never know with gunplay. Sometimes the feelin’s creep up on ya. But bored would definitely be a safe bet here, as you’ve all been cooped up in the damn castle for the past few days, not doing much of anything besides waiting for updates on that Jason boy’s condition. You had been under the impression that this posse had no leader, and that you made decisions as a group. Their hesitancy to make a move without him has proven otherwise, you’d say. It doesn’t sit right with you, saying you’re one way then operating the other, but you’re not in any position to say so to them. Something else that don’t sit right with you is that Jason boy. He’s a dreamer. You could see it in his eyes when he’d talk about all those plans of his of getting outta here. He’s obsessed. Thinking if he just gets this one thing, everything else will turn out all sunshine and daisies, too fixated on his aspirations to see the world around him for what it is. Dangerous. You’ve seen what happens when a dreamer can’t shake an obsession like that. It never ends well. Especially when people look to them as a leader. Maybe that’s why you keep reachin’ for Colt any chance you get…

Your train of thought is broken when you realize you’re about to complete another round on your patrol, coming up on the rooms in the castle ya’ll’ve been dorming in. As you approach, you begin to hear the muffled sounds of tinkering coming from behind one of the doors here. You walk up to the oak slab and give it a courtesy knock, before taking a peek in. Dallra is there, sitting at the desk in the room with a lamp on, quietly working on something there. You enter.

“Ms.” You greet, approaching the girl at her work station. Taking a gander at the project she’s hammering away at, you see that there’s an entire metal leg sitting on the desk, with a small panel opened on the side of its calf that she seems to be operating upon.

“Leah.” She glances up at you, sounding a bit surprised. “What can I do you for?”

“Nothin’, just… couldn’t sleep.” You make up, figuring she’d try to dissuade you from continuing your guard duty if she knew the truth. “Out for a walk and figured I’d stop by.”

“You take pretty long walks, I’ve noticed.” She sarcastically comments, turning back to work on the leg.

“Just checking things out, I guess.” You shrug off the soft accusation.

“For the third night in a row?” She rhetorically asks. “I already told you Leah, I’ve got guardianship covered. You can relax.”

“I just get a bit restless at night.” You assure her, doubling down on your denial. Turning back to the room, you notice she’s the only one in here despite having a roommate. “…Where’s the Doc?”

“Mary? The roof.” Dallra nonchalantly answers, continuing to work on the metal limb. “She and Frank are trying to bottle lightning or something? I’m not entirely sure, I wasn’t listening when she was explaining it. They’ve been rigging the castle towers with different types of conductive equipment and storage cells, so I’m sure they’re attempting some kind of undertaking with the storms here.”

“And you?” You turn back.

“Me?” She looks up at you again.

“You’ve got a bit of an undertaking going on here, too.” You note, tapping the desk next to the prosthetic. “What’s with the leg?”

“The Leg? Well…” She peters off, starting to clam up. “My Mentor had a robotic leg, so I figure one could be useful in the future.” She poorly explains.

“You aren’t… planning on replacing any more parts, are ya?” You ask, nodding to her already mechanisized arm.

“What? Oh, no, um…” She pauses again, nervously tapping a finger.

“Everything alright, sug?” You lean against the desk to look at her face.

“Yeah, it’s just… Sometimes my vision will… focus on things without me trying to look at them.” She begins to explain. “Almost like something is physically moving my attention to different objects or people that happen to be in the area. I used to think it was without reason, a sort of involuntary tic I had, but after a while, I noticed my sight would focus on things that would end up being important. Like it was trying to tell me something. It was usually small things. If my palmhusk battery was low, I’d keep looking at its charger. If a piece of food had gone bad, my attention would naturally move to my thermalhull and wastedetainer. But with important stuff, I’d get these flashes, with my God’s Eye moving my focus to whatever it was trying to tell me something about. Lately, it’s been focusing on different pieces of machinery around the Arena, a-… and the Blackhole at the Arena’s core.”

“Sooo, Blackhole mean start building legs?” You inquire, unsure of the correlation.

“Blackholes are a symbol I associate with my Mentor.” She shrugs. “There used to be one in my Medium just beyond our Veil, which I could communicate to him through. I could hear his whispers escape from them if I focused on its event horizon hard enough.”

“Who was your mentor?” Someone who could speak through blackholes? Sounds made up.

“I’m not entirely sure of his name. Sending messages via wormhole wasn’t always the soundest of communicative methods, oftentimes partially scrambling more than a few words here and there. Sometimes when he’d say his name, it sounded like he was saying Mr Windsor. Sometimes Winazar. One time it came through as Winning Hazard. I just stuck with Windsor, though.” Dallra shares like she’s telling you about her favorite uncle. “He was a pretty mysterious guy, all-in-all. One of the few things I knew for sure about him was that he had a mechanical prosthetic for his right leg. So when my vision started focusing on machines and Blackholes, it became pretty obvious what those flashes were trying to tell me. So I started crafting. I had a few pieces left over from a project I had scrapped, so putting it together has gone a lot faster that is otherwise would’ve, but there’s still a few kinks in the nerve feedbacks I need to iron out before it’ll be able to function as a replacement limb.”

“Do you know who’s it for yet?” You ask, watching as she continues to make adjustments to the thing. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear she was just poking at it with her dentist utensil-looking tool thingies.

“Huh?” She looks at you like a deer in headlights.

“The Leg. Who’s it gonna be for?” You clarify.

“Oh, I-… I-I’m not sure yet.” She lies. “But, y’know, better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it, right?”

“…Right.” You skeptically nod. “I’m not sure that saying had missing legs in mind when it was made.” An awkward moment passes as the two of you look at each other, both waiting for the other to say something to break the awkward tension that’d filled the room. You know she’s lying, and she probably knows you know. That just raises the question; what the hell is she hiding? “…Well, I’ll get out of your hair, then. Leave you to your nuts and bolts and such.” You tell her, heading for the door before things get any weirder. You twist the handle and are halfway through the threshold when Dallra calls to you again.

“Hey, Leah…?” You look back, seeing she’s twisted around in her chair to face the doorframe. “…What’s that strange mark on your wrist?” Reacting before you can think, you quickly pull your sleeve down, making sure its cuff is covering well up to the bottom of your palm. Damn it, when the hell’d she see? Girl really does have good eyes. “I saw it earlier and was curious what it was.”

“…A Miracle.” You sneer at her, firmly closing the door shut as you storm out of the room and down the hall. The hand on your concealed arm balls tightly into a fist as you walk, straining itself in a desperate attempt to keep the memories at bay. You don’t want to remember… You don’t want to hear their voices again…! And yet whenever you’re reminded of that little bit of scar tissue on your wrist, it all comes flooding back, as if you’re still there, cornered in the last stronghold in the shelters as they throw themselves at the bulwark.

Your march comes to a halt when you find yourself at a small crossway, sitting just before the base of a grande stairwell leading to the next floor up. Even this deep in the castle, you can hear the faint melodies of the storm as it rages on outside. It’s in the quiet moment at this crossroad that you find your defeat, raising your hand up to look at. Everyone is already gone now. There’s no use pretending it’s not there.

With a delicate reverence, you take your sleeve and slowly lower it, revealing to you your old scar once more. It’s an ugly imperfection, one that fills you with a sickly mix of sorrow and hatred every time you have the misfortune of seeing it. It looks different, you think. It used to be that you could distinguish the outlines of each individual tooth mark, but it’s healed to the point that they all look like one long and bumpy hem. It doesn’t take long before you’ve grown resentful, looking at the disfigurement, and you avert your gaze. Closing your eyes, you grab your face, pressing your palm against your left socket as your fingers reach up to your hairline. The pulse of your hand lightly beats against your eyelid, and you try to focus on it to preoccupy your mind. But the more you try to focus, the more that thumping distorts, and you begin to hear them slamming against the barricade doors. You hear their bones twist and snap as they clamor to get in. You hear them destroy what little remains of their bodies, throwing themselves against concrete and metal like rabid, mindless beasts. Slamming, and Slamming and SLAMMING! Hungry and craven and unyielding. And you are terrified.

You want nothing more than to drift away, a mindless, thoughtless thing, unburdened by the memories that haunt its past. You want so badly to be able to put these remnants out of your head, to take these shattered fragments that so deeply pierce and stab at your heart and leave them upon the wayward road, forever behind you. But you can’t. Your scar won’t let you. Like a stake, it nails you to your past, crucified upon the corpses of those who you could not save.

A weight finds itself around your neck like an albatross, and you go to continue on, marching alone. Funny, that’s how you always end up. [Alone][Alone][Alone]. However, you find pause, hearing the sounds of a crackling fire echo through the castle. You glance down the corridor you hear the sounds come from, and just down the way, you spot the distinct glow of a fireplace. Curious, you approach.

“Hello…?” You call, coming up on a small sitting area set to the side of the hall.

“Here.” You hear a familiar voice call from the other side of a large chair by the fireplace. Coming around front, you mosey over to the other side of the piece of furniture, finding Ragnaa nestled in on the vintage sitting piece with an end table awkwardly dragged out to the front of her chair. Seems the Seers can’t sleep tonight. “Hey.” She greets.

“Hey…” You greet back, taking a look at what she’s doing here. On the end table, your buddy’s got spread out a few small black and white stones, of which she appears to be in the middle of carving. She’s got a few small tools of varying points set out on the table as well, some arrowheaded, looking like little exaggerated spears, while others have a more cylinder or sphere head, somewhat resembling miniature drum mallets. “What are you… doing?”

“Shaping a few metamorphics.” She explains while continuing to work, rubbing a small rag against the stone piece she’s currently working on as she attempts to polish a blemish out of it. “Marble and Onyx. Some of the bricks here are made from them, so I broke off a few pieces to work with.”

“Oh… I didn’t know you liked that sort of stuff.” You comment, unsure what to make of the hobby. You think it’s harmless.

“It’s relaxing.” She easily defends the pastime. “Whenever I look at a stone, I can always see its true form trapped inside. Chipping away at it, helping it find its final shape… it’s almost like I’m freeing what was always meant to be.”

“Have you ever done anything bigger?” You ask, vaguely remembering a time seeing a marble statue of a naked man once at a museum when you were real little. You always felt presenting a man’s shame the way they had him up there was a tad disrespectful. Get the man some pants, for goodness sake, he was obviously… cold.

“I did back home, but they… ended up… exploding…” She pauses, looking to the side a moment, before setting the fully polished piece down on the end table. Able to see it clearly now, you find that Ragnaa’s carved a small bust of a horse out of marble.

“You’re making a chess set?” You ask, taking a closer look at the skillfully carved Knight piece. “Like in Shawshank?”

“Shaw-what?” She looks at you sideways.

“Ah-, sorry, forget about it…” You apologize, forgetting you didn’t grow up on the same planet.

“…Are you alright, Leah?” She asks you, setting her buffing-rag down. “You seem a little off.”

“It ain’t nothin’ to worry about.” You sigh, crossing your arms, feeling a sense of frustration take over the vibe of the night. “Doll’s just got me riled up today, is all.”

“Oh…” She mutters, looking down at her Knight.

“What’s wrong?” You quickly inquire as something seems to sour her mood.

“I’m fine!” She overcorrects, straightening up stiff.

“C’mon, Rags, I know your nervous-face.” You remind her. “You can tell me.”

“It’s just…” She pauses, softly tapping the tips of her middle fingers together. “Leah, do you not like Trolls…?”

“Not like trolls?” You repeat, gobstruck. “Where’d you get that from?”

“Well, it seems like you and Dallra haven’t been getting along that well the past couple days.” She notes as she stops looking you in the eye. You guess it has been a little tense ever since Doll tried dissuading you from taking patrol. A few of her comments about it rubbed you the wrong way, but you didn’t think it’d affected your behavior much.

“It’s just a little spat between me and her, is all.” You explain. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say I dislike her.”

“What about Esspin?” She retorts, continuing on with the accusations. “Since we’ve joined up with this group, you’ve been avoiding her like she’s a plaguegnome.”

“I wouldn’t say I avoid her.” You defensively shrug, unaware your actions were a problem in her eyes. “She’s just a little too… bubbly for me. A-and she’s always hanging around with that Sara girl! I wouldn’t wanna end up intrudin' on ‘em.”

“And then there’s Haugrr…” She doesn’t even have to finish her statement for you to know what she’s talking about.

“Alright now Haugrr’s a different story.” You quickly correct. “He’s a rude young man, and I am not a fan of how rough he is with Ryder. Besides… being around the undead makes me unease.”

“It just seems like you’re a little uncomfortable around the Trolls in the group. W-which would be fine! Not everyone is ready to jump in league with an alien species.” She clarifies her stance, clearly worried she’ll offend you. “I’m sure there’s more than a few Trolls who’d want nothing to do with humans as well. It’s just kind of off-putting sometimes, with how you act towards us…”

“Look, I hear what you’re saying, Rag. Really, I do, but all that is just coincidence. I like you, don’t I?” You remind her with an earnest smile. She looks at you funny, her brow slightly furrowing at the comment.

“……Do you?” She quietly mutters, sounding unsure if she should even have asked. You’re shocked by the comment, but as you go to say something in retort, a bone-chilling howl echoes throughout the corridor.

 

“GYAAAAH!!!”

 

Completely shattering the conversation, you and Ragnaa lock eyes hearing the scream. The hairs on your neck raise up in an instance, and the quickest of panics jolts through your body. You look off behind you towards where the scream had come from, and once you identify the exact direction it’s emanating, you dash towards it without hesitation.

“Ah…!” Ragnaa exclaim as she partially trips while getting up from her chair, hurrying after you. The shout sounded close, practically right on top of you, but it had echoed. It came from up the stairs. The boy’s dorm is on the Upper Level. Could one of them have gotten hurt? But how? Did someone get into the castle? How many? How did you miss them?! “Should we get the others?” Rags calls to you from the base of the stairs as you leaps up the steps.

“No time!” You call back, reaching the landing at the midpoint of the stairs, where the steps begin to incline in the other direction. You pause a moment just before rounding the corner to the second flight, drawing Colt Action from your holster and preparing for a firefight. Slinking into the second stairwell, you’ve got your entire gun arm out and aimed up the hall before you fully enter, quietly scurrying up the stairs to the next level. Reaching the top, you leap out into the upper foyer, rolling onto one knee as you bring Colt level with your eye, aiming it down the hallway leading right. Clear. With the first corridor empty, you reposition, aiming at the left hall now. Clear.

Getting back to your feet, you continue on down the hall, briskly but silent as you move. Suddenly as you approach a corner in the passageway, a figure juts into view. You nearly atomize whatever the hell it is that jumps out at you, but hesitate just long enough to recognize your target. It’s Creed.

“JEsus!” He exclaims when he sees the gun in his face, half-crouching out of the way of its barrel. “Easy with that thing, Dirty Harry, you tryin’ to blow my freakin’ head off?”

“Creed. What in the Lord’s name is going on? What was that?” You whisper to him, unsure to what degree your perimeter has been compromised. He has his Bat in-hand, so you can assume he’s on high alert as well. Who was it that screamed then?

“No idea, but it came from the Boss’s Tower.” He informs you as he marches on towards his destination. Following after him through the corridor, he eventually leads you to a small passage with a minor staircase going up. “Just up this way.”

“I’ll take point.” You decide, hurrying through to the narrow corridor.

“Hey, you’re the one with the gun, Lady.” Creed agrees, following close after. Arriving at the top of the steps, you’re met with a dimly lit dining room as the first chamber in the tower. After a quick scan of the room finds no intruders, you quickly cross the hall to the two large wooden doors on its other side. Creed meets you there, and you both rest a moment at the threshold, looking to one another to synchronize your entrance. You nod, and he returns it.

Bursting through the doors, you enter the dark room and level your gun at the writhing mass crumpled to the floor. Your gun isn’t even up a full 5 second when a flash of lighting strikes just outside, bathing the room in a bright light. In that briefest of seconds, you see it. The crouched form of a creature as it lurks over Jason’s limp body, its mouth and chin painted with blood as its ravenous fangs still hang close to the boy’s opened throat. It gazes at you with empty spaces where eyes should be, alerted by your sudden appearance in the room. You cock the hammer back on your revolver and the thing screeches at you.

You fire.

 

Leah, Slay this Monster.

Chapter 48: > In the Jaws of the Dragon

The recoil of the shot shoots through your forearm, forcing your gun-hand off to the side as you twist the kickback out through your elbow. One hell of a kickback, too, as it nearly threw the revolver from your hand. Probably would have if the tenseness of the situation didn’t have you clutching Colt Action like a stress ball.

There’s a slight moment of hesitation before you fire again. You hadn’t anticipated a discharge as powerful as your first shot from Colt. Normally it handles like a dream. This one, though… it felt angry. Eager, even. The lead you’d thrown buries itself in the stone floor about five feet past the creature, missing as it flings itself out of your attack’s trajectory. The shot was point blank, or about as near-point blank you can get while still being on opposite sides of a room from somebody, yet even still the thing ducks it. Whatever the hell this devil is, it moves fast, leaping halfway across the chamber in a single dodge, crouching down now by the windowsill.

After the half-second it takes you to overcome the surprising power your first shot produced, you adjust your aim at the thing while it’s still by the window. Your second shot goes off at a regular jouleage, but regardless, the thing dodges once more, flinging itself to the foot of the bed this time. Second verse same as the first, you adjust and fire again. Instead of dodging out of the way as you’d expected it to, the creature leaps forward at you, claws lurching for your vitals. You fall back, juking away from its grasp as you reposition to the floor. On your way down, you fan the hammer of your revolver, firing three more shots at your attacker as it leaps over you, emptying your chamber of its bullets. You got the thing. That close up, firing directly into the monster’s torso? There’s no way those three shots didn’t hit something vital. They have to have.

Rolling onto your shoulder to look back, you find the creature still on its feet, lurking over you with both claws extended out to its side, ready to take a slash at you while you’re vulnerable on the ground. Before the devil can shred you to ribbons, though, Creed comes flying in, cracking the thing across the face with his Bat like he’s hitting a home run. The monster gets taken off its feet from the hit, flung back a solid few feet before landing on top of the dining room table with a -crash- as it breaks the plates there.

Creed takes the vanguard while you’re still getting back to your feet. He rushes forward, looking to crush the monster’s head like a watermelon as he slams his Bat down against the table. The thing lurches back before his attack has the chance to land. It faces him now, crouched like a jungle cat while atop the table. Creed readies a swing, holding his weapon like he’s waiting for a pitch. You get back into the fray, dumping the spent brass from your chamber as you rise up. Pulling a moon clip from your pocket, you rush forward, fully loaded again, firing two more shots at your opponent as you dart down the left side of the table. The thing hisses, showing off its hellish maw at you before leaping from the table to the wall on the right side of the room, clinging vertically to the stone there. It doesn’t stay put long though, as Creed comes up on it, whacking it down from its place on the wall. From what you can see on the other side of the table, the monster rolls once it hits the ground, crouching down between the chairs there, partially obscuring itself with cover from the tablecloth. With a mighty swing, Creed batters through the seats, completely shattering them to pieces.

Whatever hit he might’ve delivered, however, seems to fall short, as a dark blur swipes across his chest, leaving a large gash in its wake. He stumbles back into the wall, taking a backhanded swing at the monster as he tries to limp away, moving back towards Jason’s chamber. Another blurring slash lurches at him once he’s reached the followthrough with his Bat, this time opening up the bicep of his swinging arm. Rushing to his aid, you vault off a nearby chair, leaping onto the table just above where the monster should be on the floor. Without wait, you fire three shots through the tabletop, down at the thing. A silent beat passes in the strife, and you swallow a nervous gulp, looking to Creed to see if he can tell if you got the thing. Unfortunately, he isn’t able to check in time, as the beast comes smashing up through the table at you, leaping past, up onto the chandelier in the room.

You fall back in surprise at the attack only to come face to face with the thing as it swings on the light fixture above you. Its piercing black eyes send a cold shiver up your spine as it hones in on you like a bird of prey from above. You raise your gun up, taking another shot at your opponent while they hang in the air, but you miss, hitting the chandelier where it connects to the ceiling. With its foundation sudden compromise, the glass piece breaks off from its tether under the weight of the creature riding it, crashing down to the table below just a few feet from you and drowning the room in near total darkness as the light goes out. Quickly shaking off the glass shards embedded into its skin, the monster rises up from what remains of the chandelier and sets its sights on you once again, its figure just barely visible from the torchlight in the stairway passage behind it. You cock the hammer back on your revolver, but quickly realize you’d spent all six rounds already. Desperate for a weapon, you search your surroundings amidst the dark for a piece of silverware to substitute your specibus, but unfortunately for you, it seems the section of table you’re on was set for soup dishes only, as there’s only damn spoons everywhere!

“Leah! Quick!” Creed calls, his movements labored from injury as he tosses to you two legs from the chairs he’d shattered. Not ideal, but any port in a storm. Dropping your empty gun onto the table, you catch the pieces and face your opponent, armed once more. The monster is mid-lunged when you turn your attention back to it, and you only have a split second to react. Your first instinct is to swing, but you realize regardless of how hard you hit this thing, it’ll more than likely still follow through with its attack. And with how sharp those claws are, you’re certain that followthrough will be lethal. If you’re gonna get hit regardless, your best bet will be to try and lessen the blow somehow. With the wooden pieces, you bring a guard up, hoping such a meager defense could repel the oncoming attack.

Wincing in anticipation for whichever piece of you is carved up first, you grit your teeth and prepare for the unpleasant. Fully expecting the monster’s claws to come tearing through you at any second now, you’re instead met with a pained yelp, as the thing comes to a skidding stop, slipping back and falling on its ass. The thing quickly scrambles to get away, practically falling over itself as it retreats to a safe distance from you, lurking in the dark just behind the end of the table by the stairwell.

“Wha…?” You mutter to yourself, clueless as to what halted the fiend's advance. It isn’t until you notice the manner in which you’re holding the two pieces of wood that you realize what you’ve done. You’ve got the chair legs held in a † formation, as if presenting a cross to the monster. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me…”

“KAAAH!” The monster hisses at you from the other end of the table. Although partially hidden, even with where it is in the shadows, you’re still able to keep track of its figure, watching as two tiny shimmering white pupils rock back and forth as the thing sizes you up from a distance.

“Yeah? Well fuck you too!” You shout at it, presenting the symbol more firmly now. “The Power of Christ compels you!”

“Wh-… at… is… Christ…?” A pained and raspy voice comes from the dark. Lord Almighty, the demon can speak.

“He is Lord and Redeemer, so repent, Serpent!” You lay it on thick, unsure of what’s doing what in this deterrent. The beast writhes in agony under the cross’s presence, trying to hide itself from you behind the cover of the table. You get to your feet with the moment you’ve bought, retrieving your revolver and slowly moving closer to the thing, advancing on the monster’s position behind its barrier.

“Hello?” A voice calls before you can get nearly close enough. “Leah, are you up here?” You hear them call. Emerging from the dimly lit passage out of the tower comes Ragnaa, finally catching up with you to the scene of the crime. She carries with her a long and thin war hammer and stake, the weapons from her specibus. “I heard shooting, so I followed the- AAH!” She yelps as the monster suddenly leaps out at her from beneath the table.

“No!“ On silent instinct, you raise your gun up, taking aim at the insolent creature who’d dare bring a violent hand against your friend. Firing the weapon, you launch hot lead at the monster, winging it in the shoulder and spinning it off to the side. The thing goes tumbling past your beloved ally, barreling into the stairwell of the passage just behind her as it lands. Ragnaa flinches at the mass of the creature as it goes by her, having just raised her armaments into a protective guard in what would’ve been a split second too late had you missed.

Recovering from the hit, the monster pushes itself upright against the wall of the passage, looking like it’s deciding whether or not to continue on with its assault. You’re at the scene in an instant, pushing Ragnaa behind you as you level the barrel of your gun with the center of the monster’s hollow eyes, cocking the hammer back while your gun’s in its face. Getting the message, the thing hisses at you one last time before whisking away, disappearing down the curved steps of the corridor in a blur. During this stand off with the creature, you had gotten a decent look at it as you stared it down. Pale white skin with night-black hair, and a crooked tail swishing around behind it. It wore brown robes with a red slash across its chest. A player?

“Ah!” Ragnaa exclaims after a moment of you stuck in post-Strife thought. Turning back, reminded of the room behind you, you realize you’d been clutching the poor girl by the forearm, holding firm to her. You quickly let her loose.

“Sorry!” You apologize, turning your attention to your buddy. “You alright? It didn’t get at you, did it?”

“N-no, I’m fine.” She assures you, seeming a little rattled. “What was that thing?”

“Nothin’ good.” You huff, looking back down the passage, knowing full well you can’t let that thing roam loose in the castle.

“Boss…!” You hear Creed call from the other end of the dining hall. Glancing over, you watch as he flicks on the lights in the bed chamber, hurrying off to the slumped remains of dreamer boy. Seeing this as well, Ragnaa hurries across the room to the two boys. Figuring they’ve got this aspect of the situation handled, you take your time getting over to them, looking around the room first to find something more that can light up the place. You spot a few sconces at the sides of the passage out of the tower and go to turn them on. Just as you do, someone enters the room from the stairs, nearly causing you to draw your revolver again. You jerk short, however, when you see it’s Dallra.

“I saw what happened when I heard your shots ring out.” She quickly explains, seeing you to the side of the passage. “I came as quickly as I could.”

“Did’ya now.” You ask, unimpressed, turning and heading for the bedchamber.

“Is he alright?” She follows after, keeping in step before briskly moving ahead of you.

“I am sure you will see for yourself.” You tell her as you reach the bedroom doors. She hurries in while you keep post at the threshold, leaning against the metal hinges there as you look on at the grizzly scene before you.

The three of them huddle around Jason as he lies there, paler than a ghost, smothered chin to collar with his own blood. Ragnaa presses a corner of the bedsheets against the wound on his neck, trying to pause the bleeding, while Creed feels his wrist for a pulse. Dallra on the other hand, upon seeing the boy slowly setting foot into his grave, hurries over to the window in the room, forcing it open before sticking what looks to be a flare out of it, popping it open and waving the red flame back and forth in the air, signaling something. You watch on, feeling the smallest bit vindicated on your stance towards guard shifts.

“Got it covered, my eye.“ You mutter to yourself as you watch Dallra mess around with the flare. Turning your attention back to the bloody mess, you look to Creed. “He alive?”

“Yeah, but his pulse feels weak.” He tells you, rising up from the ground while Rags continues to press into his neck. “You get Mary’s attention yet?” He asks to Dallra.

“She sees us.” She answers back, peering through the storm at a neighboring tower.

“…How’d that thing get in?” You ask Dallra. She seems to stiffen up at the question, continuing to look out the window.

“…I don’t know.” She answers back, tucking her chin down.

“I thought you were keepin’ an eye on the whole compound.” You tack on. “Weren’t you the one insisting on being the only lookout?”

“I didn’t know!” She firmly answers this time, glancing back at you with a guilty expression.

“Hm.” You grunt, looking off. You notice Ragnaa watching you from the floor with a meager look on her face. You try not to give it much mind. Just before the awkward silence in the room reaches critical mass, a figure appears in the windowsill.

“You rang?” Mary asks as she floats into the room from the open window, still slick with rain. Slightly caught off guard by her ability to still fly, you go to ask about the power, but soon halt once you notice what she’s wearing. Attached to her shoulder blades is some disgusting cape of black tentacles, maybe a foot in length, all swishing up and down behind her. What the hell is that thing…?

“Someone broke in and got to Jason before we could stop them.” Dallra explains as Mary sets down on the stone floor, the tentacles on her shoulders coming to rest once she’s settled on the ground.

“Oh dear. That certainly won’t do.” Mary says to herself, walking over to Jason and getting to work. “Excuse me, if you would.” She tells Ragnaa as she moves into the space beside her, taking over the nursing position. Slowly, she peels the blood stained sheets from Jason’s throat, a few strands of ichor stretching out from him as their congealment sticks to the fabric. “Well well, would you look at that.”

“Um… what are those?” Ragnaa asks, getting a closer look at the black tentacles as they idly sit on the Mage girl’s shoulders, twitching with a slight sway every now and then as they reposition themselves.

“My Undulation Wings.” She promptly answers, still looking over Jason’s wounds. “I rather missed being able to fly, but rocket propulsion substitutes were always such a hassle to maneuver with. So I made these instead. They were originally an organ from that Earth Skimmer you all fought a while back.” She glances over at her, spotting Ragnaa’s mallet and poker armaments as she presses them to the floor while crouched down. “…What are those?”

“Huh? Oh, my Artifacts?” She looks down at the duel weapons, seeing the conversation’s been turned to her suddenly. “Just a specibus I got from my quest, Donato di Kailasha. They’re Hmmr&Chslkind.”

“Very fine instruments, the slight twist in the hammer’s handle as it connects to the head is a rather appealing design choice.” She compliments, seeming to focus more on the design of the armaments than the reason she was called here in the first place.

“Uh, Doc? Ain’t you forgetting your patient?" You remind her.

“You needn’t worry, Ms Luchra. The puncture wounds dear Jason’s sustained aren’t fatal, nothing more than a love-bite, really.” She explains, throwing Jason’s arm over her shoulder, hoisting him up and moving him back to the bed. “An injury such as this will only need a quick cleaning and a bit of ointment. The only real concerning factor in his condition is the lack of blood… Just looking at him, I’d say he’s lost a pint or six.”

“What do we do?” Creed asks as Mary flops the boy onto the bed.

“A simple blood transfusion will have him right as rain again.” She assures him. “Frankie!” She calls out towards the window.

“Here, Ma’am.” You hear a grunting come as someone crawls through the window, flopping to the ground with a splat like a fish. Would you look at that, Frank is here, soaking wet and sliding on the floor.

“Prepare for a donation.” She instructs the boy as he trots up beside her by the bed. “Jason’s in pretty rough shape, so a simple vitality boost won’t cut it. We’ll need to perform a Half-Transfusion.”

"Understood." Frank nods, hurrying around to the other side of the bed before placing both arms down against the mattress, lying wrists-up.

“Rough shape? Wait, I thought you said his wound wasn’t fatal.” Creed points out, starting to sound concerned.

“In what world do the terms; Non-Fatal and Completely Fine mean the same thing?” She knocks the comment, moving over to Creed and beginning to push him towards the door. “Now shoo, everyone out, this process is a sensitive one and I’ll need the room. I know it’s been an eventful day, but we must keep level heads about ourselves, yes?” Coming up on Ragnaa and Dallra, Mary adds the Seers to her caravan, forcing the lot of them out. Seeing where she’s going with them, you voluntarily take a step back into the dining hall. “I’ll inform you all as soon as the procedure’s complete. Until then, try and be patient.”

“Wait, what- but… wha?” Creed sputters, trying to find the words to protest, but coming up short.

“Here.” She hands Creed a small bottle and roll of gauze once he’s officially out of the room. “Those cuts on your chest and arm look nasty, but not deep enough for stitches. I’ll have a look at them tomorrow to see if any special action needs to be taken, but for now, disinfect the cuts and have one of the girls bandage them up tightly for you. Okay?” Creed tries to say something more, but is quickly interrupted. “Okay, sounds good, buh bye.” She dismisses in a bored tone, shutting the wooden doors in his face.

“…Alright!?” He exclaims, clearly offended by the exclusion.

“Maybe it’s best if we give her some space.” Dallra suggests to him. “She seems to know what she’s doing.” Of course now she wants to listen to people who know their spit, and not when you were insisting on guard shifts. You can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah.” Creed scoffs, turning away from the doors.

“Here.” Dallra holds out her hand, requesting he hand over the goods he got from the Doc. He does so and she makes herself busy, readying a rag with disinfectant.

“Gaah…” Creed hisses with a wince as she presses it into the cut. “Stings like a mother.”

“You guys, what was that thing?” Ragnaa asks, finally feeling like its calmed down enough to discuss what’s just transpired.

“And why didn’t we see it coming?” You jump in, side eyeing the ‘Allseeing’. “Because I can’t help but recall you insisting you could handle guard duty all on your own.”

“…” Dallra remains quiet, glancing down to the ground at your comment while she works the bandage around Creed’s opened-up arm.

“It was the Thief of Blood.” Creed answers, seeing the tension rising in the air.

“You sure?” You direct your attention to him now, seeing your Guardian’s coming up blank on answers. “Everything happened so fast, there wasn’t much time to get more than a glimpse at the rags it was wearing.”

“I’m certain.” He nods without a second’s hesitation. “Between what little we did see of it, and what we know for sure, our profile is shaping up to be a textbook Thief of Blood. Proficient in Combat, able to anchor itself to a surface regardless of physics, along with the fact that we walked in on it literally stealing blood from the Boss, it seems rather cut and dry who we’re dealing with. In fact, I’m willing to bet the reason it was able to get so far past our defenses was because it stole a connection from one of us. If that were the case, even though they were an intruder, anyone who’d seen them wouldn’t have been able to recognize them as anything other than an ally.” Concluding his defense, Creed glances back to look at your Lookout directly. “…Dallra?” He says like he’s asking her to take over in the discussion.

“…There… was something… I might’ve seen…” She bashfully admits, turning an embarrassed shade of green at the confession as she completes the dressing on Creed’s chest injury. “Of the perp entering the castle…” You feel an insatiable urge to say something you’ll most certainly regret, but you manage to hold your tongue for the most part.

“This just keeps getting better and better.” You deride at the girl, shaking your head in disapproving vexation. In the midst of your irritation with the Seer, Ragnaa tugs slightly on your sleeve to get your attention.

“I’m sure she has a reasonable explanation.” She whispers to you. “Try hearing her out.” At first you want to disregard her request, but once you see the serious look on her face, you decide to concede. You turn back to Dallra, somewhat willing to listen with an open mind.

“They came in through a window on the west tower.” She begins to explain her excuses. “I wasn’t alarmed when I first spotted them, because it was like-… well, it was like seeing any one of you. One of my teammates. When you’re constantly monitoring your surroundings, spotting a nearby ally becomes a benign action. I do it so often, I rarely take note of it beyond a passing thought. It was no different for the intruder. The only thing I thought when I saw them was ‘oh, where had they gotten off to?’ Like the only unordinary thing about them entering the castle was that they weren’t already with the group when we first arrived here. When I heard the shots ringing out from Jason’s tower and focused in on your fight, it suddenly clicked for me. I knew I had never seen this burglar before, yet somehow, I thought they were a part of our team. Seeing you all together in one place, it was like something in my thinkpan registered that cognitive dissonance and I was able to realize that you all didn’t know one another, and that I didn’t know them either. That’s when I came running…”

“I had figured as much.” Creed sighs, rubbing his chin while he thinks over the information. “That confirms who we’re dealing with. On top of being a Thief, it seems like we’ve got a genuine vampire on our hands, hypnotic deception and all.”

“You seem rather informed about this individual, Creed.” You take note of his particular knowledge about your accoster. “Are you already familiar?”

“In a way.” He nods. “The Boss has an entire catalog of info about Godtiers in his head for some reason. I picked up on a few pieces of it when I merged with his psyche. Thief of Blood just happens to be one of the profiles I inherited from him.”

“Is that how you knew the Cross trick would work on that thing?” You continue the inquiry, a slight suspicion growing around his sudden serendipitous source of intel.

“Cross… You mean with the chair legs?” He asks while looking out at the torn up dining area.

“That’s right.” You reaffirm. “It didn’t even know who Jesus was, much less what a crucifix is. So why did a cross have that effect on it?”

“Would you believe me if I said it only worked because you believed it would?” He hypothetically asks.

“Likely not.” You dismiss the ridiculous notion.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.” He crosses his arms. “Best guess? You hurt her feelings.”

“I’d appreciate it if you cut the jokes.” You tell him, annoyed he’s still giving you the runaround.

“I’m serious.” He assures you. “Thieves can sometimes come off as cocky, but that’s more often than not just them trying to compensate for their insecurities regarding their Aspect. Blood has to do with relationships, so it’s feasible that a sudden adverse reaction to her presence, such as presenting a cross against her, a literal 'X' physically embodying disapproval, could’ve translated to an outright rejection to her, something she might be highly sensitive about.”

“Hm… suppose that makes sense.” You back off, satisfied with his answer. With that, you turn to Dallra again. “Don’t suppose you can be of any help and tell me where that infernal thing’s gotten off to?”

“I-… It’s keeping to the shadows now. Places too dark for me to keep track of with any consistency.” She admits. “I’ve spotted it a few times, but I think it knows we’ve figured out its blending-in trick, and is moving more cautiously. Last I saw of it, they were headed for the dungeons.”

“Wow… that sight of your’s sure is something’, isn't it.” You sarcastically quip as you begin to head for the stairway out. “Like a screen door on a submarine.”

“Where are you going?” Ragnaa asks just as you’re halfway across the room.

“Hunting.” You tell her, emptying your brass and reloading another moon clip. “Someone has to do something about this little intruder problem. And seeing how things have been going up until now, there’s only one person I trust to handle it. Me.”

“I didn’t want this to happen. You know that, right…?” Dallra calls to you as you approach the passage out of the tower.

“And yet it still did.” You turn back, facing the lot of them. “It doesn’t matter what you want, bad shit still happens. That’s why you have to prepare for it. That’s why you ration. Stockpile. That’s why you go on God damn patrols. So it doesn’t have the chance to sneak into your room at night and rip your fuckin’ throat out!”

“…” She remains silent, looking softly down with a quiet shame on her face. You turn to head back to the castle’s main building.

“I’ll tell the others what’s happening. You all stay here, and keep to groups.” You sternly instruct, finding pause at the threshold. “Nobody is safe with that thing running around the place…”

Exiting the tower, you feel a slight twinge in your chest as you question if you might’ve overdid it back there. You quickly shake the doubts from your mind, steeling yourself. It’s better this way. You’d rather they be alive and hate you than die succumbing to their own foolishness. You won’t let it happen again. Come on, girl. Get your head in the game! You’ve got a bloodsucker to stake.

 

***

 

Amidst the intensity of Leah’s delve into a moonlit hunt, you felt it appropriate to be someone else while she get’s shit done, and totally not because hunting vampires is terrifying and you want no part of it. Totally not that at all… Ahem.

Jumping ship from that walking Death-Flag that is Leah, you decide to be the closest person in the vicinity. You are now the Page of Rage, Ryder von Wolfhart and you are on your way to figure out what the hell is going on. As of just a few minutes ago, you were sleeping soundly on the first real bed you’ve had to yourself for the past several weeks. Then Leah had to go and fuck it all up, storming into the room, nagging up a storm about how something happened in to that Red Prick in his special tower-room and how you needed to stay put where you were. Naturally, you couldn’t give a fuck what Leah orders and disregarded her requests immediately, exiting your room to start poking around, curious what’s got he in such a fucking twist. You know, because she doesn’t just get to fuck up your rest and expect to listen to her dumb-as-shit demands.

So that leads to now, heading up the stairs to Red Prick’s tower, looking to find out from the other douchebags in this shithole what the fuck is fucking happening. Reaching the top of the stairs, you find three of the bozos you unfortunately call a team, standing around like dickheads, doing nothing as per usual. Let’s go see if you can wring anything useful out of them for once.

“Yo! Assholes!” You shout at the schmucks as you saunter over. “The fuck happened?

“Vampire attack.” Sock Head nonchalantly answers, as if it wasn’t the most interesting thing he’s ever had to say in his entire boring-as-fuck life. You had wondered why he was all bandaged up. Must’ve gotten his shit rocked.

“There’s that word again; Vampire. He said it before, but what is it?” Dark-hood whispers, pestering Ragnaa about her woefully alien understanding of the world.

“It’s like the human equivalent of a Rainbow Drinker.” Rags quietly explains back.

“R-… Really?” Dark-hood asks, turning green for some reason.

“Vampires? What, and no one fucking told me? Bullshiiit.” You say, lamenting the brawl you missed out on. Judging by how fucked up of a state the room's been left in, it seems like it might’ve been a halfway decent one, too.

“We’re still kind of in the direct aftermath of it.” Ragnaa explains, still looking upset from the incident. She’s a bit of a wimp, you think. And for some reason she’s holding tight to some fucking dumb looking gavel and tent stake. Looks like something out of a Souls game. Are those dinky things supposed to be weapons? “We’re still… decompressing.”

“You should’ve come and gotten me, I would’ve been more than happy to stake the bloodsucker for ya.” You tell them, picturing how you’d have done it while you practice a few moves, showing off a little Shadowboxing. Probably would’ve started with an uppercut, maybe followed it up with a roundhouse. Yeah, that would’ve showed ‘em.

“I’m sure.” Sock Head says like the sarcastic dickhead he is. You glare at him, remind him of his place.

“…What’s the deal with Prospector Pete?” You nod to the door behind them while you jump up onto the table, sitting at the edge facing them while setting your feet down on a nearby chair. “Leah said something happened with him?”

“He was the one the intruder attacked.” Dark-hood informs you with a dumb looking expression, like she’s worried or something. “Mary’s currently overseeing a blood transfusion from Frank. They should be finishing up any minute now.”

“She’s fixing him? Are you goddamn kidding me?” You look at all of them, baffled at how fucking careless they’re being about an undead infection. “We have to put the fucker down! He got bit by a vamp, that means he’s a thrall now!”

“Relax, the attacker got their powers from God Tiering, not actual vampirism. It isn’t contagious.” Sock Head assures you, like he’d even fucking know. What the fuck does he know?! “In any case, even if he was a vampire, we’d still need the Boss. How else do you plan to get outta this place?”

“I’d figure something out.” You tell him, confident you could fight your way out of this problem without this stupid gaggle of dorks.

“This cage isn’t one you can smash your way out of, Ryder.” Ragnaa tries to correct you. “Cooperation is still the only chance we have to escape with our lives.”

“Pff, your lives maybe. I’ve still got winning this lousy tournament as a fallback if this magic boat plan falls through.” You proudly boast, knowing you’ve got options. It looks like Rags is about to say something more, but she’s cut off by the opening of the doors behind them. Poking her head out is the weird doctor chick, her arms up to the her elbows and face around the jaw fucking painted with blood. Nearly makes you sick at the sight of it.

“Apologies for breaking up this little meeting or whatever the hell you lot are doing out here, but I came to tell you that the procedure was a success and that Jason’s condition has stabilized as of right now.” She says while wiping the still wet blood on her hands against her tunic. “He’s still currently unconscious, but with his blood pressure normalized and his heart pumping on full again, I suspect it’s only a matter of time before he comes to. Regardless, someone will need to stay with him, both for protection and to monitor, but I’ll leave that decision up to you all.”

“You’re not sticking around?” Sock Head asks her as she walks by, pulling out her booze to slug down gulp. Isn’t she like 19 or something?

“Certainly not. I have some rest to catch up on, myself.” She breaks the news to him as she moves past you all towards the stairs you’d come in through. “Need to stay fresh and focused, especially if people in this party plan to continue getting themselves injured at the rate we’ve been sustaining. You all know where my room is, give me a ring if Jason’s condition worsens or if someone else finds themselves in need of assistance.”

“You’re going to go sleep?” Creed asks, baffled by her laissez faire attitude. “After everything that’s happened?”

“What if the intruder sneaks up on you like it did with Jason?” Rags joins in on the questioning. “Aren’t you worried it’ll get you too?”

“Not in the slightest. I laced my ichor with a nanoid defense matrix the moment I got wind of a blood thief. One drop from my veins and they’ll be looking at a robotically-induced brain aneurysm.” The Doctor chick explains as she shoves a hand into her pocket while casually waving back with the other. “Anyway, I’m leaving One Eighty-Seven here as well. The procedure’s left him a little drained and he needs to get some rest. Keep an eye on him for me, would you?”

“What a doting mother…” Sock Head sarcastically mutters as she continues to leave.

“Wait a second, I thought you guys killed the vampire.” You interject before these jackasses can get off track again.

“No. It’s still in the castle somewhere.” Dark-hood informs you, three fucking years too late. “Leah’s hunting it down in the dungeon.”

“Are you kidding? That scum-sucker is still alive and I’m wasting my time talking to you fucks? Later losers, I’ve got a Dracula that needs fucking up.” You declare to them, hurrying across the room back to the exit, pushing past the Doctor chick on your way.

“Hey, Ryder, wait up!” Rags annoyingly calls, hurrying after you. “You can’t go out there, it’s too dangerous for you!”

“Says fucking who?” You scoff as you enter into the passage, only to hear her shoes -click- -clack- down the stairs after you.

“Leah said we should stay in groups while she goes to find the intruder.” She pesters, catching up with you just as you reach the carpet of the bedroom area hallway, grabbing you by the cape to slow you down. “We should really just let her handle it, she’s much better at fighting than us.”

“Speak for yourself.” You sneer, jerking your cape free from her. “I know you probably don’t get this being a girl and all, but I’m a genuine purebred warrior, and I can do whatever the fuck I want. I’ll have that piece of shit vamp double-dead and in the ground by the end of the day, no question about it. And I’ll do it before Leah even has the chance to even sniff in the right direction.” You storm off again, away from the blubbering little girl trying to besmirch your kickass image by preventing you from being your regular badass self.

“This person is dangerous, Ryder. They managed to sneak past Dallra like it was wriggler’s play and even Leah and Creed couldn’t best them in strife together!” She pesters, evermore. “You’re going to get hurt!”

“If Leah couldn’t handle them with Creed taking care of her, how the fuck is she supposed to take the vampire out on her own?” You point out her moron-logic to her. “And stop following me, Ram-head. You’re cramming my fucking style.”

“Leah figured out how to keep them at bay using a cross of wood to shield herself.” She tries to explain herself, sounding even more stupid. “She should be more than capable to dispatch the threat now with this edge over them.”

“A cross? Pff! What, is she carrying garlic with her too?” You laugh, imagining Leah in a dopy vampire-hunter costume, little crucifix in hand, cloves of garlic around her neck, with some rinky-dink stakes strapped to her chest. What a fucking dope! “The only think a real hunter needs is their wit and bare hands.” You flash a few punches to show her what you’re working with. “I’d be too embarrassed to show my face if I had to rely on a crutch like holy water and sunlight to get the job done. Honestly, what is that girl thinking?” Getting to your destination, you come across a dumbwaiter installed in the hallway’s wall, probably for the lazyfuck waiters who’re supposed to work here when they’re moving food to and from the dining room you just left. “Ha! Now we’re talking.” You open it up and start to crawl inside. Dark-hood said the vampire was in the dungeon, right? Well Leah’s probably still trying to figure out how to get downstairs, so you can definitely beat her to the punch if you get there first!

“Ryder, that’s not safe.” Ragnaa tries to tell you as you get situated. “The rope’s fibers are all rotted, it won’t be able to hold your weight while you go down.” You’re about to hit the descend button when you look at the troll.

“Yeah, and what the fuck do you k-“ Before you can ask your completely reasonable question, something in the dumbwaiter -snaps- and you begin to plummet “ooOOOAAAH!” You fall for what seems like a fucking eternity, but without warning, you slam to a stop, nearly splitting your back open as you hit what must be the final level in the elevator. “GAH, fUcking Shit!” You roar as you try to burst out from the compartment. You kick out at the shutter blocking your exit a good few times, but the piece of shit must be made of reinforced titanium or something, because it’s not fucking budging!

Eventually seeing that it won’t yield, you try for the hand-latch on the bottom, having to awkwardly pry at it in your cramped space, forcing the blockade up after a small moment of struggle and- Ah! What the fuck was that? Shit, you got a splinter! Fuck! It fucking hurts! Now angered, you fling the shutter up, but the fucking thing bounces against its lift gears and slams back down, nearly clipping your hands. With a bit more raging struggle, you eventually bust the thing up enough that it’s forced to stay open, putting the fucking thing in its place. Erupting from the dumbwaiter with a stern huff, you dust yourself off, wincing when you roll your shoulder wrong. Damn it! It looks like you got pretty bruised up. That fall must’ve been two or three thousand feet if it did this much damage to you. Once you’re settled in the room you’ve landed in, you glance back at the elevator before looking up to the ceiling, imagining the smug look on Ragnaa’s face knowing she made a lucky guess. Hm! Smart Ass!

Thoroughly pissed off at the events that just transpired, you turn your rage against your new surroundings, looking for something to break in frustrated retribution! Looking around the damn place, you find that it’s a fucking dump. It looks like some kind of pantry-kitchen room, but it’s even more abandoned looking than the rest of the fucking shit-shack this Land calls a castle. Cobwebs and dust all over the fucking place. Fucking disgusting! What’s even more disgusting is the weird fucking mural on the wall just by the oven. What the fuck is that thing?

Taking a closer look at the weird cult shit going on in the corner, you find that someone’s taken a festering dog turd or some petrified piece of rotting wood or whatever the fuck it is and wrapped it in this putrid looking leather with symbols carved all over it. Whoever the fuck’s been down here tied the revolting thing to a notch in the wall, letting it hang against the stone. Below it is a small pile of broken chicken bones or something left in a half circle, pushed up against the wall as well, with two lit candles set on either side of the pile. As well as this, there are these red handprints painted on the counter before the shrine and above the candles, turning it into some fucked up mural piece. Is that… Aw, fucking gross, is that Blood? This is a god damn kitchen, how unsanitary can these fucking heathen get?! You swear to god if this was that Circus Freak’s doing, you’ll snap off those dumb looking zig-zag horns on her head and beat her silly with them. You ain’t having this weirdo cult fuckery in-house. Not on your watch!

 

ᚷᛖᛏ ᛟᚢᛏ ᛟᚠ ᚺᛖᚱᛖ, ᛚᛁᛏᛏᛚᛖ ᛚᚨᛗᛒ. ᚤᛟᚢ'ᚱᛖ ᚾᛟᛏ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛟᚾᛖ ᛁ'ᛗ ᛚᛟᛟᚴᛁᚾᚷ ᚠᛟᚱ.
Farðu héðan, litla lambið. Þú ert ekki sá sem ég er að leita að.

 

“Fuh-!” You exclaim as you hear a whisper pass over you. “What the fuck! Who said that?! Who’s here?!” You demand, checking your surroundings. Still just a shitty empty kitchen, it looks like. No one in sight. Guess you’re just hearing voices. Man, you’re way too fucking paranoid… Probably because of this voodoo shit creeping you out! Turning back around both frustrated and disgusted, you lean backwards and kick the shrine center mass, breaking the weird leather wrapped turd in half and destroying the mantle. Good riddance, you piece of crap!

With much more important matters at hand, such as putting the hurt on all vampire scumfucks in a twenty mile radius, you march on, finding your way to the nearest exit in the room. Passing through this threshold, you’re immediately met with a set of stairs going upwards. You stomp up the dusty flight, finding yourself in the middle of a dark hallway. To your right, you can just spot the base of a grand stairwell and to the left you can see those big fuckoff doors you entered through when you first came to this damn castle. You’re all the way down in the first floor foyer, it seems. Explains the long fall… Anyway, getting downstairs was the easiest step in your mission. Now comes the hard part, finding this damn bloodsucker. The thing’s probably hidden itself away, knowing someone like you is on their way to wreck their shit, so it seems like you’ll have to search the dungeon head-to-toe if you want to find them. Let’s get to it, then! ……Where the fuck’s the dungeon?

Hmm… Looking around, you don’t see any dungeony passages that might lead you to your target. You guess you could head back upstairs and ask- wait, no! What the hell are you thinking! Like you would ever lower yourself to such a pathetic display! What the hell could those useless bastards tell you anyway? A kickass guy like you can do this all on your own! Now think! You could… you could… Ah! You can check the outside of the castle! There’s gotta be at least a cell or two in the dungeon that has a window to the outside, for when a prisoner behaves enough to deserve fresh air or something. All you have to do is search the base of the castle for any barred windows then boom, you’ve found your in! Sure, you’ll have to rip off the bars and break your way in, but that’ll be no problem for a man as tough as you!

Invigorated with your genius strategy, you practically skip- y-you mean sprint to the enormous doors to get outside. It takes some doing, since these enormous fucking wooden motherfuckers probably weigh a thousand pounds each, but with enough mangrit, you manage to push one of the doors open. Almost as soon as you take a step out, you’re practically knocked back inside again by the intense winds of the storm, and you’re quickly drenched by the pelting rain. Several flashes of lightning strike down in the distant horizon, causing you to squint at their sudden and not-at-all startling appearance. Okay, let’s make this fast, it fucking sucks out here.

Surfing down the stone steps to the courtyard at the front of the castle, you check the immediate area at the foundation of the building, discovering nothing of importance or any kind of value. Just some shitty stones. Undeterred by the worthless findings, you march onward, pushing past the courtyard gates and onto the small bridge that connects the castle with the valley over the shallow dry-moat that divides them. Alright, this should have a decent vantage point. Moving over to the sides of the bridge, you lean against the rampart, peering past its ledge towards the base of the mountain on either side of the structure, and still nothing! What the hell, there should be something here! You double check both sides of the bride again, but there’s nothing there! What the fuck is this?! Some kind of Joke?!

Beyond frustrated now, you kick the mortar of the rampart but quickly regret it as a ripple of pain crashes up your leg. Dropping down to one knee, you grab hold of your foot, trying to stop the throbbing as you shout at yourself. Damn rocks! While you’re busy being pissed at the world, as every little fucking thing seems to have gone wrong for you on your hunt, something catches your eye. Movement, out in the valley. But who would be so fucking stupid as to be walking out in the god damn open like this? Unless… the Vampire!

Staying low, you creep across the bridge, slowly descending on the incline down until you’re at the end of the road there. Seeing them clearer now through the heavy rain, you spot the figure again, dressed in that mint green Sock Head wears. Along with this, the trespasser wears a shirt that melds into a kind of short skirt with tights beneath them running to their knees. Tying together the God Tier is a small hood they’ve left down attached to a half-cape. It’s different from your own outfit, but you recognize a Page’s wears anywhere. So, this Dracula wannabe shares a Class with you, huh? You can’t think of a more fitting opponent!

Eager to kick this rival reaching up to your throne as Top Page back into the dirt, you rise from the ground and march confidently out into the open. The bastard was walking parallel to the castle’s entrance, probably trying to make it look like they didn’t just escape from your domicile and was just passing by, like you would be so gullible as to fall for that. They must’ve broken out of that cell window into the dungeon while you were busy looking in the courtyard, and are just trying to play it cool now. Deception like that would never work on you, though!

“Hey!” You confidently signal to the challenger, letting them know your strife is about to begin. As you do, a bolt of lightning strikes through the skies above you. Infuriatingly, this shit-heel seems to ignore you, continuing on their pathetic attempt to escape your wrath! “Hey, prick! I’m talking to you!” You call again, to their complete disregard, once again accompanied by a strike of lightning. Alright, now you’re mad! Reaching down to the dirt, you claim a sizable rock to herald your message of battle. Winding up, you fling the stone as hard as you can, probably breaking the sound barrier in the process, aiming for the back of this bastard’s head. See if they can ignore this!

At an almost blurring speed, the rival Page reaches back and snatches the rock just as it’s about to strike true to their skull. Hm. This guy’s got a few tricks up his sleeve, huh? That’s fine. It would’ve been a boring fight anyway if that rock actually hit. He would’ve been dead on the spot! Slowly looking over their shoulder, the Page turns back to finally acknowledge you, revealing that they’re blindfolded. So they’re one of those gypsy wander type vampires then. The ones with the weird gimmicks with their eyes. You can deal with that. Also revealed is the fact that this dude’s a chick! You had just thought they were some douchebag with a manbun at first.

“…” The girl remains silent, looking at you from behind her eye-covers with an undeserved confidence. Dropping the rock to the ground, your rival turns to face you completely now.

“Yeah, that’s right. I’m talking to you, you smug fucker.” You taunt them, knowing you forced their attention on you. You aren’t going to be ignored, especially not by bloodsucking scum like this! “You think you can just come into my house and romp around to your heart’s content? You must be out of your fucking mind, little girl.”

“…” They continue to hold, still as a statue as the rain clatters against their motionless form. Probably too scared to even come up with a response, right? Ha!

“Normally I’d go easy on you, since you’re a girl, but you made a big mistake breaking into my kingdom. An infraction like that doesn’t just go unpunished, ya hear?“ You confidently continue, seeing that you’re the only one with enough brain power to contribute to the conversation, it seems.

“…” Their silence is really starting to piss you off now. Who does this tramp think she is?

“Come on then!” You shout at the bitch, losing your temper. “Bring it!” Facing off against the fiend who thought they could trespass on your turf, you raise your chin high, knowing you’re about to knock them into next week. Remembering how all of your Father’s fights started, you imagine the bell ringing, and you bring your fists up as you take your stance, Southpaw style. Your rival readies her own stance as well, showing off some phony kung-fu formation. Yeah, see how far that’ll get ya, bitch!

 

Ryder, Kill the Fucking Vampire already.

Chapter 49: > The Small, Lonely Self

You are Ryder von Wolfhart, the Page of fucking Rage and… and your eyes won’t... focus, and… you’re… on the ground? Christ, what happened? Fuck, your nose! It’s gushing blood! Ugh, it’s flowing down into your own mouth! You go to spit the pungent fluids out and along with it comes a tooth…? What the fuck happened?! Your thoughts won’t focus and it feels like your head just got caved in!

You try to sit up, but a sharp pain in your chest forces you back down, like your own heart is threatening to pop like a water balloon. Falling back, your head hits the hard ground with a concussive impact, sending a spasm throughout your body. Fucking Fuck! What the Fucking Fuck! Fuck! What is this?! It’s raining! You’re looking up and it’s raining and the rain won’t stop pelting your face and the world won’t stop spinning!

Over the pounding sounds of rain downing out your perception, you’re just barely able to hear what sounds like a shoe dragging against the ground. Glancing down with wincing and more than likely swollen eyes, you see her. The Vampire Tramp, cheap fucking Cheater, the Page of Stupid Squiggly Fucking Circles! Slowly disengaging from her fake phony fucking bullshit fuck martial arts stance! That Bitch! She did this! What kind of dirty trick did she pull! You didn’t even see it happen, what the fuck did she fucking do?! You’ll kill her! You’ll fucking kill her!

Forcing yourself to try and get up, you nearly black out as it feels like the bones in your fractured arm have turned to liquid, and you can’t so much as move it an inch. You roar a gurgling scream as the blood from your nose continues to choke you. In the midst of your struggle, a figure appears over you, catching your attention. Unable to focus your sight still, you’re only just able to make out the details of the person before you. A troll wearing the Seer of Heart’s robes.

“I’d stay down if I were you, guy.” The Undead Fuck tells you, watching you toil on the ground like he has any right to look down on you. “She’s way out of your league.”

“Shut the fuck up Haugrr!” You order, your clenching jaw pushing against loosened teeth as you determine to get back up and beat that bitch into the dirt. “Rah… RAAH!” You roar as you force yourself up onto your elbows. The Mint Page remains before you, not moving a muscle as she sightlessly watches you fight to get up. Let’s see how smug you’ll be after Round 2, you motherfucker! “Hey bitch! I didn’t hear no fucking bel-“

Faster than you can react, the girl lunges down at you, fist first. And the world goes dark.

 

***

 

Huh? What’s that? The person you were being was just rendered unconscious? Well that’s most unfortunate. But maybe if you didn’t have him running his mouth so much, he wouldn’t have gotten the breaks beaten off him. Talk shit, get hit, von Wolfhart. Talk Shit. Get Hit. It’s the simplest fact of life.

Regardless, you still need a person to be. Being someone with a quick temper obviously didn’t work out that well, so how about we take it in the opposite direction and you be someone more level-headed. Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Level-headed.

You are now Creed Lederman, and you’re pretty alright with that fact. At the moment, you and Dallra are hanging out in the Boss’s bedroom-turned-hospital suite, waiting for things to stabilize within your group. You’re sitting bedside, on a chair you dragged in from the dining room, while Dallra’s sits on the windowsill, gazing at the storm as it rages on outside. You aren’t sure if she’s actually focused on the rain, though. She’s got this preoccupied look of worry on her face, making it clear her mind is elsewhere.

And you can certainly understand why. From her perspective, she’s just had a major slip up happen on her watch, despite there being not much she could’ve done to prevent the events of today from happening. Yet still, she’s wracked with guilt. It’s just one of those unfortunate situations where no matter what you did, you always think you didn’t do enough and you end up getting stuck in your own head about it. You’d offer a word of condolence, but it’s usually best to let someone work through a thing like this on their own, at least for the most part.

You look at the Boss, as he lies there, tucked beneath the covers next to Frank, like they’re in one of those christmas movies where the parents make their twelve kids share a single ridiculously long bed like a couple of penny-pinching psychos. Looking at him, you notice a bit of color coming back to his face. That’s a good sign. Hopefully that means he’ll be up again soon. He’s had a few moments of lucidity in the past few days, but for the most part, he’s been in a partial coma. You can’t help but feel a bit responsible for that. After the stunt he pulled against those three bastards in the garage on LOHAN, knocking himself unconscious to pull off one last Time Snare on that Mage, you really had to cram the pieces of his consciousness back together again to keep him functioning. You more than likely did a fair bit of damage to his mind palace in the process, having had to force his brain into one cognitive piece on a moment’s notice. At first, you thought you’d accidentally lobotomized him, but steadily, he’s been coming back to the world of the living more and more each day.

Thinking about that day, you’re reminded of the strange anomaly you’d seen in Boss’s head when you were initially looking for him when he was lost in his subconscious. You had come across an enormous veil in his mindscape constructed out of recently produced cognition. You’ve seen mental fortifications like that in the past, but this one was different. Normally, when someone has a mental block, that manifests as a physical object in their mindscape, literally blocking off memories or events or whatever else the human mind is capable of suppressing, but that manifestation is usually weeks, months, years old, spanning back to however long ago that suppression first began. The blockade in the Boss’s mind, however, was brand new. And you mean brand new. Like it had just been actively weaved together at a moment’s notice. You didn’t have much time to observe it while you were in there, since finding the Boss took precedence over your curiosities, but you swear that the veil was being stitched together in real time, replacing the cognition mere hours or even minutes after it had settled in the barrier. You’ll have to be sure to ask him about it when he wakes up. In cases of mental blocks, most people aren’t usually aware of their presence within their minds, but with a case as special as this one, who knows? Maybe he has an idea what could be causing it.

“The Lighting is messing with my perception.” Dallra says out of the blue. You glance over at her as she continues to stare out the window, not taking her eyes off the glass.

“Huh?” You grunt, unsure if she’s even talking to you.

“The Lightning on this planet. It makes the darker parts of the Land harder to see.” She continues. You still can’t tell if this is being directed at you or if she’s just saying this aloud to herself. “It’s like when you’re blinded by a bright light and can’t see things in the shadows afterwords. That’s why I’m having a hard time seeing people in the darker parts of the castle. And why the Thief is still eluding my sight.”

“…You don’t have to justify yourself to me, D. I understand how your powers work.” You remind her, turning back to look idly at the door. “No one expects you to be a flawless security system at all times. Leah is just a little stressed out about everything going on, is all. Try not to overthink it too much.”

“………I don’t like seeing everything…” You glance over at her again, seeing she’s not done. “The first day we met, you mentioned that it didn’t make sense that I had a fear of heights because of my power. It’s because for the longest time, I tried to suppress them. To not see the countless worlds around me every time I let my thinkpan wander. It made me feel small, and it made everything I did feel insignificant. So I blocked it out.”

“You can do that?” You ask, to which she gently nods.

“The Gravitation of a Blackhole is so great that not even Light can escape from it.” She explains to you. “I had discovered that the scope of my vision fell under this purview as well. If I honed in the attention of my God’s Eye past the event horizon of a blackhole, it would stay there effortlessly. No more visions of the infinite expanse of reality, no more sinking feelings when I noticed the trillions of miles of Space above and below me. The constant loom of existentialism no longer weighed on me. I was no longer forced to confront just how meaningless I felt in the face of the universe. So I stayed there, not having to see anything that wasn’t in front of me. For a time, I thought I was happy, but looking back on it, I think I just wasn’t scared. The Fear you feel with an ability like this, it’s… It’s Primal. One that any creature would feel if given enough time to comprehend their place in existence. The only difference for me was that it didn’t take me much time to comprehend at all. It was Always. There. Watching me. Looking at me just as I was forced to look at it. One vast and endless mirror. Showing me a reflection I couldn’t bear to see.” You pause a moment before responding, wondering if she’s asking for advice or not.

“So what changed?” You follow up with a simple question, figuring she just needs someone to bounce these thoughts off of.

“Nothing changed.” She promptly answers. “I stayed that way. Kept my mind within the singularity, where I could ignore the reality around me. After a while, though… I began to notice changes. Everything became so… hazy. Like my thinkpan was filled with sopor. I had a hard time remembering things, and became more careless. Accidents started to happen…” You notice her mindlessly caressing the fingers of her mechanical prosthetic as she speaks. “It did connect me with someone very important in my life, but in the end… I think it was what caused my timeline to splinter, and was why I ended up here. The only reason I started to use God’s Eye in the Arena was out of necessity. With so many dangerous people around every corner, I had no choice. It was either open my eyes or die… but it sometimes feels like I’m struggling with that decision still. Wondering if survival is really worth the price of admission.” Okay, yeah you should definitely intervene with talk like that.

“That’s certainly a dilemma you have there.” You sigh, removing your glasses to polish a smudge from its lens. “I won’t bullshit you by saying something pretty about how it shouldn’t matter if your existence is insignificant in the grand scheme of things because you’re important to the people around you, or how you should kill your ego and be one with the universe to find peace with it, or any other sort of pseudo-spiritual attempt to cope with the reality we’ve found ourselves in. I think you’re absolutely correct about how scary existence can be. I think if all of humanity or all of the trolls died today, the universe would keep on business as usual, and I think that because it’s already happened before. Both of our species went extinct, and existence didn’t notice, it didn’t so much as blink. That can be a lot to grapple with for some people. Usually those people try to ignore the fact that the universe is indifferent to us by pushing it to the back of their minds, by focusing on work or their social lives or even by convincing themselves that they’re special, more important to the world than those around them. Your powers made it impossible for you to ignore that indifference, with them forcing you to face the universe without the filter most of us are lucky enough to have. It seems like you’ve developed a resentment towards your sight due to the fact that you were never able to choose when you got to use it, leaving you to feel like you had no power over what you were exposed to. It’s possible that discovering this method of yours of using Blackholes to drown out your vision restored some sense of control you felt in life, but like many good things this grew into a vice, leading you to develop a dependency on Blackholes as a means to ground yourself. It seems like you continued to use this Blackhole method despite the negative effects it had on your life because at the end of the day, it allowed you to bury your head in the sand and finally ignore that constant reminder of unimportance.” You put your glasses back on and look at Dallra, who’s facing you directly now. “It sounds like what you’re experiencing is the beginnings of an identity crisis. You don’t want to be someone who isn’t important, but since getting your powers, you’re finding it harder and harder to identify what important is. I think you’re afraid that if everyone is insignificant, then regardless of who you are or what you do, you could never be someone who mattered. I believe this led you to a kind of limbo state, where you’re too hesitant to fully commit to who you want to be, and further solidified your decision to leave your mind within the singularity of your Blackhole, where you were allowed to exist at those crossroads indefinitely, only sticking your head back out when your literal life depended on it. I’d like to tell you that you’re wrong, and that since we’re God Tiers that we matter in the grand scheme of things, but the truth is; nothing that was born will ever be more significant than any of its peers. The world’s wealthiest man holds the same significance to the universe as its poorest. The version of yourself that you are now holds the same weight to existence as your Alpha. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It just is a thing. It’s not something we can help, but at the same time, it doesn’t mean that nothing we do is meaningless. Actions still have consequences, regardless of how insignificant we may be. Every decision we make will alter the world around us to degrees most can’t fathom, and the effects of which our existence has left on the universe will continue to reverberate through reality well past the time of our demise. Just because our immediate reach isn’t universe-changing doesn’t mean we don’t matter.” Dallra seems surprised by your diagnosis, and remains quiet a good few moments.

“It’s easy to say the things we do have weight when you can’t see how small they actually are.” She finally says, still swayed by the burden of her powers. That’s fair, you think. Years of baggage can’t be unpacked in a single conversation. “The Infinite is not something that can be simply shrugged off…”

“I disagree.” You cross your arms, recapturing her attention. “Infinity is a daunting word when you try to interpret it in its entirety, sure, but I don’t see why you have to look at it that way. Every great and endless thing is simply a vast many small things, tricking those who see them into thinking they are larger than they actually are. The single grains of sand comprising an entire beach, the molecules that piece together the foundations of our very bodies, the countless stars that make up the universe. All smaller pieces that form something big. People are the same way. No man is an island, entire of itself. Each is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.” You summarize for her, much to her confusion. “Your problem is that because of your sight, you’re constantly being forced to compare yourself to the universe, and you’ve found yourself understandably feeling small in contrast. But I think the important thing to remember is that it shouldn’t matter if you feel small in the face of the universe. Of course you’re smaller than the universe. You’re only a single part of it. But you are a part. It might be scary thinking about how small a part you might be, but I don’t think seeing billions of galaxies at a time should invoke any more existential dread than seeing a very large tree should. The tree is bigger than you, older than you. If left alone, it will outlast a great number of lifetimes longer than your own. Yet the tree isn’t more important than you because it’s big or old or enduring. It simply is a tree. A piece of the universe, a part of the whole. Just like you are. It just happens to be a little bigger.”

“You’re treating the matter too simply, Creed.” Her voice starts to drift as she rejects the idea. “You just wouldn’t get it…” She glances off to the side. You’re starting to lose her.

“Not entirely… but I know what it’s like to feel lost in the infinite.” You pull her right back.

“You do?” She inquires, skeptical but curious as to what you refer. You tape the side of your head, showing it off to her.

“The human mind expands infinitely inward.” You explain. “It’s not an exact one-for-one with what you experience, but entire universes exist up here. Realities that have the potential to go on forever, endlessly continuing regardless of how far down you go. With my unique connection to the inner workings of the mind, I’d often times get lost there myself. Days, weeks at a time, even. Forgetting where I was. Who I was. Forgetting that there was a world outside the abyss that I had a responsibility to. The true depths of the mind wasn’t something that I could grasp as a whole. So I didn’t. I took it piece by piece. I became familiar with the places that I had already been, and explored that which I had yet to go. I learned about it, and it became much easier for me to deal with. I think that might be the case for you too. You just need to change your perspective.”

“Easier said than done…” She huffs, resting her cheek against her palm.

“I can understand if you’re still uneasy about your powers. It’s one thing to know something, but an entirely different thing to apply what you know in practice.” You nod along to her frustration. “In that same notion, though, there are certainly steps you can take to help you start dealing with these issues. If the endlessness of the universe scares you, then break it up. Divide the trillions of lightyears up into increments in the billions, set down borders that help you conceptualize the smaller pieces that make up the larger infinite. Chart the stars, study different worlds, explore existence. We often find terrifying that which we don’t understand. If you come to understand the universe around you, I’m sure you’ll find that there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Dallra’s attention pivots over to you, her chin twisting on the palm of her hand as she looks at you with a glum expression. She goes to say something more in response to your advice, but the look on her face quickly switches to surprise as a sudden stirring in the sheets to your side catches your ear. You aren’t looking when it happens, but you can tell from sound alone that the Boss has shot up from his spot in bed.

“AAAAAAAHHH!” He screams in fear, scaring the shit out of you.

 

*̵̰̹̒̎́͘*̵̧͖͉͖̼̦̝̝̗͓̥͋̏́̀̄̿*̶̛̯̣͛͂̚

 

What the- What are you doing here? You aren’t scheduled for a perspective change for another chapter or so. Creed and Dallra were just about to talk with Jason for the first time in days! There’s some really important stuff being discussed between them. Get back in there!

…

What do you mean they're locked out?

…

Well who the hell locked them?! All of those characters should be more than available for narrative focus, how is it that all three of them have been locked out simultaneously? Hold on, something is wrong here. Let me see if I can mess with the POV Slider, usually swapping it to 1st or 3rd resets the hiccup in the system.

 

I am reading-

They were reading-

You now read the rather confusing words being presented to you on your screen.

 

Okay, let’s see if that worked aaand of course it didn’t. Fuck. Okay, not a problem with the slider, then what? Is the Foreshadow Generator burning out? No, that seems to be operating at an optimal rate. Could it be the Comprehensibility Verifier? Wait, it’s turned off? How long has the verifier been off for?

…

How Many Chapters?! Jesus Christ, okay, one headache at a time. The Character Select Screen is broken. How? Is this because of that script Mia wrote? No, that only infected Jason’s profile, seerSpace and heirMind are still fully functioning assets. And yet they’re still greyed out, but that only happens when…

 

Wait, who the hell is that? What is̶̛̺̄̌̓̊̊̃́̽͘͠-̸̨̧̢͕͇͍̜̭̱͚͊̉̓͌͆̾̿͐̃͜ ̵̛̠̘̀̀̌̎̀̏́͘̚̕͠͝O̸̳̔̂̋̚H̸͈̩̜͉̳̻̟̝̘̹̬̜̾̄̿̏͐̎̏̇̎̈́̏̌̀͝ ̴͚̯̞̩̲̜̭̙̫̬̠̖̤̓̐̾͋̒̒͗̆͋͌̉̈͂̓͜ͅM̸̢̧̧̡̛̻̣͓̫̰͎̜̹̖͒̈́̌Y̸̢̩̦͓̝̙̱̳͙͖̯̼̩̅̈̀̿͋̇͑̊̓̏̕͝ ̸͍̞̤̰͕̬̻̮̥̮̤̋̂͆́̈́̒͛̒̕͠͝G̸͍̺̫͇̜̬͉͓͍̰̲̼̲̳̋̄͑̀̓̊̔̽̓̚͝͝ͅO̷̙̮̪̖͕̳͍̐̌̏̌͐͆̅̓͛͒͘̚͝Ď̴̨̧̡̛̙̻͈̖̗̅͜͝!̶̳̹̎̋̑!̸͖̹̽̏́̌͌̽̎̅̆̄̎͋͋!̸̞̂͋̓̐́̂͌̆̕͝͝

 

 

You are now Haugrr Domark. Hopefully you aren’t interrupting anything important right now.

At the moment, you walk the halls of a highblood manner befitting the snootiest of Ceruleans, carrying with you your pissy chum, Ryder, currently thrown over your shoulder like recently hunted prey. Ironic, considering you’re in Mosshead’s body. He had a tendency to carry his kills in just the same manner. You’re on your way now to bring Ryder to the talking medicalizer; Mary, in hopes she can fix his fucked-up face and what you assume are multiple broken bones, judging by how bendy his pieces feels at the moment. For some reason when you found him, he wouldn’t stop muttering about vampires and bitches, flailing around like a tantruming wriggler. Even now he still tussles about while over your shoulder like a restless barkpup being taken from the pound. You thought he’d be heavier. You aren’t sure why, considering he’s a runt of a human, but he gives off that denser-than-he-looks vibe. You guess he is dense, just mentally so.

“Buh… nuh… fukn… bighe.” Ryder mutters into your bellowcage.

“That’s right buddy, you tell ‘em.” You encourage his ravings, thinking that might keep him from slipping into a coma. As you carry your burdensome load off to better times, you find yourself near the girl’s dormitories. “Ah, here we are. Now…” You pause. What room were the space ladies stored in?

“Oi.” You hear from off to the side. Glancing over, you spot Sara as she rounds the corner, grabbers occupied with a stack of sleepingcloaks. “What are you doing sneaking around out here for, ghoul?” She derides, stopping her stride as you meet at the crossroads in the hall. “Looking for more graves to rob?”

“First off, mind your business. Second, I’m helping this dork.” You say while showing off the Battered Page. Although… most of your Pages have been battered at this point, so that’s not the most descriptive of names.

“Is that Ryder?” Sara boredly looks on at your catch.

“Don’t have any other Rage players on this team, do we?” You ask, figuring it’d be obvious. For some reason, her expression sours.

“As pleasant as always, Haugrr.” She grimaces, stepping past you.

“Hey, wait.” You stop her. “Weren’t you a healer at some point? How about you do your damn job for once, Airhead.” She loudly sighs before pivoting back to face you.

“Is he concussed?” She walks back over.

“I don’t know. Maybe?” You shrug, unsure how human anatomy functions. “That’s when your thoughtsponge gets rattled around a whole bunch, right?”

“Hmm.” She hums, gripping Ryder’s jaw as she looks over him, completely ignoring your question. “What the hell did you do to him?”

“Me? I didn’t do a god damn thing to him!” You defend yourself, insulted she’d even imply you would do this. “I found the little moron wandering the halls on the lower levels, barely able to stand on his own.”

“And what was he doing down there? In fact, what were you doing down there?” She interrogates you, like you saving a teammate isn’t a fucking charity service to this group. You were a god damn Troll Mother Teresa going to rescue this goon, who the hell is she to scoff at your good deeds?

“Ragnaa asked me to get him.” You clarify for her, narrowing your sightglobes in annoyance. “She knew he was going out to explore and was afraid he’d get hurt so she asked me to go find him. That a good enough excuse for you, oh Arbiter of everyone else personal business.”

“That's my line. And what a great job you did.” She scoffs, folding her grabberprongs in unimpressed aloofness. “He’s three different shades of bruised and down a couple teeth. Couldn’t have got him any sooner?”

“Hey, you people are lucky I went to get him at all. Do you know how long it takes to get to the lobby? How many god damn steps it is?” You defend yourself, still unsure if anyone remember that your body’s fucking LEGS are broken. Why anyone would come to you for footwork is beyond you. Sara doesn’t seem to be swayed by your words, if her dismissive expression is anything to go off of. “Whatever. Can you do anything for him or not?”

“Oh, do I have your permission to touch now?” She sarcastically asks. A shutter runs across the edge of Amvinn’s death wound.

“Not in the mood, sister.” You glare at her, to which she rolls her sightglobes.

“Not much I can do for the broken bones, but I can probably cool the swelling of his bruises and reorient his sense of direction. If he’s got a collapsed lung, which it looks like he might, I could probably reinflate it. That should at least bring him out of his stupor.” She tells you while glancing him over again. Putting the sleepingcloaks under her arm, Sara holds an overt grabber out towards you. “Here, face him towards me.” Following the girl’s instructions, you turn to the side, allowing her better access to Ryder’s back. She places her grabber there, and a noticeable draft begins to channel past you, like someone left a window open and a cool breeze blew in from outdoors. Stirring from his near-sleep, Ryder begins to jerk and flail, eventually looking up from your shoulder.

“What the Fu-CAK-“ He starts to shout, only to choke on a cough, slamming back down as he hacks up a splattering of his weird human blood all over your dress.

“Uhgg…” You grumble, looking down at the cherry-red sight.

“There you go. Good as new.” Sara declares.

“It doesn’t fucking feel like it!” Ryder gargles out from a bloody ignoranceshaft. “The Fuck!”

“Too bad then, cause that’s the most you’re gonna get from me.” Sara shrugs, clearly unbothered by the state of the Page.

“Gah, fucking Put me the Fuck down!” Ryder demands from you, starting to work especially hard at worming out of your grasp. You give the boy what he wants and toss him off your shoulder, down to the ground. He lands with an audible oof. “…not all at once you fucking prick…” He rasps into the carpet.

“Are you crying?” Sara asks, sounding unsure if she should be concerned over him.

“I’m not!” Ryder verbosely denies as his sightglobes well with painjuice. With a frothing anguish, the Page pushes himself up off the ground with his apparently one good grabberprong, stumbling onto his stepbeams once more. Seeing he’s struggling this much, you figure he’s still in need of medicinal assistance.

“You won’t happen to know where Mary’s room is, would you?” You ask Sara as you throw Ryder’s non-broken limb over your shoulder, much to his grumblingly silent protest. Sara sighs at your request before turning to walk down the hall.

“Follow me.” She instructs as the three of you proceed through the corridor. An awkward silence passes as the only sound between the lot of you is Ryder’s quiet grunting as he struggles to limp fast enough to keep up. Your attention drifts over to your side as you subtly glance at Sara, only to find that she’s doing the same to you, with an obvious glare on her face as she observes you. In any other case, you’d likely be quick with an insult to someone so openly sizing you up, but you figure you should keep quiet since she’s doing you a solid at the moment. You wouldn’t put it past her to abandon her task of helping you if you were to say something sharp in this moment.

“So, uh…” You hum, unsure how to proceed in such an awkward situation without the trusty social-tool of hostility to fallback on. “What’s with all the sleepingcloaks?” You nod to the pile of fabrics she carries.

“What, the blankets?” She glances down at her payload. “Um… ah… me and Esspin’s room is… cold. Yeah, it’s cold, s-super cold, so we need more blankets. That’s what these are for.” She explains, seemingly having a hard time answering.

“Ooo…kay?” You lean your cranium back, unsure how to take her answer.

“Welp, here we are, good seein’ ya Haugrr, bye.” Sara gestures to a door before briskly power walking off. Huh… wonder what her deal is.

“What a fuckin’ weirdo.” Ryder comments as he hangs halfway to the floor while suspended over your shoulder. Looking back to the door Sara led you to, you give it a firm knocking, hearing a perturbed rustling of human-bed fabrics from the other side. After a moment of waiting, listening to the grumblings from within the room, the door opens, and standing before you is a disheveled looking Mage, her hair left a mess as her robotic sightglobes shimmer and chime as she glares at you from the threshold of her respiteblock.

“What.” She more demands than asks.

“Ryder got his ass kicked.” You tell her, partially holding the boy up by his good hand, the way a conceited prick Highblood Fisherman would hold up their prized catch of the day.

“I did not!” Ryder protests while trying to wriggle free.

“Ryder fell down a flight of zigzags.” You readjust your report to better fit his ego.

“Shut up!” Ryder continues to tantrum. You just don’t know how to please this kid. As you fuss with the Page, trying to keep him still, Mary stares at the two of you from her place within her room, judging your duo remarkably harshly for someone who’s supposed to be the team’s Healquisitor. Injuries happen, lady. Deal with it. Literally, deal with it, the poor goober needs treatment.

“Ryder.” Mary calmly says after a moment of analyzing you two. “Where is your cast?”

“…I don’t know…” Ryder mumbles, tucking his chin to his chest as he glances off in embarrassment.

“I thought I told you to leave it on for another week and a half, didn’t I?” She continues to speak in her level voice. “So why do you not have it on?”

“It was fucking itchy, alright! Christ!” He snaps at her. “What did you want me to do? My arm felt fine after the first day!”

“That’s not how the treatment works! You have a broken arm, boy. It won’t heal overnight!” She explains, matching his volume.

“Says you!” Ryder juvenilely retorts.

“Yes, says me.” She agrees. “And I’m the expert.”

“Whatever, just use some more of that goo stuff and fix my arm already.” Ryder demands, holding out his re-injured grabber rod for her to service.

“No.” She rejects, not bothering to ever look at the arm.

“What?!” Ryder exclaims.

“I’m not wasting any more calcium glue on you if all you’re going to do afterwards is roughhouse without even an ounce of consideration for your injuries. It needs a minimum of two week to set properly before you can consider the fracture as healed, and if you can’t get through that timeframe without issue, then there’s no point in using it.” She explains her reasoning to him. “You’re just going to have to let your arm heal the natural way.”

“Bullshit! I need to fucking get back out there, ASAP!” Ryder contests her decision, pointing towards… you aren’t really sure where he’s pointing towards. Down the hall? You think it might just be for dramatic effect. “That goddamn vampire bitch snuck me! I have to even the score!”

“So you got yourself hurt while vampire hunting. How nice. Unfortunately, you won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. You’ll need to rest while those injuries heal. You’ll greatly exacerbate those fractures if you go romping around right now.” She informs him before turning to you. “Haugrr, take him to the infirmary with the others, if you would.”

“No fucking way! I’m getting back on the hunt tonight! And there’s not a damn thing you can do to s-“ As Ryder talks, Mary reaches into her pocket, pulling out a tiny glass bottle from it. Without another word of opposition, she open the container and shoves it into Ryder’s face, directly under his sniffnub. Almost immediately, Ryder goes limp in your grasp. “obb meek…” Sputtering out, Ryder crashes and burns into sleep, passing out that hard.

“You just have that ready on standby?” You question the human while you try to figure out what the fuck she just did.

“Sedatives are an important must in medical practice.” She promptly informs you. “They made dealing with difficult patients much easier, as demonstrated just now.”

“Fair enough.” You agree, hoisting Ryder back up onto your shoulder again. “What the fuck is an infirmary?”

“A designated section of a building dedicated to the care of the ill or injured.” She answers with a yawn. “I’ve commandeered the room in Jason’s tower as an impromptu treatment facility. Take Ryder there and I’ll deal with him in the morning.”

“Why the hell am I the one who has to carry this shrimp around?! Why don’t you take him there, he’s your patient isn’t he?” You protest, frustrated at the grunt-treatment.

“Why? Oh, because I’m closing the door.” She says, closing the door. You’d say more, but you doubt your sanity could take the blow that is literally talking to a brick wall.

“Fuckin’ god damn lazy…” You mutter under your breath as you kick at the carpet, walking away from the oaken blockguard. Traveling down yet another corridor, you can’t help but lament that familiar feeling that you’ve been here before. Probably because every hallway in this god damn hive looks exactly the fucking same! Structures like this give you a headache… Oh, and would you look at that, you’ve reached the enormous set of zigzags leading up to the next level. Yeah, there’s no way you’re walking up all that. “Ugh. Obligational Shrug.” You announce, activating a recently discovered favorite skill of yours. In a static -zap-, the world around you updates into a more favorable state. Surveying your new surroundings, you discover that you’re in the tower Mary’s aforementioned infirmary occupies, right at the start of the diningblock. It looks like your jump took you further than you intended. You originally just wanted to skip the zigzags, but it looks like your Shrug placed you directly into Jason’s tower. Now that’s what you’re talking about. Being able to skip past tedious and monotonous corporeal obligations such as walking up a flight of steps makes you so glad you started messing around with your newer powers.

“Then why the fuck wasn’t someone watching me?!” You hear someone yell from the other side of the block you’re in. Glancing to the end of the half-destroyed feastplank, you spot the doorway to the tower’s respiteblock, partially left ajar and allowing the shouting to echo throughout the tower.

“Oh?” You hum, readjusting Ryder on your shoulder as you proceed further to the scuffle.

“How the hell did this happen?!” The shouting continues. You’re already familiar with the owner of the voice, having had to chase his echoes through a corridor once before. So it seems Jason’s up and at ‘em, then. Refreshed and ready to be a prick to everyone in his vicinity, not just you this time.

“The Thief would’ve been able to steal one of our connections into the group.” You hear what sounds like Creed try to reason with the fish-lipped asshole as he goes on his tirade. “It would’ve let them-“

“I know what a fucking Thief of Blood can do, Creed! Who’s fucking blood did she take?” Jason cuts him off to yell some more. “How did she get close enough in the first place to steal a connection to sneak in?!”

“We aren’t entirely sure yet.” Creed continues, remaining professional, but clearly aware of his manner of speaking, cautious not to set Jason’s sensitive temperament off again. “The Thief entering the West Tower was the first time Dallra spotted her. She must’ve managed to steal one of our connections before we even came to the castle.”

“And no one thought it pertinent to have someone watch over me while I was in a coma?!” He continues, pivoting to something else to throw a tantrum over. What’s up with him? He was always a jerk, but now he’s… you don’t even know how to put it. Vindictive? Tyrannical? Whatever it is, he’s pissing you off something fierce.

“Mary was in the vicinity, working on the roof, but it seems like she wasn’t able to hear you over the storm.” Creed tries to ease the tension.

“On the- What the hell do we even have that bitch around for if she’s just going to fuck off the first chance she gets?” Jason growls at a lower tone than he’s been shouting. You’re just outside the door now, peering in at the scene beyond. Jason’s still tucked away in his Humanian sleep device while Creed and Dallra flank the sides of his loungeslab. Frank is there as well, seemingly fast asleep next to hothead over there. “First she tries to undermine me, now she’s out in the rain, wasting time?"

“I’m sorry, it was my fault.” Dallra steps forwards as Jason begins to spiral with paranoia. Immediately the pissy look on his face breaks, taking a more somber appearance as his attention snaps to her. “I was in charge of surveying the castle, I slipped up by letting the Thief get by me. I should’ve realized what was happening sooner.” She explains, trying to take the blame off of Mary.

“N-, n-no, no, it’s not your fault.” Jason says, starting to mellow out as he covers his sightglobes, probably too embarrassed to make eye-contact after realizing how much of a prick he was just being. “I’m sorry, I just-… my head is swimming right now and it feels like I’ve got hot coals in my neck with this damn bite.” He explains while laying a grabber over his bandaged windhole. “The Thief clearly had some way to circumvent your sight and… and I’m sorry for raising my voice at you both. That was uncalled for…” Seeing an opportunity to join with Jason settling down now, you go to quietly enter the respiteblock, but a sharp -creak- practically erupts from the door as you pass through it, drawing the entire room’s attention.

“…” You silently look back at them all, woefully unprepared to handle a situation so suddenly made awkward for no reason. Eventually you clear your throat and move along the conversation. “This where all the dead Pages are getting dumped?” You attempt to break the ice.

“Ahahaha.” Jason dryly laughs, a venomous sarcasm lining his chatterbox. “What do you fucking want, Haugrr.”

“Certainly not a warm welcome.” You half mutter to yourself before fully entering the room. “Mary wanted me to leave Ryder here for when she wakes up tonight. She’s planning on coming by tomorrow to check in on all the injured, so I’m just here for drop off.”

“Oh my god, what happened to him?” Dallra inquires, seeming to register the severity of his injuries first and not assume you were just carrying him for no reason.

“No idea.” You shrug. “Ragnaa came to wake me up in the middle of the day and said the chucklefuck had gone down to the lower levels in the fortress to hunt some dumb human fauna called a hamfire or some shit? She asked me to go down there and make sure he was alright cause she was worried he was gonna get himself hurt. Turns out, she was right on the money with that one, gotta hand it to her.”

“I was too busy looking for the Rainbow Drinker in the dungeon…! Damnit, I completely missed another attack!” Dallra scolds herself, looking down to the floor in anguish. “Ahhh… Leah’s going to kill me…”

“She’ll understand, given the circumstances.” Creed tries to comfort her, to which she anxiously hums.

“Anyway, I’ve still got some beauty sleep I’d like to catch up on, so I’ll just leave this here.” You say while setting Ryder down on the sleep device with a -plop-, laying him at the foot of the slab like a domesticated rumblefiend. “Jason, looking good. Glad you didn’t throw your life away over a petty squabble for a palmhusk.”

“Palm…? Oh shit, the Phone!” Jason suddenly exclaims, sitting up from under his thermaldrapage. “Creed, please tell me you still have the Mage’s phone, right?”

“I do. Bad news, though; Thing’s password protected.” He says, holding up the palmhusk the two of them stole from some mook they jumped on LOHAN. “I’ve been running through codes for the past few days, but it locks me out before I can make any real headway. Seems like a dead end.”

“Huh?” You turn back, seeing them roadblocked by the device’s security procedure.

“Damn it. Do you think there’s any way to jailbreak it?” Jason asks as his hands twist around the covers on his slab.

“Stolen phones wasn’t exactly my racket back home. Besides, we’d probably need specialized equipment to gain access in the first place. I’d have no idea where to start.” Creed shakes his head as he breaks the bad news. Hearing this, you walk back over to the slumberapparatus, arriving next to Creed.

“Here.” You say, gesturing for you to take the palmhusk from him. Unsure of your motive but curious, Creed hands you the device. With it in your grabbers, you channel the faint bit of your psionic energy you can still muster from the other side. Combining it with your Unlawful Action skill, you scramble the palmhusk’s programming, allowing you to break apart the data structure handling the password encryption, unlocking the device. “There. Merry Twelfth Perigee.” You say dropping the husk onto Jason’s lap before heading back out.

“W-… what did you do?” Jason asks, befuddled by your unparalleled hacker skills.

“Opened it.” You say, stopping at the door again.

“How?” He continues to stare in awe. “All you did was touch it.”

“I already told you I had psychic powers, didn't I? They just got a little limited postmortem” You explain, figuring he probably didn’t believe you the first time you said it. “I’m a Technomancer. Husk Hacking is wriggler’s play for me.”

“Well… thanks Haugrr.” Jason mumbles, looking down at the device still.

“Don’t thank me too quickly. Here Creed, catch.” You say, tossing the perspective directly into Jason’s face. In an unexpected turn, however, the human swats the green ball of chaos away, inadvertently hitting Creed this time. Jason’s sightglobes dart up at the intended assailment, his attention centered on you as he stares daggers from across the block.

“Dah, what the-?!” Creed cries as he’s hit with the POV.

 

***

 

“Jesus, what the hell was that?!” You bark as your eyes begin to water.

“Get the hell outta here, already!” Boss orders Haugrr, pointing him towards the door.

“Fair enough.” Haugrr shrugs, leaving from the room. “If you need anything else from me; don’t.” He calls from the dining room.

“Ah, god damn, why does it sting?” You ask, taking off your glasses to furiously rub your eyes.

“Creed.” Boss motions for you to come by his side. Shaking off… whatever was just ailing you, you return next to the bed, looking over the Boss’s shoulder as he’s already delving into the pesterchum app. “What’s your chumhandle?”

“Oh, uh goodbyeKneecaps.” You tell him, watching as his thumbs hover over the keypad, waiting to type your answer into the search bar.

“Go- goodbyKneecaps?” He looks at you with an incredulous expression, taken off guard by the screen name. “Okay…” He mutters, typing it in before attempting to message you something. “Check your recent pesters.” Heeding his request, you open up your inventory, activating your Brainwave Fetch Modus, a retrieval type that analyzes your Alpha Wave activity, presenting you with an artifact from your inventory most closely resembling the object you visualize. It wasn’t very popular back on Earth, since most kids struggled at retrieving their intended items with much consistency, but you’ve never had trouble with it, for obvious reasons. You picture the device you’re looking for and summoned before you is your Holoscreen Projector, emitting a light-screen of your desktop from its glass optic. You tap the pesterchum icon on your taskbar, and it looks like you indeed have a new message.

 

PESTERLOG:

-- quartermastersFallingdown [QF] began pestering goodbyKneecaps [GK] at 20:23 --

QF: Still think going for the phone was a bad idea?
GK: Test Reply.
(not sent)

-- quartermastersFallingdown [QF] ceased pestering goodbyKneecaps [GK] at 20:24 --

 

“It’s true then. The Mage had some way of breaking through the signal jammer blocking communication in the Arena.” You surmise while still focusing on your screen construct. “Although it appears to be only one way.” You add, noticing the ‘not sent’ error message that’d been popping up under all previously attempted messages.

“What were those three bruisers doing in that subgrub on Lohan anyway?” Dallra comments while eyeing up the chat log as well.

“They were hunting me.” Boss declares as he grips the top of his sheets. “They knew my name, where I was. Knew the perfect time to strike with Dallra blinded by the storm.”

“Boss, that’s a little extreme.” You tell him, seeing his anger starting to rise again. “The Mage knew my name too, didn’t he? He probably just had some magic that could identify us through the blood we left fighting the monster we ran into.”

“That’s how he ID’ed you, Creed. He didn’t know who I was, he deduced it. He figured it out from my outfit, my Title. He already had a profile of me, he knew who the Page of Time was and he was looking for them. Him and his two goons.” The Boss’s breathing begins to quicken, looking like he’s starting to panic.

“It’s possible word could’ve already gotten around to the other Godtiers about what we’re trying to do.” Dallra suggests, crossing her arms with worry. “Maybe they came looking to take our ship for themselves.”

“That doesn’t seem likely.“ Boss disagrees as he begins to search the phone for more evidence. “The only recruitment method that might’ve garnered us attention from other contenders in the Arena would be when we reached out to you.” He glances at Dallra before quickly diving back into the phone. “But the message I sent you was simple, just asking to meet. Any other times we’ve discussed our plan with an outsider, it was done behind closed doors and they subsequently ended up joining the team right afterwards. We’ve been airtight with intel up until now. Between that and the fact that none of the three who cornered us were information specialists, I highly doubt we have the entire story about what went down in that garage that night.”

“What about the Heir?” You remind him. “Couldn’t he have gotten the scoop from a future self? I can’t imagine what we’re planning will stay out of the public eye for much longer, and if he came from the future, he’d know all about what we’re going to do. If he’s been hopping around the timeline, that could explain how they knew your when and where too.”

“It’s not possible.” Boss pauses, looking away from the phone. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you all, but… the Arena has been changing.”

“What?” Dallra says, looking over to you to judge your reaction. “Changing how?”

“For one, barriers on time and space have been put in place to keep contestants from leaving.” He elaborates. “We’ve all received power-ups too. Our abilities are stronger, and we have more of them now. If you don’t believe me, just check your Ability Index. And-… and the souls of the deceased are stripped of higher thought, leaving them to mindlessly wander the afterlife, unable to be properly resurrected.”

“He’s right.” Dallra announces with a distant look in her eyes. “There’s a sphere of super-condensed space surrounding the Arena. It looks no bigger than a yards across at first glance, but physically crossing it… it must be millions of lightyears long, at least.”

“It’s certainly another factor we’ll have to consider about our escape.” Boss explains in an attempt to downplay the obstacle.

“How long have you known about this?” Dallra firmly asks, clearly upset about the Boss’s withholding this info, yet staying reserved in her scolding, likely still not confident enough after her own recent slip-ups to fully lay into him.

“I found out the night before we recruited Creed.” He tells her. “Amvinn knew. I was going to ask him to help me explain everything to the group in a way that wouldn’t cause us to panic, but then the Prince of Life found us… and Mia went missing and everything just kept happening, I lost track of it. If fucked up, sure, but the point is the Heir wouldn’t have been able to scout the timeline for info. All temporal jumps are on lockdown as of right now.”

“So you think there’s more to those three thugs finding us then?” You ask, following the Boss’s lead of changing the subject. You expect a serious discussion regarding his secrecy in the future, but it’s best for now to let that lie while you hash out the details of any rival gangs possibly stalking your group.

“Of course I think there’s-…” Stopping his sentence short, you notice the Boss freeze as the hairs on his neck stand up. Looking him over closer, you notice he’s glancing down at the phone again, his thumb hovering over the screen like he was about to continue scrolling until he found reason to pause. Leaning over to see what’s got him so riled up, you find the Boss had been going through the phone’s photo gallery, and had come across a picture the Mage had taken with some girl. The two of them are embraced with the Mage throwing his hand over the girl’s shoulder and the girl turning the Mage’s face to kiss him on the cheek. A couple’s photo? With the angle the picture was taken, the girl had held the phone out to take a selfie of them with intent of showing off their God Tier outfits. You recognize them from the info you inherited from the Boss. He the Mage of Blood and she the Rogue of Life. “Robin…” Boss mutters.

“Jason…? Are you alright?” Dallra asks while trying to lean into his focus.

“I think I’d like to be alone for a little while.” Boss mutters, still gazing at the phone’s picture.

“But-“ You try to speak up, hoping to persuade the idea from him since there’s still much to discuss about recent developments.

“Now. Please.” He reaffirms, not in the mood for debate. You look to Dallra then back to the Boss.

“Right…” You nod, collecting your things. Without another word, you and Dallra exit the room, shutting the doors behind you. A deafening silence radiates through the dining hall as both you and your Troll friend try to figure out what caused such a drastic shift in mood. Something is wrong with the Boss. Ever since waking up, he’s been short tempered and paranoid. And dismissing you without warning like that? You don’t like this. Not one bit.

 

Creed, go get some Rest.

Chapter 50: > The Great, Terrible Other

After the chaotic midnight scuffle that transpired only a few hours ago, Creed was finding it exceedingly difficult to rest in the aftermath of all the commotion. There were a great many things to consider about everything that was going on with the team keeping his mind occupied, leaving him to lie awake in his bed, contemplating what could be done about them. Vampires prowling about the shadows of the castle they were camped out in, their leaders displaying deeply concerning tendencies mere minutes after waking up from a serious head injury, some vague and mysterious group of Other Godtiers creeping around out in the dark, circling his troop like a pack of wolves. It was all more than reason enough to leave the boy worried, making it clear that he wasn’t getting any sleep under current circumstances. In an attempt to take his mind off of things, Creed passed along the narrative to someone who could handle the stress of relevancy with ease. However, he did promise to take the perspective back when he started doing something interesting again, so look forward to that.

You now sit as Dallra, the very next day, up in Jason’s tower as you work on the final touches of the mechanical leg you’d started just a few nights prior. You’ve commandeered the end of the feastplank closest to Jason’s respiteblock as your work station, tinkering away as an awkward miasma plagues the vicinity. When you first came up to see how Jason was doing after his sudden drop in mood the previous night, Leah was already there, sitting in the corner of the room, watching over the three boys as they milled about the place. You think she was only there to look after her human companion, Ryder, but nevertheless, you doubt your presence in the room was welcomed by her, leading you to set up shop just outside the doors there. Ryder hadn’t woken up throughout the night and was still unconscious, even as you work now. You can feel the Knight’s resentment build as each minute passes that he remains asleep. From the look of her, Leah had a rough night romping around the dungeon as well. More than a few cuts and gashes had found their way onto her canvas, though she didn’t seem much the lesser for them, hardly even acknowledging they were there at all. She glared at you when you offered to bandage her injuries for her. She growled when you asked if she was successful in her subjugglation of her quarry. You didn’t try talking with her after that.

Mary came not long after to check up on the boys. During her visit, she reset Ryder’s broken limb, ran Frank through a series of procedures to measure his vitals, and finally, verified that Jason’s had indeed not grown any sharp fangs in his sleep. She said they were all in about as good of shape as you can expect given the circumstances, then prescribed Ryder a pain medication, but said she knew he wouldn’t take them, so asked Leah for them back by week’s end since she only had so much of the stuff. She took Frank with her when she left. Ryder still hadn’t woken up. You could practically feel Leah’s gaze hitting the back of your skull as Mary left, so you did your best to ignore it, instead thinking of the strange dream you had the previous night.

You were a titan, great and mighty. Your reach spanned parsecs, larger than any creature that ever lived. And yet still, you felt that same familiar feeling of being nothing in the face of eternity. You felt small and helpless, doomed to be forgotten the moment you stopped existing, as if you were to have never existed in the first place. You tried to ignore it. Tired to fight against that feeling, but nothing you did could ever drown out the voices at the back of your mind telling you it was true. That you were nothing but a speck in an endless sea of impossible things entirely unaffected by anything you’ve ever done or could ever do.

And then you spotted it. A blackhole, twice the size of your universe, more than willing to gobble you up whole. You had wanted to join it. To be spaghettified against the force of gravity and be no more, just as the universe intended for something as meaningless as you. As you flew through the cosmos towards the dense knot of spacetime, decades passing as your grew closer and closer, you began to feel a kinship with the tapestry there. Familiar, having observed it for countless years. It was like a long lost brother to you. And you were on your way to finally join him. But before you could throw yourself to the endless horizon, just as you reached a tendril of influence out to offer up to the infinite abyss, there came a barking from a nearby planet. When you looked, you saw a packfiend looking back at you, its tail wagging as it saw you notice it.

“You shouldn’t be afraid of trees just because they’re bigger than you.” The packfiend said as you focused on it. “You aren’t afraid of a big tree, are you?” They barked and howled at you as you occupied their skies.

“What?” You asked the tiny creature. “That’s a ridiculous question! Who would be afraid of a big tree?” The packfiend circled around, finding rest at the crest of a hill, overlooking the meager valley it lived its entire life in.

“Who? The same Who who’d throw themselves into an endless pit because they think nothing mattered.” It howled back without a second thought, not even needing a moment to think of a response. “A Who like that would be petrified of a really big tree.”

“And what would you know, Wolf?” You bellowed at the creature, shaking the stars around you. “You know nothing of my struggles! Nothing of who I am. My childhood was spent in a cave, where the comfort of a ceiling was always above my head. Where the largest thing I had ever seen was my own Lusus, who tended to me the way a mother should. Now I drift through the stars, with nothing but an endless abyss above and below me. Where I have seen pillars of dust larger than my entire existence a million times over. The universe does not care for me. It thinks not of what I feel, of what I crave. It will not miss me when I am gone. It will not notice when I drift no more…” As you spoke more and more, you felt yourself shrink in size. Deflating like a wriggling-day party balloon. Further and further you sank, descending until you were nought but a shapeless stain, painted upon the grass before the packfiend.

“But I would notice.” It told you from its place in your sky. “And others like me would notice as well. You have made waves in your long travels, the ripples of which having traveled a long way themselves! No matter the size, a difference has been made by you.”

“But what is the point of that difference if in the end it is just meaningless noise on a planet in the middle of nowhere?” You cried, squirming about your place in the dirt.

“Because if everyone and everything thought like that, then the world would be a great big graveyard of nothingness.” The packfiend explained, gently taking you into its maw as it carried you out to the cliff overlooking its valley. Looking out, you saw a vibrant land of wonder and beguilement. Lights, just like that of your Sunshine Bug, sparking up the forest like a map of stars. “The universe is one enormous, amazing place, and the only reason it can be this way is because the parts that make it up, quasars, nebulas, galaxies, are all unafraid to be themselves. They don’t question their place in the world, or wonder if they’ll be remembered after they’re gone. They simply are. Asking how a person like you could ever compare to a thing like the universe is like asking how the eye can compare to the body. How the clod can compare to the continent. It doesn’t compare. It simply is. I am, that I am.” Just as you had shrunk when you spoke, you grew as the packfiend spoke to you. It hadn’t returned you to your original stature though, only making you the size of a tree instead. Yet somehow, you felt bigger than you ever had before.

You don’t remember much else about the dream beyond that. Except that Esspin was there too, for some reason. She was there with you on your hill, when you were as big as a tree. You aren’t sure where she came from, popping out of nowhere it seemed, and she didn’t say anything to you, only waving at you from where she stood. You waved back and she left a small plushie that looked like your Lusus for you by your roots, which made you happy, getting to see her again.

“I am, that I am.” You mutter to yourself, repeating the last words the packfiend had spoken to you before waking.

“Guh!” A voice exclaims behind you, breaking you from your daydream. Glancing back, you see that Ryder has finally awoken, sitting up on the slumberplank next to Jason in a frantic huff. “Where the fuck am I?!” He demands, looking around.

“The Infirmary.” Jason boredly answers while next to him, still gazing down at the palmhusk he and Creed stole. He’s had his smellhorn buried within that device all day… It’s starting to get worrying…

“What?! How-… Shit! That harlot drugged me!” Ryder declares as he throws the sleepingrobes off of him, wiggling his way off the bed. “Who the hell does that damn eyeborg think she is?! Just wait till I give her a piece of my mind!”

“Hey hey, take it easy, Rye.” Leah says, halting the boy at the edge of the bed, trying to ease him from his frantic state. “Where are you gettin’ off to in such a hurry?”

“Where does it look like? I’m getting back to my hunt. That vampire bitch is still out there! And I need to even the score.” Going to get up again, Leah takes a firmer approach in keeping Ryder in place, forcing him back onto the bed with a grabber on both shoulders.

“I’ll handle the vampire, Ryder. You just focus on getting yourself healed up in the meantime, okay?” She attempts to assure him, only to seemingly irritate the boy further.

“What, and let you steal all the glory?!” He shouts, forcing her grabbers off him. “I’m the one who’s going to stake that scum-sucker. No one else!” Scrambling up, Ryder winces slightly as he gets onto his feet, but quickly pretends he’s fine and starts to march towards the door.

“It’s not a good idea for you to be moving around right now, buddy.” Leah tries to reason with him, hurrying to block his path again with outstretched hands. “You’re still injured.”

“Like hell I am! Get out of my way!” He jukes past beneath her grasp, quickening his pace as he leaves the room, speed-walking across the diningblock.

“Ryder!” Leah calls, hurrying after him.

“You want I should keep-“ You begin to offer to the Knight that you watch her ward for her.

“Don’t bother.” She quickly rejects, glaring at you as she goes past.

“Hm…” You hum while watching the duo exit the tower. Although tense in their leaving, with those two gone, a certain relief has washed over you, allowing you to breathe a little easier with Leah’s judgmental gaze no longer weighing so heavily on your shoulders. You glance back at Jason, seeing he’s still entranced with the telephonic device, scanning through all that the husk has to offer. “Hmmmmm…”

Turning back to your work, you complete the final touches on the nerve connectors of your mechanical limb, making sure they don’t get pinched in the gripping mechanism that holds the prosthetic to the wearer’s body. In cases where you weren’t attaching a connector port to a prosthetic wearer’s amputated limb, you would typically use the vacuum method for keeping the leg attacked, however, since you didn’t have the proper equipment to make a mold for a wearable interface for the leg to connect to, you were forced to implement a different design altogether. In addition to a lack of equipment, there’d also be no way to make a mold in the first place, since the owner of the leg still has both of steppingpoles intact. Instead you devised a system that simply clamps down on the wearer’s limb, ensuring contact between the wearer and the leg’s nerve connecters. Closing up the panel you were working in on the leg, you then pick it up from the table, testing its weight. 24.5 lbs, a suitable substitution in mass for its organic equivalent. You press the connecting port against your own knee, sending a kicking impulse to the corresponding leg. Subsequently, the prosthetic shoots out without a hitch, as expected of your handiwork. You aren’t one to brag, but engineering is the one thing you’re unrivaled in.

“Matching Leopard print outfits…?” Jason mutters while scrolling through the husk’s photo gallery. Hearing this, you peer over his shoulder, getting a look yourself. On the screen is the Mage and the Rogue again, posing like posh models, this time wearing a series of what look to be spotted animal pelts fashioned into vests and straps, accompanied by hot pink shirts, bright seafoam green pants and leggings, and flashy matching pink visors. Certainly a… unique style, you think. “These people are psychos.” Getting up from your workstation, you take the leg over to the respiteblock, sitting down on the edge of the slab as the prosthetic lays over your lap.

“Hey.” You greet the boy.

“Huh? Oh, hey Dal, what’s up?” Jason asks, looking up from the husk, having seemingly just noticing your appearance in the room.

“I, uh… wanted to give you something.” You tell him as you look down at your finished work.

“The leg you’ve been working on?” He asks while scooching over to the side of the slab next to you. “It was for me?” He looks over your gift a moment before looking down to his own limb. “Um… Dallra, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve kinda already-”

“Oh, no! I don’t mean to-…” You cut him off, seeing the source of his hesitation. “I don’t expect you to… remove pieces just to wear my leg-piece. It’s just… I have this feeling you might need it in the future.”

“You think I’m gonna lose a leg?” He blankly looks at you, seeming to try and quell his reaction.

“No! Or… maybe?” You shrug, cringing at how he might react. “I had a vision while you were asleep. In it I saw someone’s severed leg that had been left in the middle of a road, oozing human-colored blood everywhere. I wasn’t sure what to make of it at the time, but I’ve since had a few more premonitions that clarified what I was supposed to do, w-which led me to build the prosthetic for you!”

“Okay, I think I understand.” He hesitantly nods at you. “But I still don’t see why you’d make it for me specifically, though. Was the leg wearing Time player threads?” You shake your head 'no' to the question.

“It was more of a blue colored pant.” You correct. “The reason I think I made this for you is because… well… there was an excavation device like the one you use in combat left beside the limb.”

“A pickaxe?” He asks. You nod yes this time.

“Since you’re the only person I know associated with that particular tool, the message of my vision seemed obvious. So I made you this.” You hand the leg over to him, which he hesitantly accepts. “I’m not sure how it’ll be of use to you, if at all, but… but promise me you’ll keep it with you! Just in case!”

“Of course, Dallra.” He softly smiles while looking over the prosthetic as if it were a cherished gift. You can’t help but smile as well. A moment passes like this, until you’re reminded of something you can’t ignore any further.

“Jason, I-“ You begin.

“I should’ve told you.” He cuts you off, already sensing what you were going to bring up. “About the changes in the Arena. I should’ve told you before I was basically forced to. It’s been bugging me all night that I didn’t, and I just wanted to say that I’m sorry I kept it from you.”

“Why did you?” You ask him.

“Apart from having a world-class terrible memory?” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood. Seeing you stay stern, he straightens up as well. “I have a really bad habit of pretending a problem doesn’t exist if I don’t talk about it.” He shifts around in his place on the slab, clearing his throat before talking again. “When I was a kid, if something ever went wrong, I’d always try to fix it before anyone noticed. Because if I fixed it before someone said something, then nothing was ever really wrong in the first place. It was just some dumb kid thing where I was afraid to get in trouble and thought I could handle my problems on my own. Even now, I still have a habit of pretend a problem isn’t happening until I have a way to fix it. That’s obviously really irresponsible, especially under current circumstances, so again, I-… I’m sorry I let that happen.”

“I appreciate your earnesty.” You smile to which he quietly blushes. “I’m curious, though, how did you know about all this in the first place?”

“Aaah, y-you wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.” He plays it off, coyishly.

“I would!” You assure him.

“Well… it’s a little outlandish sounding, but there was this giant psychic sea monster who summoned me to some crazy foam covered ocean.” He regales to you his unusual tale, leaving you with a vague sense of familiarity to what he’s describing. “They were the one who told me about the transformations the Arena was going through. Said the changes were slowly killing them, and asked for my help to stop more from coming by executing my escape plan.”

“…The foam in the ocean… was it alabaster?” You ask. “With a deep green colored water underneath, and golden skies?”

“Y-yeah… You’ve seen it?” He asks you, befuddled by your insight.

“That sounds like Lofasm. Firmament and Sea Monsters.” You explain, having seen plenty of that Land in the past. Bit of a strange place. Occasionally a beast would poke its head from the waters, like a twisted Highblood Lusus, looking for land dweller prey to snatch up. You weren’t a fan of it.

“Huh… I guess it never occurred to me that it was a physical place within the Medium.” He hums to himself. “A-anyway, the monster told me I was something they called a Mover of Fate. Someone who can bring about bombastic change or however they put it. Me and-… and a Rogue named Robin.”

“The girl in the photos?” You ask, finally realizing what soured Jason’s mood yesterday. “The matesprite of the boy who accosted you in the garage?” He nods while twisting his grabbers into fists. “You think they’re coming after you, then?”

“It certainly isn’t a coincidence that her boyfriend and two power-house fighters showed up on my doorstep trying to nab me!” He growls as his temper jumps up a degree, his fists trembling. “Sneaky bitch thought she could get the jump on me. Well just try that shit again! I’ll be more than ready this time!”

“Jason.” You touch his shoulder. Suddenly that jaw-clenching anger vanishes from his face, replaced with a look of surprise as he remembers where he is again. “You said the three boys in the garage were able to hunt you down, right? …Doesn’t that mean they have people with them who can track us?”

“It does.” He agrees, decompressing from his sudden uproar. “…A Thief showed up after the strife ended to retrieve their combatants. I was seeing things at the time, so I wasn’t sure if they were real or not, but knowing who sent those three after me, it all makes sense now. It must’ve been a void player, someone who could’ve kept an eye on things from the shadows, stepping in when they needed to make a quick getaway.”

“Creed didn’t mention there being a Thief.” You tell him, confused why he’d keep something like that to himself.

“I’m not surprised he didn’t see her. He was probably too busy keeping my consciousness together to notice.” He sighs while running a grabber through his hair. “Either way, if they’ve got someone who’s good with secrets, it won’t be long before they figure out where we’ve been hiding out. We’ll need to move locations soon. Is there anywhere secure we can stay that’s on the way to the Maid of Light?” The question sends a shiver up your posturepole. You’d been dreading telling him this ever since he woke up.

“Jason… the Maid of Light is…… Dead……” Jason’s eyes slowly widen as he hears your words, turning pale the moment he understands what’s been said to him.

Without saying anything more, her dives into his inventory, retrieving from it a strange little device resembling a flashdocumenter with a screen on its back. Cycling through the images saved on the device, he scans past a series of stone pillars, each with a different symbol carved into the surface of them, some glowing and some not. Eventually he settles on one whose symbol resembles the shape of a Sun with a spiral leading down the middle. Like many other pillars, this one’s glow had been extinguished, leaving the sigil a dark indentation in the stone. Jason’s shoulders drop seeing this and it looks as if he’s been deflated.

“W-when did it happen?” The Page boy asks with a shaky voice he’s desperately trying to keep level.

“It was the second day you were out.” You inform him with a heavy heart. “We had just taken refuge in the castle for the night and I was plotting a course to the Maid for when we’d leave in the morning. She was holding out in a stemcluster on the Land of High-Rises and Connections. It would’ve been another day and a half before we could’ve reached her...”

“And who…?” He continues to probe for answers.

“I didn’t see the culprit, but… but Jason, they were hidden by a Blindspot in my vision.” You break the news, knowing he’s more than familiar with who you refer to.

“The Prince…” Jason mutters as his pan races a mile a minute. You nod with his deduction.

“He came out of nowhere, made a B-line straight for her hive stem, just like he did with us on the pyramid. Like he knew exactly where she was. I doubt she had time to react.” You explain the gory details of what you’d seen. “That was three days ago.”

“…shit… Shit! God Fucking-!” He yells while gripping his skull in frustration, covering his eyes in the process. He stays like this, thinking to himself for a long while before taking a deep breath. “……Alright, I’ll just… I’ll just have to find someone else who can fill their role. If the Others in the Arena are gonna keep killing the people we need, we’ll just have to look for players exponentially harder to kill. Heavy hitters who still have finesse over their aspect. I just… I just need to figure out who…” He assures you, turning back to his flashdocumenter to sift through the pictures there. “We’ll still need to move locations soon regardless. We know nothing about Robin’s group or any others she might’ve recruited while I was out of commission. They could be anywhere, for all we know. Crafty bastards could be creeping around our castle doors at this very moment…! As of right now, we’re on high alert. No more exploring the castle or breaking away from the group. Figure out a course for us out of here that avoids any potential ambush chokeholds or shooting galleries and we’ll get everyone ready to leave this place by day’s end.”

“Got it.” You nod, going to chart a path off-planet. “Um… anywhere in particular you’re taking us?”

“Anywhere that can house our group together will do. Beyond that, we-… we…” He pauses again, staring down at another one of those stone pillars with the extinguished sigil on it like before. “oh man…”

“What’s wrong?” You ask, taking a closer look at the image on his screen. The symbol on this pillar looks like the Blood Aspect Slash, except the three little drips leaking from the cut have been transformed into little slashes themselves, looking almost like a 4count tally mark.

“Nothing, it’s just… the Bard of Blood is dead.” He informs you with a somber voice.

“Did you know them?” You inquire, seeing the sudden drop in his mood realizing this information.

“Yeah. They were the first person I met in the Arena. He was the one who told me what was really going on here, with the fight to the death. Saved me from walking head first into a firefight not knowing I wasn’t still immortal too.” He explains as if he were talking about an old friend. “His name was Finlus…”

“Are you okay?” You check in with him when you notice the lost look in his sightglobes.

“Y-yeah, yeah, I’m just... thinking.” He shrugs you off, trying to compose himself. “He refused to come with me when I offered to team up together, but what if… I don’t know, what if I insisted? Looking back on it, the guy practically saved my life and I just left him on his own. I-I guess I’m just sad I didn’t get to see him again.” As Jason laments the death of a would-be friend, the tenseness that he’s been keeping in him seems to loosen just enough for his fists to unball themselves, leaving his open grabber by his side. Seeing it there, you take his grabber in your own, interlocking your prongs as you hold his hand. He dons a glum smile as you do, continuing to stare down at the Bard’s pillar on his screen, the faintest bit comforted by you. “…Ack!” He suddenly exclaims, grabbing his bandaged windpipe with his upheld hand.

“Are you alright?” You ask him, startled at his sudden outburst.

“I-I-I’m fine. Just a jolt of pain from my bite.” He winces while rubbing the injury.

“Oh…” As you watch the boy massage his neck, you can’t help but recall a scene from one of your Rainbow Drinker novels, where the Drinker’s loyal thrall offered his chitinous windtunnel for her to feed from, nourishing her after the taxing battle with a rival Shadow Dropper during her coronation ceremony to become Empress of the Day. You remember how your bloodpusher swelled with envy at such a display of tender fidelity, being given life and limb by the one claimed as her vassal. Even now, it makes your thinkpan runneth over with an illustrious splendor, contemplating such unwavering fealty. “Hey, Jason… could I, by any chance… see… your bite?” You ask as you feel your face turn a bright jade.

“……What?”

 

***

 

It would seem that Creed has finally started doing something interesting again, and as previously promised, has taken back the metaphysical load of hosting the narrative from Dallra. Quite the timing too, things were getting weird back there. Now, I think we’ve waited long enough. What’s this interesting thing Creed has begun doing that requires the perspective so badly? Walking, it would seem.

…Maybe you can be someone else until something actually interesting happens, yeah? We’ll check back in on Mr Lederman in a few-… Wait a second… the Select Screen is locked out again? Fuck! What the hell has been going on here lately?! Screw it, just walk around as Creed for a while. Let me see if I can fix this. Every god damn time......

As previously mentioned, you’re now Creed again, and you're navigating the ground floor of the castle your group has been occupying the last couple days. You aren’t entirely sure why you’re down here, but with all the commotion happening on the lower level yesterday, it seemed like a good idea to check things out yourself. As always, you followed your intuition and made the trek down the numerous levels until you reached the bottom floor. There hasn’t been that much different about this level than all the others in the castle. Typical sprawling hallways and fancily decorated foyers. It’s alright, you think. Elegant designs like this was never really able to catch your eye, though. You were more a fan of contemporary architecture. The use of various base shapes to organize a structure into something eye-catching always struck you as creatively intriguing. Maybe that’s just because you grew up in a brick apartment building, though.

-FLASH-

While deep in thought over shapes and architecture, the sounds of lightning striking in the distance catches your attention. That was much louder than that it’s previous been, usually being muffled a good deal by the castle walls. A window is open, maybe?

Hunting down the source of the echoing breach, you find yourself at the base of a stairwell in the middle of a small side-hall near the castle’s entrance. The crack of another lightning strife reverberates down the passage, confirming the objective of your search is at its top. Quietly scaling the steps, not knowing what you might find at its end, you eventually arrive in a quaint parlor area, decorated with a small couch and a few tables set for tea. The breach you were hearing the lightning from appears to be a french door leading to an exterior balcony that’d been left open. Standing there, clearly visible from inside, is Leah, sticking out like a sore thumb with her gold cape blowing through the storm winds. Ah, so she’s why you’re down here.

Approaching the doorway out to the balcony, you give the glass a few courtesy knocks, letting the stoic Knight realize someone’s arrived by her side. At a blinding speed, Leah’s whipped around, pistol drawn, ready to fire at whoever’s crept up on her. You had figured as much with how quick she is with that thing, already having your hands out to the side, partially up. The startled look on her face from being snuck up on quickly fads when she realizes it’s just you, causing her to let out a sigh before holstering her gun once more. She turns back to face the cavernous valley that makes up the landscape the balcony looks out at. You walk up beside her, joining her at her perch. Exiting out, you realize that the balcony has a stone awning that shields it from the rain. You thought it weird when you saw her brooding around outside, but at least she wasn’t just out here standing in the rain as she did it.

“I could’ve killed you, ya know.” Leah informs you with a huff, likely still angry you were able to get the jump on her.

“I appreciate that you didn’t.” You thank her, leaning against the stone of the balcony to stretch out.

“Whaddaya doin’ here, Creed?” She asks you in a tired voice while keeping her attention out at the valley, folding her arms as she watches through the rain.

“I’ve got a pretty good sixth sense for where I need to be.” You shrug, not really sure how to explain your intuition in a way she’d find believable. “I went for a walk, and the path led me here. You?” She glances at you from the side of her eye, skeptically watching you half a beat before turning her attention out again.

“I’m keeping an eye on someone.” She explains in a huff, like a disappointed parent. Following her gaze, you peer through the heavy rain and spot a purple blur shuffling about out in the valley.

“Ryder?”

“Yeah…” She sighs, letting her eyes rest. “As soon as he woke up, he was stomping around, shouting about getting even and refused to lay back down. I tried following after him, but he just kept hollerin’ about how he didn’t need a ‘damn babysitter’ and that he’d ‘hunt this bitch on his own’. I figure if I just tail him long enough, he’ll tire himself out and I can get him back to bed.”

“Isn’t Ryder, like… fourteen?” You point out to her. “Don’t you think you’re babying him too much?”

“I wish I was.” She disagrees. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do with that boy. If he keeps running around like this is all just a game, he’s gonna go and get himself killed.”

“Maybe he just needs a little space to figure things out by himself?” You suggest as if you weren’t 100% sure this is the correct course of action for letting Ryder grow. The info you got from the Boss on Pages wasn’t what you would call extensive, but one common factor with them is that they need to figure out a lot of their problems on their own. Bearing down on him the way Leah’s been doing will just hinder the kid’s progress further. Though you’re certain Leah wouldn’t take that criticism well, given her current state of mind.

“By himself?” She scoffs. See? That’s exactly the type of response you were talking about. “The last time he was by himself, he was damn near beaten to death. I’m not letting him out of my sight again. No matter how much our guardian angel assures me I don’t have to.” Hearing she’s still cross with Dallra, you let out a deep sigh.

“…Look, Leah? Go easy on D, alright?” You ask, garnering an angrily raised eyebrow side-eying you in response. “She’s spent most of her life a normal sized fish in a normal sized pond. With the powers she got, she was basically thrown into an ocean with no bottom to it. She’s still working out the kinks with her sight, but she’s trying. There’s gonna be a bit of a learning curve with figuring out who can counter what with her powers.”

“Did Dallra ask you to say that?” She suspiciously observes you, suspecting you’re colluding with the Seer.

“No. But I can tell it’s bugging her.” You assure her. She seems to simmer at the idea. “…You’re not used to playing nice with others. Are you?”

“Playing nice isn’t something we have the luxury for.” The Knight declares with a stern firmness. “I’d rather live with the ugly truth than die believing a pretty lie.”

“What was it, then?” You inquire, catching a confused look back. Seeing she’s unsure what you mean, you continue. “You’re not from the same Earth as the rest of us. That much I’ve figured out. You’re grizzled. Wary. You’re quick with a gun and cautious around the undead. You also set up a perimeter in the dormitories and patrolled it for days on end without rest. Those aren’t normal traits an average seventeen year old develops. Something tells me the end of your world came long before Skaia’s asteroids did. So what was it? How’d your world end?”

“You’re a quick one, Credence.” She compliments with a knowing huff. “I figured it out myself when Ryder told us about his life back home. Stories of how he hated going to school or that he was upset when his favorite burger place closed down. Issues you wouldn’t have where I’m from. With the bits and pieces I’d put together from everyone else, it was clear the world I grew up in was vastly different from the ones y’all came from.” She turns back to lean against the balcony next to you. “…It was an outbreak. Some virus or pathogen or whatever those fancy scientists called it on the TV back before everything went bad. Whatever it was, it brought people back from the dead, made ‘em hungry for the living. I’ve heard some people call them zombies. We just called ‘em Them. Those who’d scrape and claw to get into your home. Something other than human. I was about eight or nine when it happened. When people started eating people. There was a time I tried to hold out hope, tried to believe that the world would get better again. But there’s only so long an idea like that can last…” She grabs hold of her wrist as she speaks, gazing back at her reflection in the glass of the balcony door. “Since then, I stopped kidding myself that things would get better, and just made sure the people around me wouldn’t get hit as hard when they got worse.”

“Was that the pretty lie you mentioned?” You ask the Knight, starting to get an understanding of why she does the things she does. “That things will get better?”

“It was.” She admits to you, turning back around to face the valley again. “We were cooped up in this construction side, my settlement and I. Big building with a few floors completed enough to live in. Fenced-off lot we could farm in with enough materials to fortify what was already there. It was perfect… It wasn’t much, but it was the seed that was going to put the world back together again. We lost our leader when one of them got in. I was competent enough in a scrap, so the others in my group started looking to me for what to do after that. I was… different, then. We had kept our community a secret up until I took over. Didn’t venture out far to scavenge, only took in people on occasion. I wanted to change that. It had been seven years since everything ended. I knew-… I thought that the people in the government or the hospitals or somewhere would’ve found a cure by then, and that they just needed help gettin' it out to the masses. I started sending our people out farther than we ever allowed before. I had us go looking for other settlements, figuring one of them might’ve gotten word of a cure. If nothing else, maybe we could’ve established a trade with neighboring communities, something we’ve never had before. Maybe if enough of us banded together, we could start clearing out cities. Could you imagine that? A city, safe again. A place like that, it’d be a beacon that people would see for miles. A physical reminder that the world could still be saved.” As the Knight recounts her time on Earth, a twinkle begins to form in her eye, as if living out the moment she first planned for the future all over again. When she comes back to the present, that twinkle fades with the realization of where she is, and she focuses then on the rain once more. “…But all we found outside our tower were raiders. Filthy highwaymen who only sought to take from those who had. They were something other than human, just like Them. Scraping and clawing to get into our camp. We had managed to fend them off for a few weeks… but then they got an old school bus working again. And drove it straight through our front barricade.”

“Did you…?” You struggle to find the words.

“Fight?” She finds it for you. “Harder than we ever fought for something in our entire lives. It was our home. We weren’t just going to stand by and let someone take it. We took them down before they could so much as step foot into our shelters. Had them running with their tails between their legs by the quarter of the hour. The only problem was that it didn’t matter to them if they didn’t get our sanctuary or not. Just so long as no one else got it neither. A few hours before their little attack, they drove around town on their bus, laying on the horn, catching the attention of every corpse in a ten mile radius on the way.” You hear a scraping as Leah talks, noticing she’s begun to drag her nails against the stone of the balcony. “They led a hoard to our doorstep. Boxed us in on all sides. We took cover in the shelters, but there wasn’t much we could do left. They were getting in eventually, and we didn’t have any other way out. Yet there I was, smiling like a moron with a secret to tell. I rallied us. I knew if we kept formation, took em on one wave at a time, we could endure. We could make it out alive.” For a moment, that twinkle comes back to her, but it’s not a second later before it dies out again. “We held out for a while. Fought on as well as anyone else could’ve. It actually seemed like we were starting to push them back too. That’s when… that’s when my foolishness got them all killed. I was cocky. Pushed ahead too far. One of them got a hold of me, sunk its teeth into my arm.” She holds her hand out by her side, like one would if they were expecting a handshake, glaring down at the cuff of her sleeve. “Me getting bit broke rank. When I screamed out, they all looked to me. Their leader, made small by such a pitiful scratch… it shook them. And before they could shake that shock off, we were overwhelmed. Fell like dominoes after that. One after the other, the dead-heads got to them… I was the only one who got out. Me and only me.” A single tear runs down her cheek and she swallows her pride. “I thought I’d turn. Hell, I prayed for it. To be one of them. To be other than what I was, to not remember what I had done… but as it would turn out, that cure I was looking for? The miracle that I had sent my friends ringing the dinner bell to the wolves for? It was me. It was always just… me. And I couldn’t even save a single person. Even with all those pretty little lies fillin' my head, I still faltered. And they were ripped apart.” Taking a moment to contemplate Leah’s story in its entirety, you struggle to come up with anything to say that might ease her mind, even in the slightest. It’s unfortunate, but certain situations just can’t be fixed, no matter how hard one tries. Certainly not done so by a few paltry words from someone who can't relate to the plight she's gone through.

“I’m sorry things ended up the way they did for you.” You give your meager condolences to the girl, whose expression stays stern as she tries to keep herself composed.

“I don’t have anything against Dallra, Creed. I just don’t want to see my friends get hurt anymore.” She lets out a soft breath. “So if the people around me can’t do what they say they can do… I’m sorry, but I just can’t trust them. If it’s worth anything, I’ll keep my thoughts about her to myself from now on.”

“That’s fair enough, I suppose.” You sigh, dropping your head down to run your hands through your hair. You gave it your best shot, you guess. No point in pushing the issue with her, you’d just drive her further into her mindset. You’ll just let her be for now. Settling after your discussion, a beat passes where the two of you remain quiet, just letting the rain fill the void. You look up again, spotting Ryder out in the valley as he flails about, doing who knows what there. “…I can’t relate to everything you’ve been through in life, so I won’t try to pander to you about dusting yourself off after a fall or pulling yourself up by your bootstraps. I didn’t grow up in an apocalypse where mutant monsters were trying to eat my guts, so frankly I have no right to tell you how to feel. I just want you to know though, that I can empathize with what it feels like to not have a childhood, or to have to grow up faster than you were ready for.” You explain, hoping you could at least find a common ground with the Knight of your team.

“Was your Earth not a peaceful one?” Leah asks, glancing at you.

“It was. Or at the very lest, society hadn’t crumbled yet, but the neighborhood I grew up in… let’s just say it wasn’t exactly the Ritz.” You explain to her. “The area I was in was controlled by one of the local gangs. If you lived on their turf, the way they ran things basically influenced your entire life. The most you could do is keep your head down and hope they didn’t notice you much. I wasn’t so lucky, though. They had heard around town that I was a damn good talker, so they came to recruit me, thinking I could be useful for settling affairs they had with the residents in the area. They made me a debt collector for their loan sharks, someone who’d smooth things over with people who owed before they had the squeeze put on them. I tried turning them down at first, but if you wanted to live in their neighborhood, it was go along to get along with those guys. So at age ten, I was going out with a few enforcers, shaking down the different businesses on my block for protection money. I hated it. Wringing out the people I had grown up around, I felt like scum. They were my community… but at the end of the day, if I quit, I’d be right there alongside them, getting taken for everything I got. Being on the outside wouldn't do me any good, and the way I saw it, if it was me collecting their debts, I could be more lenient with them than the other boys in the neighborhood would be. So I stayed. By twelve, I was out on my own, cracking the skulls of jagoffs who thought they could creep into our territory, and by thirteen I dropped out of school to be with the boys full time.”

“What’d you go and do that for?” Leah asks, confused by the logic. “If you hated it so much, why be around them more than ya had to?”

“School wasn’t safe for me anymore. I had skipped a grade when I was younger and ended up going to high school a year early. And while the other boys in my gang didn’t bother with education, I found out the hard way that a few of our competitors were still attending.” You sigh, remembering the few weeks you had managed to stay enrolled with a bitter fondness. “They caught me in the locker room after gym. I made it out, but not without a few scratches. It made me realize that when I was at school, I was on my own. And that’s something very scary for the world that I lived in. So I stopped going. Figured there wasn’t much in academia for a punk like me anyway.”

“You ever try leavin’?” She asks as she hears out your woes.

“I did. It was over a trouble I had with a corner store owner, Mr Fleece. The lenders in my crew had spotted him during a tough time when finances were tight. He knew it was a bad idea, but the bills were starting to pile up and it got to the point that he thought he’d lose the store. So he came to see us. Anything to keep his family off the streets.” You explain with a pensive tone. “Fleece was always good to me. My parents… well my parents weren’t always around growin' up, but Fleece always made sure I didn’t go to bed hungry. So I made sure I was the one handling his debts. The interest rates our lenders stuck him with were cruel. He had payed back what he borrowed three times over, but still he was nowhere near out of the hole. The boys wanted me to send him a message. Go by the shop and make sure he understood the situation he was in… I told them no. Even though every bone in my body was screamin’ at me to keep my trap shut and go along with what they wanted, I told them I wasn’t gonna do it. That Fleece was a good man and that I’d sooner walk away from their whole operation than let something happen to him……. They beat the living shit outta me after that. Left me bleeding' in some parking lot in Southie, barely breathing within an inch of my life. I hobbled home when I was able to walk again after a few hours a’ laying there. By the time I got back, Mr Fleece’s store was up in flames. You could see the smoke from a district over… I don’t know who did it, but it didn’t really matter. I got the message they were sending. It doesn’t matter what you want. You either take part or you get taken apart. I didn’t poke my head up again after that. Fleece and his family skipped town not long after. He died a couple months later, complications with his heart I was told.” Another pause falls upon your little chat with the Knight, where you simply listen to the beating of the rain, enjoying its downpour. “I don’t mean to give you a sob story, by the way. After everything you told me about your life, mine looks like a cakewalk in comparison.” You laugh under your breath. “I just figured you’d feel a little more comfortable being on a team like ours knowing there’s someone else who gets it. Who knows what needs to be done and what it costs to do so.”

“It’s hard being young in an angry world. It’s hard and it seems like nobody really understands.” Leah sighs, letting her gun-hand rest on the grip of her pistol, as if assuring to herself that her sword is still by her side. Her eyes seem to settle on Ryder as she contemplates the world, watching as it appears he’s slipped and fell in the mud out in the valley. “It never really goes away, does it? That feeling?”

“What feeling?” You glance over at her.

“Envy.” She rasps, the faintest bit of guilt on her voice.

“Maybe not… but maybe that’s just human nature. To wonder about all the things that could’ve been, had things turned out differently.” You say while stretching out, standing upright again. “A friend of mine would say that hope is a powerful thing. She thought that it didn’t matter what hand you drew in life, since at the end of the day, it was all up to you how you’d use it. That tomorrow could be that much brighter if you worked towards the things that could’ve been.”

“No offense to your friend, but she sounds like a bit of a ditz.” You can practically hear Leah rolling her eyes.

“Hahahaha.” You chuckle to yourself, trying to quell your laughter. “She was certainly something, that’s for sure.” You nod with her assessment. “If nothing else, you couldn’t knock her resolve. It wasn’t often that she found the will to set her mind to something, but when she did?” You whistle for emphasis. “There wasn’t anything that could get in that girl’s way. She’d move heaven and earth to get things done. I think that’s what she meant about hope being powerful. When she believed there was a way forward, she’d go until she found the path… I really admired that about her.”

“Belief. Fugh…” She dismisses the idea, crossing her arms with a scoff.

“Worked with your cross, didn’t it?” You point out to her.

“Creed, it’s been nearly three years since I stopped believing in a higher power. Something tells me that even if God did exist, he wouldn’t be very willing to grace me with his protection.” She scoffs while looking off to the side.

“I’m not saying god saved you when you pulled out a cross. The cross worked because you believed that it would work.” You break the news to her. “Not all that nonsense I made up about rejecting the Thief. You saw a creature sucking the blood from your friend’s neck, so you took a chance and treated it like a vampire.”

“They were just chair legs. I didn’t know what I was doing.” She shakes her head, rejecting the thought.

“Most people don’t, when it comes to faith.” You press the notion further. “Trust me on that.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” She continues to deny, shaking her head.

“You shot seven times.” You pull out the big guns. Leah halts whatever more she had to say in rejection of the idea, taking an extra moment to process what’s been said to her.

“…What?” She looks over to you, curious for more info.

“Your revolver. Its chamber only holds six bullets.” You go on, recounting your strife the previous night. “When we were fighting the Thief in the dining room, you shot Seven.” Her first instinct upon hearing your claim is to deny it, wave it away as a delusion in the heat of battle, but you can tell just by her expression, that confound look on her face, that she’s going through the incident in her head, counting her bullets with meticulous care and coming to the realization that you’re correct. The final shot on the Thief, when they leapt at Ragnaa, her gun should’ve been empty. And yet, it fired.

“No, that… I had…” She mutters to herself, glancing down at the revolver on her hip with a puzzled astonishment. As she grapples with the total non-fakeness of miracles and their practical application, a thought occurs to you. Neither of you have checked on Ryder in a minute or so. Glancing back out to where he is in the valley, you notice something strange moving out in the rain. There’s… something else out there…

“What the hell is that…?” You ask Leah, shaking her attention from her gun-dilemma. Peering closer, you can just make out the shape of a figure through the rain, as a thick trail of dark smoke drifts from their face, like a living thunderstorm, and trailing behind them is the long and wispy hood of a Heir.

Oh no...

 

==>

Notes:

Merry Christmas to all those who celebrate! And have a Happy 12th Perigee as well!

Chapter 51: > Children of Wrath

You are Ryder von Wolfhart, the Page of Rage. And you have been humiliated for the last time! Your hunt was going off without a hitch, and you were hot on the trail of that vamp tramp when the arrogant bitch pulled a fast one on you! Some kind of trick of the light or hypno-vampire power that let her get the jump on your hunter instincts. Next thing you know, the gaggle of freaks you’re surrounded by start jerking you about like you’re some kind of fucking chump! Tossing you around like last week’s garbage, giving you shit over injuries that weren’t your fault! And worst of all, thinking they can tell you what to fucking do! Nobody tells you what the fuck you can do! They think they can take you off the hunt, think they can keep you from Your glory!? Not on their fucking lives! This is Your kill, this is Your battle! And you’ll see it through to the end. Just like your Father taught you to do…

After shaking Leah of your goddamn tail finally, you came back down to the bottom of this hellhole of a castle, back to the last known location of your prey. You stormed out the front gates of the courtyard, met with the constant bombardment of lightning crackling through the skies, and marched out to the valley again with every intention of tracking this bitch down and tearing her fucking head off. Yet the world keeps finding reason to put more obstacles in your fucking way. You had managed to find where you first confronted the shit-heel, and where she pulled her pathetic hoodwink on you, only to come and find that her footprints leaving the scene were too light and washed away in the fucking rain! Weaselly Little Coward! You hit a man when he’s not looking then book it in the other direction as soon as he turns around?! What kind of chicken-shit pissant tactics is that?!

“Where Are You?!” You roar into the wilds around you, searching in any direction for where they’d be waiting. A bolt of lightning strikes in the distance, landing down against the rocky terrain of the mountainside on the horizon. They knew you were coming back for them… They’re hiding, lying in wait in the hills for when you let your guard down again, lingering at the preverbal forest’s edge like the spineless wolf they are. They think they can pull that cheap little trick on you again? Well don’t count on it bitch, it won’t work a second time! Another lightning strike lights up the sky, striking in the valley this time. “Where the Fuck Are You?! …Answer Me!” You search and scour the area, looking for even the slightest indication of where they’ve gone, but the little coward’s covered their tracks too well. Pathetic fucking Runaway Fuck! Get back here! Get the fuck back here and fucking Fight! “Show Yourself!” You continue to demand to the wormy fucking blackguard as they continue to cower and hide from your wrath. The lightning intensifies, striking down from the heavens like vengeful claws every few seconds as the storm intensifies. It’s a goddamn tsunami out here! “You Think You Can Hide From Me?! I am Ryder Von Wolfhart, son of Ryder Von Wolfhart! And you will Face Me!” You turn from side to side like a rabid dog sniffing out their next target, waiting for your opponent, your fucking Rival to show themselves once more! Waiting for them to grow a spine and give you a fair rematch like you’re fucking owed! Waiting for them to fucking be there!

 

 

.........But nobody came.

 

The rain had soaked you to the bone by now. The added weight of the wet clothes hanging on your frame is enough to send you crashing to the ground, landing on your knees. Shit, your head is all wobbly, and your entire body aches like crazy. It feels like… your body really wants to lay down… N-no. No! What are you saying?! You don’t need… you don’t… Aw, fuck, who are you kidding? You’re fucking exhausted. Fucking Leah, who gives a damn what she things anyway?! Running around, thinking she’s right all the time... She just made a lucky guess, is all! Just got lucky. Just got… just got… Damn it. Damn it, Damn it, Damn it! What the hell are you doing?! This was supposed to be your moment! This was supposed to be where you could prove you weren’t… weren’t…

 

[Burdensome.]

 

A dark voice comes piercing through the night. Your attention snaps up and a cold chill runs throughout your spine as you hear the word. It echoes around you, drowning out the pattering noise of the rain until it’s almost silent in the valley, the way a forest goes quiet when a predator appears.

“Who said that?” You demand, twisting around to find the motherfucker who’s snuck up on you.

[You are Burdensome, Ryder.]

The cocky bastard continues to muse in their etherial baritone.

[You exist only to Bring Others Down.]

“C-come out, coward!” You demand, coaxing the dark to cough up its contender. “Is that you, vampire?! More of your shitty fucking tricks? Well they won’t work!”

[You’re a disgrace to the Wolfhart name.]

They jeer at you, making your blood fucking boil! Who does this fuck-face think he is?!

“Oh yeah?! How about you come out and stop hiding then, huh?! Afraid to find out what a von Wolfhart can do?” You boast, knowing the chicken-shit is just trying to play kiddie fucking mind-games with you. As your chest pumps up and down at a frantic rhythm, ready for anything, a wet stamping behind you catches your attention. Footsteps, sloshing in the mud, coming closer and closer. Shit. Loudmouth’s actually come to fight, it looks like. Facing the direction the footsteps originate from, you peer through the dark, searching for whatever foolhardy bastard it is running their mouth at you.

[And who says I’m hiding?]

The voice muses as they advance upon you at a methodical pace. You still can’t see them out in the dark. The rain is too heavy to make anything out, but you can hear them stomping about, getting closer. Who the hell is it?

Pushing yourself up off the ground, you look out at the void beyond the rainfall, waiting for a target to emerge. As expected from a fighter like yourself, your hands tighten into firsts and you ready a stance. If this dumbass is just gonna walk right up to you like this, then you’ll be more than happy to dish out some knuckle sandwiches to the filthy vagabond. You don’t just get to stroll up on a warrior talking mad-shit the way he is and walk away with no consequences. This fucker’s gotta learn what happens when he insults the name Ryder-

 

-Crack-

 

With a sudden flash of lightning striking down at the rival end of the clearing you reside in, the sky lights up once more, and you finally see who it is approaching you. Billowing cloud of smoke for a head, the figure marches towards you, his windsock hood drifting in the wind behind him. You’ve seen this guy before… He wore a rotting face last time, but there’s no mistaking the alabaster symbol on his chest. Rage Player. This Fuck! He’s the fucker who broke you god damn arm!

“You!” You growl, feeling your nails dig into the palms of your hands in anger. Although the form of his outfit hasn’t changed, he no longer wears the Rage player purple, instead bearing a midnight black that matches the smoke drifting from his head. Cheeky fucker thought he could sneak up on you in that cheap fucking camouflage? Guess he’s dumber than he looks. “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your ugly mug again, zombie.”

“ [text.object not found] “ You can make out the outline of the prick now, having seen where he was in the split second the sky lit up. Now that you’ve seen him, the cocky shithead’s not running his mouth anymore. He must realize he won’t be able to get the jump on you now. Looks like all that confidence goes out the window when he doesn’t have the element of surprise!

“I can’t say that I’m angry, though. I was just looking for a piece of shit to beat on, and I’ve been meaning to pay you back for this little sprain you gave me.” You explain to the dead man as you work the kinks out of your casted arm. Continuing to advance forward, the Heir finally comes close enough that you can see him plainly before you, halting two or three yards from where you are. “Well? Got anything to say for yourself, ya basket-case? Or do you just plan to take your ass-whooping as it comes to you?”

“ -%#!*&#%^#!- “ You think the freak is trying to tell you something, but all that comes from the shadows where its mouth would be is this incoherent noise. What the fuck…

“The fuck is wrong with you?” You shutter as you watch the smoke around him shimmer like a rattle snake’s tail.

“ [text.object not found] “ Silently, the Heir plants his feet and raises his fists into a low hand guard, just like…

“Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You scorn, your rage bubbling into an inferno as you recognize the stance. You’ve seen it thousands of times before, from footage of your Fathers matches. This fucking fuck! This piece of shit! Who does this mother fucker think he is, making a mockery of your Father’s technique. “HEY!” You thunder, taking up your own stance, mockingly mirrored by the sack of shit before you. “Who do you think you are, Bastard!” You rush the arrogant motherfucker, going in for the one-hit jaw clip. Your advance isn’t quick enough, though, with the mud in the area slowing your stride down, and your cross jab is easily juked by the slippery fucker. In the middle of dodging back, smoke-head reels back and socks you one, the hit connecting with where your neck meets your jaw, just below the ear. The weight of the strike is like getting hit with a swinging tree trunk, nearly knocking you to the ground. You push off the mud before you can completely fall over, springing back up and to the side from your opponent. You spin back around but he’s on you faster than you can compose yourself, clipping you with a left cross, before landing a body shot. “Kah!” You sputter from the impact, nearly losing your breath. In that brief moment of stun, the Heir brings around his left again for a haymaker. You only just manage to dodge out of the way, having to dive forward and nearly plunge into the ground as you slip past his right flank, behind him. What the hell was that?! Who the hell is this guy?

Turning back to face the bastard, you repose your footing, trying to adjust to a more powerful stance to take on a quicker opponent, but before you have the chance, he springs forward, on you faster than you can account for. You go to throw out a left hook, but he weaves, letting your fist slip past him as he lands two body shots against your center right ribs. This time you lose your breath entirely, only to get an uppercut to the jaw in your stun. Continuing with his onslaught, the Heir lands another two body shots and a final uppercut in the same rhythm as before. Amidst the pummeling, you can already tell his next move, seeing him dive into another two body shots in the same set of ribs. They land, but through the wincing pain, you notice he’s falling into a grove. Already knowing his next attack, you juke back from his oncoming uppercut. Unfortunately for you, he was only conditioning a response, and quickly swaps the uppercut for a left jab, knocking you away with an unexplainable force. You don’t know how far away you’re thrown, but you eventually wind up on your hands and knees, coughing up blood into the mud before you. You take several short and rasping breaths as you struggle to draw air into your bruised chest. When you look up again, you see the smoke-stack stomping towards you as he flexes his hands, working them back into fists just as he’s reached you. Getting the jump on him, you’ve regained your breath enough to leap forward, bringing your fist rocketing into the underside of his jaw as you get back up to your feet, leaving him facing the sky. As your hit lands, you feel the break in your arm fracture again, sending a spiraling pain up from your forearm. As you scream out in agony, the Heir lowers his jaw back down to face you, wispy white eyes glaring at you from his billowing mask of smoke.

“ [text.object not found] “ Not saying anything, you’re struck by an uppercut of his own, leaving you to face the sky just at you had left him. You aren’t facing it for long, as your vision is thrown from place to place, down, right, left, up, down, left, up, right, down, left, right, left. By the third forceful change in where you’re looking, you realize you’re being struck, so hard and so fast you don’t have time to register what part of you is being hit, but the pain soon catches up to you about at the same time the Heir delivers one final devastating uppercut, sending your head arcing back with a near neck-snapping momentum.

As you look up at the sky above, your entire nervous system in full-blitz, a kind of silence falls upon your mind, and you can’t think of anything to say. No curse or insult to throw out, or any kind of strategy to deal with the person before you. Just… silence. Rocking back, the storm clouds in your vision transform into the horizon behind you, as you collapse to the ground with a splash. Upon landing, the world erupts into sound once more, as the trillions of raindrops in the air fall to earth along with you. You lay there, face pelted with rain as you struggle not to choke on the blood and teeth collecting in your throat. You can hear him approach. His footprints stamping into the mud as his form invisible to you grows closer and closer. When the march is upon you completely, you’re snatched by the collar of your shirt and forced up. Before your eyes can register the opponent before you, you throw out a left hook, cracking like thunder as your hit rings true. First strike. You look up at the bastard Heir who’s got you with a cocky smile. He might’ve had you on the ropes in the first round, but with that first solid strike, you’ve finally got your foot in the door. With it, you’ve declared the start of a comeback.

“I-… is that… all you g-“ You’re struck in the nose before you can finish your taunt, your head crashing to the ground with a force that leaves a ringing in your ears. You’re snatched by your collar again and forced up once more, your head handing back this time.

“ Atrox Fatum “ The Heir states with vague coherency, as if his words themselves had been lost in transit. As you look up, trying to get your bearings from the hit, you’re swiftly struck again, slamming you back into the mud. Your vision starts to blur, and you have a hard time focusing in on anything as your attention drifts. Again, you’re lifted up by the collar, and again, you’re slammed back down. And again. And again. And again.

Your body feels as if it were a thousand miles away now, as you exist within a void outside yourself. You don't look around. You don't even think to. You don't know where your mind is, you just know you need to find your way back. He's hitting you still. You can feel it. With each hit, a tremor quakes through that void you're trapped in, and you are drawn closer to yourself once more, finding your way one strife at a time. Something is welling up, bubbling over. Your hands ball into fists and you feel your breath cut through collapsed lungs. You are invigorated. A light returns to your eye and you find yourself in the moment again. The Heir strikes you over and over, pounding your face into a pulp. That's okay. This is fine. You just need to find an opening. You just need to find-

 

-Crack-

 

In the midst of your search for a way to halt the Heir’s conquest, she appears there before you, materializing in a flash of Lightning. Leah. She stands over your opponent with a cold look in her eye, her revolver pressed to the side of his head. And there she utters a single word;

 

 

 

 

 

“Bang.”

 

 

 

 

 

Her voice echoes as she pulls her trigger, rippling through space like a small wave over the surface of a pond. Fired from the barrel of her gun is a blinding ray of brilliant light, passing through the temple of the Heir, piercing past his mask of smoke. His head cracks to the side and he is made decorporeal from the shot, vanishing from the world like a misty haze lifting from a forest. The authority you feel emanate from the attack is immense, washing over you like a sonic boom as its path carves a line through the gates of heaven above you, dividing the storm itself in two. Lying there on the ground, you feel the rainfall gradually slow and eventually peter out entirely, as the fissure Leah’s shot created in the clouds grows into a cavernous rift, revealing behind them a royal blue sky, crowned with a crescent moon at its zenith.

“no…” You rasp from a weary throat as you behold the feat displayed before you. “No…!” You repeat, watching from hell as the sky opens up. This was your fight. Your Fight, damn it! He had beaten you. Beaten you like a dog! And you were stripped of any way to get even again! Robbed of the right to win by your own accord! You were on your way up! You were finding an opening! And she comes along just to steal the win, your redemption, away?!

“Ryder!” Leah calls, joining you on the ground as you push yourself upright in shame. “Are you alright?” She quickly grabs hold of you, trying to look over your wounds as if you weren’t humiliated enough!

“Get the fuck off me!” You push her from you as you get to your feet once more.

“Ryder…?” She asks, looking up at you in ignorant confusion.

“You had no right!” You shout at her, your palms bleeding as you twist your fists tighter and tighter. “No right at all! This was My Fight! Not yours!”

“I-I just wanted to help, I-“ She tries to justify your complete emasculation to you.

“Well who fucking asked you to?!” You rhetorically demand before whipping around and heading back towards the castle, a soaking wet disgrace to everything you’ve held sacred.

“Ryder, I-… I just wanted to help…” You hear Leah mumble to herself as you march away. Fuck… Fuck…! Fuck! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!

 

***

 

What’s this? You’re someone new now? And without any notice, as well? How peculiar... Well then, new guy, how about you introduce yourself.

You? Why, you thought you'd never ask. Your name is Thorfinn Haugstad, proud former resident of the crater that used to be Oslo, two time European U17 Cadet Wrestling gold medalist, collector of a great many experimental and indie films, and amateur street art activist. Your work was a bit underground back in the day, but you know Banksy? Well, not to brag, but… you’re pretty sure you inspired a few of their pieces. Also you’re something called a Prince of Mind? Yeah, you never really bothered figuring out what all that Sburb tull was about, but hey it’s a neat sounding title.

Anyhows, it seems you accidentally started being yourself after being hit with the perspective when the last guy threw it blindly into the Incipisphere. Not that you mind, much. You’re pretty alright with being yourself. And what a place to be yourself, too! You’re on a planet called the Land of Past and Vines, a whole world that’s gone to ruin and has been left to overgrow, by the look of things here. Gorgeous, if you don’t say so yourself! Modern Society wasn’t always the best at keeping people happy so if the inhabitants of this world figured out a way that works for them without it, good for those guys, you know? Let them have their vine-covered huts and such, so long as they’re happy doing their own thing. This world is also the first you’ve seen that changes from day to night still, with the sun having just gone down for the evening, leaving you in a relaxing amethyst nighttime atmosphere. Pretty quaint, since it seems like static never-changing worlds is the status quo for a majority of all creation-space, which was something you weren’t ever really fond of. Sure the planet you got placed on was fun to poke around in, but there’s only so many times one can explore a floating city trapped in a bubble before going Helt Texas. And that world was full of them! Like a menagerie of- Whoa!

Your train of thought is interrupted by a sudden spike of condensed stone whizzing past your face. Haha, oh yeah. You were in the middle of a Strife. Glancing back to your opponent, you spot the little fella as he comes out of his strider form, arriving upon the building across from your own. You had first climbed this perch to get a better look at the setting sun on the horizon and it looks like you forgot you were in the middle of something. Oh well, it happens. And speaking about the building you’re on, you found it funny because you think it used to be an office of some kind, however you aren’t entirely sure of that. Some of the ruins on this planet seem modern enough to be from Earth, while others look so old, they appear ancient roman-ish. The place is entirely too overrun with vines to be able to distinguish much about what anything is or was with much accuracy, but it’s like a hodgepodge of different eras and time periods all meshed into one under a blanket of greenery. It’s almost like- Whoa! ‘Nother stone spike, whizzing by!

“York, please! You’re spoiling the sunset!” You admonish the Dwarf as he reaches down into the concrete of his roof to craft another spike to hurl at you. He’s in his bulk form now, growing an extra few feet taller while his biceps swelling to the size of basketballs, upping his strength stats and allowing him to make those projectiles of his. “Take a chilling pill!"

“It’s Jor! Jormun-Gamma! And you don’t get to prescribe me a pill of any kind, human!” He grumbles at you, spinning into a shot-put throw as he flings the handmade stalactite at you. It’s a neat technique he’s got, but you feel like he isn’t using it to its fullest potential the way he’s operating with it now. You’re still trying to figure out how it works and what sort of strengths and weaknesses it might have while you fight. Apparently the transformations are powers he earned from his level designation. According to him, he’s a Scout of Space, but personally you think he looks more like a Rogue with that total Nils mask he wears.

“I’m just trying to be helpful, min venn.” You explain, ducking the hurled rock as it goes by, letting it crash against the tower off behind you.

“You said you were going to bludgeon me with a hammer!” He barks, shrinking back down to his normal size before leaping off the side of his building into yours.

“I did nøt!” You call after him as he flies into the wall like it were the surface of a lake.

“You did so!” He erupts from the ground beneath you, bursting from the floor in his stone scale armor, appearing in the likeness of an eight-legged basilisk, covered in moss and vines and about the size of a shed.

“I just said that it wouldn’t matter if you chose not to fight, because at the end of the day, I was still going to swing my hammer at your head regardless!” You explain the difference between what he thought was going on and what’s actually happening. Hearing this, he takes a lunge at you, rebar claws aimed to stikk you with. You juke off to the side as his grabbers plunge into the floor where you were, pulverizing the vines and concrete into dust in its grasp.

“How is that any different?!” His armor’s rock mouth asks as he turns to face you. Swinging your hammer by its handle strap, you slam the head of it into the jaw of his armor, crumbling a part of it and knocking him away. He lingers a moment, probing the integrity of his face mask to survey the extent of damage. Finding the large chunk missing, he whips around, slamming his cinderblock tail into your midsection and tossing you to the other end of the roof.

“It’s fair wærning! Like the bell before the start of a match, to let you know the fight was about to begin.” You elaborate further as you catch your breath back. “Still, that doesn’t mean you have to ruin a moment!” Taking your hammer Mjölnir, you- … Yes, your hammer’s name is Mjölnir. Your parents named you Thorfinn and you use a warhammerkind strife specibus. Do you know how many people have the name Thorfinn? Like nine. How could you pass up an opportunity like that? There was no way you weren’t naming your hammer Mjölnir. You take Mjölnir and toss it at the golem, striking center mass, with the weight of the hammer carrying him off the rooftop to the grassy streets below.

“You started this!” He bellows as he goes sailing, eventually landing with a -crash-.

“Sø?” You ponder, wondering over to the edge of the roof to observe the scene down below. A large plume of smoke has puffed out where the Scout had landed, covering a decent portion of the courtyard area he’s in. “…Doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy the sunset together before fighting again.” Raising your hand out, your modified fingerless gloves activate their magnetic-return function, calling Mjölnir back to you from the crash site. Just as you go to catch it, you spot a faint green light charging up from the smoke cloud Jorm created on landing. That isn’t good.

Snatching your hammer back, you only barely dodge away as an enormous laser beam blasts through where you were just standing, carving a cylindrical hole through the roof's ledge. You land a few feet back from your evasion and stay there a moment, a bit spooked from the sudden blast. Eventually a chuckle leaves your lips as the endorphins flood your brain from the close brush with death, and you push yourself back onto your feet again. Grumbling with admiration for the sneak attack as you cautiously re-approach the edge, you look out to see the mouth of Jorm’s stone armor wide open as an after-trail of smoke drifts from its maw. Energy blasts, huh? Kult. You can do that too.

Skipping back a few feet, you give yourself space to get a running start before leaping from the building top, discharging a massive stockpile of psychic energy from your mind as you soar, causing a magnetic levitation that enables a kind of flight for you. The energy you expel from the process comes crackling down like lightning as you arrive on scene, scorching the surrounding earth and foliage. Upon landing, you slam Mjölnir down against the ground before Jorm, causing your lightning to cascade everywhere in the blast. Jorm is struck by a few streaks of the electricity during the attack, sending a spasm through his alien form, breaking him from his armor, which crumbles to the grassy floor beneath him, as well as ejecting a few artifacts from his inventory amidst his twitching fit. He falls to the ground as he struggles to get back control of his motor functions, eventually keeping himself from spasming as his circulatory system recovers from the shock.

Walking up on him, you ready another attack when you notice the different items he spat out in his spasm. A few strange and alien looking odds and ends, but the two that catch your eye are a gamma ray-gun looking device and a small metal statue greatly resembling the eight-legged basilisk creature his armor takes the form of. Seeing you’ve approached, Jorm quickly shifts into his strider form, elongating into an eleven or twelve foot long kind of scaly leaping-snake creature before hurrying off to a safe distance from you. You bend over to set Mjölnir down and pick up the two artifacts Jorm left, observing them closer to inspect a hunch you have about the items.

“Don’t touch those!” Jorm orders from partially behind a mossed-over stone fountain, cautious to peak out too boldly. You look back up and then down at the items again, feeling yourself on the verge of a realization. “Keep your greedy alien hands off them, I said!”

“Oooh, I think I get it now!” You muse as it clicks for you. “You can allocate the different physical properties from items in your inventory and use them to transform yourself and things around you into an amalgamation of the artifacts you have. That’s amazing! You’re like a living Alchemiter!” Seemingly frustrated that you’ve cracked his technique, Jorm scurries like a ferret to a different point in the area, hiding at the crest of a staircase leading down to a neighboring park area.

“What of it?! My powers aren’t of any concern for you!” He barks at you some more while bobbing from side to side, looking for an opportunity to pounce. “Now give those back!”

“Is this how you make the shape of your armör? And how you do the læser thing?” You ask while continuing to look over the items.

“N-… no!” He hesitantly denies, seeming to panic when he realizes you know how valuable they are to him.

“You know it’s rude to lie, Jorm.” You scold the Dwarf, shaking your head at the deception. “Even to an opponent.”

“……yes.” He admits, looking off to the side, embarrassed at being called out so directly. Satisfied by his honesty, you toss the two artifacts over to his place by the stairs. “Huh?” Jorm exclaims before slithering up into the air to catch them as they fly over. “But… why?” He asks upon landing, finding the items were returned to him undamaged.

“It’s bad sportsmanship to strip a fighter of their weapon in a strife.” You shrug, picking Mjölnir back up again, giving her a twirl as you test the weight. “I would never use such a dirty move against an adversary as worthy as you.”

“Oh…” Jorm mummers as he rises up from his hiding spot by the stairs. “I thought this was just a one time brawl, I didn’t realize you were looking for-“ You throw Mjölnir at him. “Gah!” He yelps, swerving his elongated lizard form’s neck out of the path of your hammer. “Dude! Are you out of your mind!”

“Hahahaha! It would also be a böring fight if you couldn’t give it your all!” You howl, overcome with laughter.

“Okay, you are sending a lot of mixed signals right now!” He chastises you, folding his arms across his serpent body. “Why do you even want to fight me so badly? There’s a half dozen brutes on this planet alone that would give their left eye to get in the ring with you! I mean, sure, it’s flattering, but I’m just not open to that kind of relationship right now, I-“ You call Mjölnir back, causing it to slam into the back of the Dwarf’s head upon return. “Alright, Fuck it!” Thoroughly nettled from your japery, Jorm dives forward into a spin, burrowing into the ground and reemerging with a heavy coating of stone around his body, armoring himself once more. It isn’t as covered as his basilisk form, but he still has a heavy lining to him.

Satisfied that fight is back on, you ready yourself for the advancing attack. Barreling at you like an oncoming train, Jorm goes for a slam attack, leaping forward to ram into you. More than prepared for the tackle, you leap over him as he goes by, twisting yourself into a spin before slamming Mjölnir into his midsection as you land, knocking him away with the hearty hit. Landing, you face your opponent, seeing him quickly get back to his feet and shift around, trying to work the dented parts of his armor smooth again. While he’s busy fixing himself up, you take note of the fact that he’s landed at the base of the building you were on and decide to plan around that. With a hammer toss windup, you hurl Mjölnir into the third or fourth floor of the building’s exterior, shattering the entire corner of the structure and breaking off several large chunks of the concrete there. Hearing the crash above him, Jorm looks up in time to see the boulders plummeting towards him, managing to fire off another one of his hyper beams before they can crush his stone form. Whipping his laser around like he’s at a light show, the Dwarf dices the building fragments into pieces, allowing them to fall harmlessly to the ground.

Impressed with his counter, you burst forward, meeting Jorm at his place at the base of the building, slamming into his midsection and pushing him to the ground. Stunned from the sudden tipping, your opponent gives you more than enough opportunity to grab hold of him. You raise the serpent up by his middle, just lifting his feet above the ground, much to his surprise, and rotate his long body, slamming his head into the side of the building as you whip him around. Coiling back, Jorm eventually composes himself enough to launch at you before you can slam him into any more pieces of architecture. Seeing the attack, you drop your grapple on the Dwarf and reach out to meet the lunge, grabbing hold of him by his jaws before he can sink his fangs into you. The force behind his attack pushes you back a few feet before you can dig your feet into the ground and halt yourself. You contend against one another a moment, as you hold firm with your grip on his jaws and he continues to try and break past your guard to take a chomp out of your torso. Soon enough, you feel him start to gain on you and know he’ll slip past your grapple eventually if this continues. Avoiding this, you let go of his muzzle without warning, juking past him as he jerks forward from the release of momentum. At a better angle now, you clamp down on the Dwarf’s neck, tucking Jorm into a headlock, struggling with his larger form as you attempt to wrestle him to the ground.

“Hahaha! You’re a pretty decent scrap, you know that Jorm?” You compliment the Dwarf on his combat prowess as he doesn’t so much as budge an inch against your grapple.

“I-idiot! Don’t say such things when you’ve got me in a headlock like this!” Jorm stammers, his snake-like face turning a shade blue under his stone armor as embarrassed eyes glance back at you from within the throttlehold.

“Hüh?” You hum at the strange response.

“Idiot!” He loudly repeats, flinging himself back-first against the building behind him, slamming you against the hard stone there. He does this two more times, smashing a crater into the side of the structure, before you figure the headlock maneuver probably isn’t a winning strategy. As Jorm flings himself upwards for another slam, you let loose of the Dwarf’s neck and spring off his back, leaping high into the sky. On your ascent, you pass Mjölnir, still embedded in the destroyed wall of the building. Upon reaching the peak of your jump and beginning to fall back down again, you grab hold of the handle of your hammer while plummeting past, using the momentum of your fall to break the weapon free, flipping over yourself as you twirl into a meteor strike. Adding on even more flavor to the attack, you channel another torrent of psychic energy to come spilling out of your brain, with arcs of electricity escaping your mind like a tesla coil going into overcharge! Slamming down against the ground, the moss laden floor of the city erupts into a chaos of lightning and pulverized rock. Amidst everything, you spot Jorm, who remains steadfast against the storm of destruction you’ve concocted, and is in the midst of charging another hyper beam aimed at you. You can’t help the giddy smile that comes across your face at this.

Reaching critical mass, Jorm fires his laser at you, burning through the still flying debris. In response, you hurl Mjölnir against him, casting the hammer out as it cackles with deadly thought. Meeting at the axis between you, Mjölnir bisects Jorm’s beam attack, dividing it into two powerful knives that carve through the terrain at your sides, just missing you as they wreak havoc on the physical world. Your hammer, however, finds placement firmly in the mouth of its target, knocking him back to the center of the courtyard between office buildings. You summon Mjölnir back to you as Jorm tries to compose himself, struggling to keep his stone armor in one piece as chunks of his hide fall to the ground and crumble, and he begins to revert out of his strider form, shrinking down to his normal Dwarf self. He’s a bit of a scrappy fella, you’d say. Maybe 5’5’’ tall with a pretty petite frame, scruffy looking black hair with pale scaly skin and deep hollow eyes. He's even got two sets of funny cat-looking ears on the sides of his head, too! Layered one after the other. Seeing him now, you actually can’t tell if they’re a boy or not. Notwithstanding the fact that they’re a different species than you, which probably has a different dimorphism than humans, they still appear androgynous in nature. Like he could be just a smaller guy, or maybe she’s a tomboy. Who knows? Regardless, they’ve certainly been a fun fight up until now! Yet still, it feels like there’s something missing with the strife.

“Hey, so about your powers.” You call over to Jorm, catching his attention as he shakes your last hit off. “How exactly do they work? Can you extract any aspect of an object with them? And does it have to only be a single aspect, or can you replicate an object’s every attribute when you combine it with something else?”

“Wha-, Why the hell would you want to know?” They call back to you, confused by your line of inquiry.

“I was just wøndering.” You defend yourself. “It just seems like you could do a løt with that power, and it got me curious. Like if you gave yourself the attributes of a piece of timber, would you have a bark skin or would you just become more flammable? Or would you maybe simply smell like syrup?”

“Are yo-… W-what the hell is this? Are we ♠fighting♠ or not?” He looks around, as if to see if there’s anyone else to corroborate what’s happening here.

“Of course we are! I just think you aren’t using your power's full potential, is my point.” You explain the pause in the strife to him. “Have you ever considered drawing from larger and more dense objects to increase your size and strength? It’d probably increase the power of your attacks, and would for sure up the durability of your skin, too.”

“And who asked you?! I don’t need some human lecturing me on the intricacies of my craft!” They scold you as their tail swishes back and forth in frustration behind them. “Besides, the concrete and metal in the buildings here are the hardest things in the area, where would I even get something bigger and denser?” He questions with a huff.

“…The World?” You suggest with a shrug like it was obvious.

“What?” He looks at you like you’re crazy.

“The World.” You repeat with a few light stomps on your heel to emphasize your meaning. “It’s certainly big, has to be pretty dense in its middle, and it’s right there beneath your feet too. Easy access.”

“……” Jorm pauses, looking dumbstruck as he glances down at the ground, probably pondering how he hasn’t thought of that before. Eventually, he drops down to one knee, placing his hands down against the ground, taking a deep breath as he closes his eyes to concentrate. After a moment of focus, the Dwarf sinks down, disappearing as he merges with the stone and vines below him. Curious, you take a step closer to the scene to get a better look at what’s happening there, when there comes a;

 

-Rumble-

 

Shaking the very ground beneath you, you feel as Jorm has finally realized his full potential, tapping into the power that was always at his fingertips. The rumble beneath you soon transforms into a full on earthquake and you can’t help the joyous laughs that escape your lips, as if you sat upon an amusement park ride. Escalating further, the tremorings decimate the area, collapsing the nearby buildings and breaking apart the ground into vine-wrapped fragments. And rising up from all of it is an enormous serpent of stone and lichen, spanning what must be miles in length behind it. He ascends into the sky, craning back as he looks down at you in stony detachment.

“Knallbra.” Is all you say as you face off against the giant, ready and raring for the Challenge! Tightening your grip on Mjölnir, you let flow your entire reservoir of mental energy, the world burning around you in a cyclone of thought and lightning as your feet slowly lift off the ground, the thundering power levitating you to the sky. More and more, you open the flood gates, expanding the immense psychic presence enveloping everything around you. Forward you advance, meeting Jorm on the field of glorious battle, nothing but tender warmth and admiration for your adversary. Your forces clash, and your mind is lost in the frenzy!

 

***

 

Whoa, you okay there buddy? You just got ejected from the narrative at like... mach-5. Looks like Thorfinn destroyed his mind getting all amped up for that fight. He does that sometimes, getting lost in the heat of battle, the little psychotic berserker he is. Anyway, I won’t keep you long, let’s get you back into a perspective, asap. A- hmm. Looks like Thorfinn busted the Character Slot in that little stunt. Okay, not a problem, you’ll just have to settle with being a Certain Onlooker for a little while, while I fix this in the meantime. See you then!

While the weird bone man fixes his outdated terminal equipment in his dimly lit and poorly cleaned room, a certain onlooker on the screen of his computer sneaks her way through an overgrown jungle of vines and civilic ruinage. While standing out in her terrain, starkly dressed in bright blue robes and shining yellow boots, this girl couldn’t feel any more at home here, with the lush green skin of her hand running along the plant life by her side. She is an Elf, a creature of plant life herself. And although one would ponder if a sentient plant-creature would find the concept of a jungle as disturbing as a human would find a building wrapped in flesh, such conundrums never crossed the Onlooker’s mind, because she found them stupid and contrived. Elves grow up in forests, familiar biomass composing her surroundings was an inscrutable fact of life. ‘Your flesh is made of carbon’, the Onlooker would say in retort to such a question. ‘Are you horrified by the carbon that you burn to warm your homes?’ She would ask. But she does not ask this, as she is alone. Or is she?

“Holy shit, is that a fucking Rayquaza?” A second girl asks in bewilderment as she appears on the screen. This girl, the Maid, stands at the precipice of a cliff where off in the distance a gargantuan serpent combats a living nexus of lightning as they decimate what remains of an old city. Unbeknownst to the Maid, our Certain Onlooker has been tracking her for some time now. It appears one of the Onlooker’s allies, a Thief, same as herself, had stolen a secret from the Maid while stumbling upon her in a chance encounter on the planet of LOSAD. The secret therein being that they held a common enemy with the Maid, a callous and savage Page for whom the Maid held a great disdain for. For this reason, the Onlooker’s master dispatched her like a fury from the underworld to make contact with the Maid and gain allegiance with an asset as powerful as her. Whatever the cost. And so her long and arduous journey to parley with the Maid had finally found its end, with the completion of her task to be backdropped by a fated duel between rivals. “Jesus, these animals just keep getting bigger and bigger.”

“Quite a daunting sight, isn’t it?” The Onlooker asks of the Maid, revealing herself to her. Glancing back with an unimpressed look, the Maid registers the new unknown quantity in her neighborhood before turning back to behold the fight.

“Ah. So you’re the one who’s been following me.” The Maid addresses the stranger without fear. “Fuck off. I’m not interested.” She dismisses without a second thought.

“Oh? Without even hearing my offer?” The Onlooker questions with a playful whimsy.

“I’ve had my fill of preppy alien chicks for the next decade, kindly keep stepping.” The Maid reaffirms her decision, resting her polearm by her side like a staff to emphasize her stance.

“I must say, that is disappointing.” The Onlooker hums, gently floating atop the ruins of a large pillar of vines, looking down on her target. “You looked rather wilted, standing there all alone. I thought I’d come along and offer you a plot within my group to cheer you up.”

“Pass. I’m not looking to join a group.” The Maid continues to reject, much to the Onlooker’s silent agitation, twitching the corners of her mouth as she struggles to keep composed.

“Really? Even with monstrosities such as those scuttling about the Gardens of the Arena?” The Onlooker switches tactics, gesturing out to the warring giants who decimate the far off horizon with spectacular vigor. “Surely you must realize no one person can survive on their own with the likes of them uprooting everything.”

“You seem to misunderstand, petal-head. I am the likes of them.” A dark aura begins to radiate from the Maid as she wards off the Onlooker’s vain attempts to scare her into compliance, glaring over her shoulder at the girl at her place upon the pillar. “God-grown and Titan-made. I don’t need anyone to protect me. Especially not some overgrown rosebush.” She turns back to face the valley before her again, done humoring the stranger’s pitch. Behind her the Onlooker furiously sulks, growing more and more frustrated with her insubordination.

“And that’s just why I’ve come to see you!” She quickly pivots before she can lose her temper. “A dynamo such as yourself would be an unparalleled asset to my group, and we would love to have you as a part of our team.”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree, shrubs.” The Maid remains steadfast. “I’m already part of a team. I’m on my way back to them right now, in fact.”

“Then I’ll just have to steal you away from them~” The Onlooker muses, playfully pretending her words aren’t the threat they truly are.

“You’re hilarious.” The Maid retorts in a monotone voice, having taken note of the Onlooker’s Title as a Thief, unaware of the grave sincerity in her tone. “But for the fourth and final time; No.” Her frustration beginning to show now, the Onlooker takes a deep breath to try to calm herself.

“Really, I’m sure we could offer you a much better-“ She begins again, dead-set on bringing the Maid into the fold.

“Alright, you know what? You’re ruining the fight.” The Maid huffs, cycling her polearm into a proper carrying formation before turning to storm away from the Onlooker, walking along the cliff’s edge as she leaves. “I’m outta here.”

“Hey, wait!” The Onlooker orders, leaping from her seat on her pillar to float down to the ground where the Maid just was. “And what of the Page? Who in this group of yours will help you kill him?” She calls to her quickly disappearing target. Halting in her tracks, the Maid stops where she is to listen. A wicked smile appears on the Onlooker’s face, knowing she’s finally making headway in her task.

“You know Jason?” The Maid asks, glancing back at the offer the Onlooker has proposed.

“We do.” The Onlooker confirms with a smirk. “And we also know how much you can’t stand to see him alive.” She adds on, turning the Maid around completely now. “My name is Aellocy. And I’d very much like to have a conversation with you, Mia.”

Ha, there we are! Finally fixed the Character Slot! Now back to-… What the hell are you still doing here? What? What about the 4th Wall? …No, you most certainly should not have been looking through that screen! What are you, some kind of Peeping-tom? God damn it, you were supposed to be back in the story, there are spoilers through there! Haven't you ever hear of 'pay no attention to the man behind the curtain'? Well that goes double for his browser history! Look, forget about anything you saw on that screen, it’s not relevant enough to the story to include, alright? If it was, then you’d have been a character in that scene to begin with. Let’s just get you back into the narrative and forget this little slip up ever happened, okay? Good. Now, who to make you… Ah, this one will do.

 

***

 

Hitting the ground running, it appears you are now the Sylph of Breath; Sara Strong, bursting back into story relevance. It’s certainly been a while since you were last this character, and quite a bit has happened between then and now. How have you been since then?

Well, besides the people you know and love dying or going missing, you can’t complain! And you are absolutely pumped to be back! Although doing your own thing for a while has without a doubt been fulfilling for you, there’s no knocking getting to be included every now and again. And while it’s true that it’s been a while since you were last yourself, the perspective still fits like a glove. An oddly intrusive and sometimes stressful to have glove, but a glove nonetheless.

As of right now, you’re gathered with the rest of your team at the bottom level of your castle, spread out in a small fireplace lounge area, waiting for some big announcement to be discussed. Jason had gone around letting everyone know to gather all their things and meet here to figure out your next move. He didn’t say it, but it seemed pretty obvious to you that he was ready to get moving again now that he’s recovered. He probably isn't too keen on the place here after the whole vampire fiasco that went down. Crazy how you and Esspin didn’t hear so much as a peep about all that when it was going down. You’ve always had a tendency to end up missing a lot of the drama that transpires with the social circles you’ve run with in the past, and you guess now is no different. It seems that tendency has rubbed off on Esspin as well, since you’ve been spending so much time together. You’d say it’s a blessing, but sometimes the drama can be fun too! Oh well. Probably better for your health that you avoid stress like that reflexively.

Anywhoosen, you’re with Ess right now, actually. You, her, Gretel and George are loafing about at a table in the lounge area, enjoying a batch of tea you brewed up for you all. You’re usually more of a coffee gal, but the only stuff you’ve got is a bit too strong for your consort buddies, so you figured some nice earl grey is more their speed. Keeps the blood pressure down, after all!

Since you’ve been waiting here, Ryder came storming in from… uh, the storm, soaking wet and with a sour look on his face, muttering something about entitlement and fuck-off guns. You’d have asked, but you didn’t really feel like getting tantrumed at today, so you decided to keep quiet for now. He plopped down at a two person table by the windows and has been brooding ever since. You were a little curious about the fresh wounds on his face as well, but it seems like every other day that kid is walking around with new bruises, so you guess that wasn’t too out of the ordinary.

Not long after Ryder entered the castle, Leah came following after, a strange mixed-up look of guild on her face as she silently wandered over to a fireside couch to sit by herself and dry off. You noticed Esspin gazing over at her with a concerned expression on her face, looking like she was debating with herself whether or not to go over and have a word with the Knight. She worries for her, you’ve noticed. You think it has to do with the fact that they’re both Hope players, but Esspin seems particularly sympathetic for the girl, the way a person would worry for a sibling who’s going through a rough time in their life. You find it sweet, but it seems pretty one sided, with Leah not wanting much to do with your Esspy.

Mary, Frank and Ragnaa appeared not long after and at some point, Creed showed up as well, and the lot of you have been chatting with one another for a bit as you wait. You’ve spotted Ragnaa sneaking glances at Leah as well since she’s been down. There’s a strange tension rising with the group and you don’t like it. It seems like everyone would benefit greatly if they all just took a chill-pill already!

“So, are you aware of what Jason wanted to talk about?” You hear Mary ask Creed as he sits at the corner of where the foyer turns into the sitting area, bouncing his leg while keeping his eye on the staircase that leads to the ground floor.

“No idea. I haven’t spoken with the Boss since yesterday.” Creed shakes his head 'no' to her. “Gotta be important, though. Something got him riled up last night.”

“Is he… well? Psychologically speaking.” Mary continues, taking a seat near him, staying in the sitting area side of the corner he’s at. “He was rather short with me during my examination this morning. I didn’t press him on the matter, but he seemed irritable at the time.”

“He’s definitely crabby, that’s for sure.” Creed huffs. “I’m not certain on anything else, though. I’ll try to have a talk with him soon, figure out what’s going on in that noggin of his.”

-zap-

“Jesus!” Ryder suddenly exclaims. Glancing over to his place by the windows, you see that Haugrr’s suddenly arrived, sitting in the other seat at his table, seemingly having appeared out of nowhere. Oh… goodie. “Where the fuck did you come from?!”

“Mind your business.” He quickly dismisses the Page, opening up a newspaper to read while resting his leg upon his knee. “Fuck happened to your face?” He says glancing up from the inked pages.

“Mind your business, asshole!” Ryder imitates, jumping up from his seat and slamming his hands down on the table top in outrage.

“That bad, huh?” Haugrr laughingly scoffs at the boy’s indignity while turning back to read.

“Yo.” Someone calls from down the hall. Glancing over you spot Jason and Dallra as they reach the bottom of the stairs, making their way to your lounge area. Jason’s got his hand up, signaling to Creed who still sat at the entrance area. “Everyone here?”

“With you two, it is.” Creed tells him, standing up to greet the duo as they arrive.

“Good. Let’s get this started then.” Jason signs while wandering in. “Team meeting, everybody, listen up.” He calls, signaling to group up. Rising from their places about the room, you all eventually gather around, forming a deformed oval to hear what Jason has to say. Gretel’s there the quickest, galloping like a little horsy to join Jason, who greets her with a laugh as he picks her up and places her on his shoulder.

“Are we to discuss the next steps in our escape plan?” Esspin inquires as the two of you arrive. Wait, only two? You look back to your table and see George is still there, pouring earl grey from your teapot directly into his mouth while finishing off all the other cups there. That boy ain’t right…

“Uh, yes and no.” Jason half shrugs with an anxious tone. He seems a bit irritated for some reason. “Mainly about our next steps in general.”

“Jason,” Mary beckons once she arrives at the discussion circle, catching the boy’s attention. “How much have you been horsing around? It looks like you opened up your bite wound again.” She comments, peering at the bandages around your friend’s neck as they slowly stain red from the other side. Hearing this, Jason places a hand against his neck to cover it, his face turning a beet red. While everyone’s attention focuses on him, curious about the status of his injury, a sudden flash of light floods the dimly lit room, as Dallra’s skin illuminates for the briefest of moments, almost like a lightbulb being quickly turned on and off again.

“The fuck was that?” Ryder asks in an almost disgusted tone, looking over at the troll standing next to him who’s quickly placed a hand to cover the corner of her mouth.

“Um… I-I-I still have some planning left to do, b-be back when the course is completely charted!” Dallra says in a hurry, turning on her heel and swiftly exiting the room with a face painted jade. Hm, so everyone’s been going at it.

“My bite’s fine. Now can we get down to business?” Jason brings the situation back on track, gently lifting Gretel off his shoulders and setting her down on the couch next to him. “As of right now, we’re relocating our base of operations. We’ll be leaving by the end of the hour for the Land of Mist and Mountains. According to Dallra, there’s a monastery that’s hard to get to if you don’t know where you’re going, and with the way the Land is laid out, we’ll have more than enough time to prepare for approaching threats before they can reach us there, something we haven’t had the best of luck with in the past.”

“Aw, what?!” Ryder bellows, the first one to protest. “But my prey is still wandering around the castle! I need more time to hunt them down and kill the bitch!”

“What?” Jason squints at the notion, incredulous if the goober is serious or not.

“I’d also elect that we remain within the castle’s premises for the moment.” Mary states while politely raising her hand. “At least for an additional night or two. I have a few more experiments I wish to conduct regarding the atmospheric conditions of the planet and a possible geomagnetic link to the electrical overcharge in the storms here.”

“I-I think we should hang around a few more days too.” Frank nods, speaking up to agree with his mother.

“Alright, first off, Ryder; forget about the fucking vampire, okay?” Jason firmly orders, his frustration starting to boil over now. “And second, Mary; you can conduct all the little experiments you want on the road! We’re not going to sit around while you play with your beakers and flasks or whatever the hell it is you do on the roof here. We need to relocate.”

“Why?” Haugrr interjects. Jason turns his head to face him, almost unbelieving the question was asked at all. “It’s dangerous to be out in the open without reason, and if we aren’t currently on our way to recruit someone for the mission, what’s the point in leaving the camp we have set up now? The castle seems secure enough, and with a group as large as ours, there shouldn’t be a problem defending it from the odd straggler.”

“Secure enough? We’ve been attacked twice in the past day and a half.” Jason retorts like the notion was ridiculous. Which you guess is only fair since he was on the direct end of one of those attacks.

“Three times.” Creed tacks on, catching Jason’s attention. “Just now, there was another incident with Ryder outside.” Jason looks at him a moment, processing what was said to him like a buffering computer, clearly molly-whopped by the absurd rate at which his concerns were validated.

“My point exactly.” He huffs while gesturing to Creed for his example.

“If I could ask,” You raise your hand, copying Mary’s courtesy. “Not that I’m against the idea, but what exactly is the actual reason you want us to relocate so badly?” Sure Jason was attacked first thing after waking up here, but since you’ve known that guy, he’s been knocked out, blown up, bled dry, comatosed and generally accosted in every major way possible like nobody’s business and every single time he was none the worse for wear from it. He’s a pretty resilient guy, and you know for a fact that it’ll take a little more than a vampire bite to rattle him. Something else besides base security has to be bugging him. And if he really wants to swap campsites, you’re sure that if there’s an air of honesty in the room, everyone else will be more than willing to agree to the move.

“……The group me and Creed ran into on Lohan, it turns out they’re a lot bigger than we initially thought.” He explains after a moment of contemplation. “They’re from another team that found out about our plan and want to stop us. They have info specialists who can find secrets about us, figure out where we are and track us. I don’t know how quickly they can find us, but we need to take preventative measures if we want to survive. These people are smart. Connected. Willing to go to great lengths to ensure we don’t make it out of the Arena. If we stay at the castle, it’s only so long before they figure out where we are and start planning around our weaknesses here. So I’m sorry, but this isn’t a vote. We’re leaving. End of discussion.” Okay… certainly honest, but not the air you were going for with that line-up question.

“Shouldn’t we decide who we’re recruiting next for the mission, then?” Haugrr inquires, you know for a fact perturbed by Jason’s authoritative tone. “If there’s suddenly this other team after us, why are we just focusing on relocating and not getting the people we need?”

“I’ll be handling personnel recruitment from now on.” Jason declares, much to the murmurings of the room.

“And so it begins…” Haugrr mutters to himself.

“Yeah, and who made you leader?” Ryder bellows with a sneer.

“Why.” Leah asks in a demanding tone, finally speaking up in the conversation. Up until now, she’s been hanging back, lost while thinking to herself, but upon hearing Jason’s claim, she’s stepped forward, dawning a cross expression.

“Because I said so.” Jason growls through an unmoving jaw at the thinly veiled challenge.

“Not good enough.” She retorts back, unwavering in her approach. At first you think it’s a trick of the light, but a faint black plume begins to drift from Jason’s head, as if his skull were smoking. You glance around to see if anyone else has noticed, but you don’t see any reaction from them.

“We had an information breach with our last intended recruit and they ended up getting hunted down and killed.” He begrudgingly explains his reasoning. “So for the foreseeable future, recruitment is on a need to know basis, and you all don’t need to know.”

“The last recruit we decided on was Mary.” Haugrr notes, looking to the girl who’s been stoically observing the conversation through shuttering eyes. “…So you’ve been calling shots on your own before this, then?”

“Yes, Haugrr. I’ve been making calls on my own, because We do Not Have the Time to make every decision together!” Jason says, raising his voice as the smoke around him thickens to an entire hazy aura. “What part of our situation says to you that our mission isn’t time sensitive? Things are happening in the Arena, things that once they’re set in stone, our window for escape is closed Forever. We need to act fast, so yeah, some decisions will be handled without your approval. Tough Shit. If you’ve got a problem with that, tell it to the dead. But if you want to get out alive, which, feel free to leave if you don’t, but if you do, you’re just gonna have to suck it up. Anyone got a problem with that?” You all stay quiet. Haugrr’s glaring daggers at Jason, but he’s keeping any protests brewing in his head to himself. The black haze around Jason has spread all around him now, drifting off in different vectors that’ve permeated around the room. You realize now that maybe you should’ve just kept your questions to yourself… “Good, now-“ Before Jason can move on with his dialect, a large mass abruptly drops from above, landing on his back, nearly tackling him to the floor. In a sudden fright, the Thief of Blood has dropped from the ceiling onto him, sinking her teeth into his neck once more. “GAAAAH!” He bellows out at the surprise attack.

“Jesus-!” Creed recoils back, being closest to the attack.

“What the hell is that?!” Ryder exclaims seeing the creature.

“Good Heavens!” Esspin exclaims while reaching a defensive arm out before you.

“GAAH! FUCK!” Jason screams, reaching back and flipping the Thief off of him, onto the floor with a powerful -slam-. The ghoulish creature hisses at him before he reels back and kicks her away, sending her past Frank and Ragnaa in the group circle, crashing into the table and chairs behind them. “What the Fuck!” Quickly, the Thief shakes the toss off and absconds on all fours out the lounge doors, leaping off the walls and ceiling as they escape.

“Tricky little-!” Leah exclaims, drawing her revolver and firing a several shots after the assaulter. “Get back here you damn varmint!” She yells, chasing after the creature into the halls of the castle.

“H-hey wait, I call dibs!” Ryder yells, hurrying after her. As the chaos unfolds around you, you feel Esspin's hand work it's way into your own, grabbing hold of you to assure herself of your presence be her side. You give her a tight squeeze to let her know you're okay.

“God Dammit!” Jason curses while firmly gripping his newly opened neck as Mary and Frank try to tend to the wound. Gretel hugs Creed’s leg while beholding the blood mess taking place before her and Ragnaa look likes a deer caught in headlights, her attention darting from person to person, clearly shaken from the unexpected event and unsure where to focus in case of another attack. In the background Haugrr snickers to himself, and George continues to drink the earl grey. It seems like it’s going to be a long day today…

 

Sara, Get on with your Day.

Notes:

A Late Happy New Year to you all!

Chapter 52: > Sonata No. 13 in G Major

Much like you suspected, it’s been a long and particularly grueling day as you all march through the valleys on LOCAL. There’s an ominous feel to the Land, as if the lights populating the stretch of mountains off in the distance were eyes, watching you as you walk through their domain. It actually reminds you of your trip though LOHAN a little, but you think that’s the point? Like the Land’s whole purpose is to channel unpleasant memories in a player’s mind. At least, that’s just your theory. The only reason you think so is because this place also reminds you of your own Land too, the Land of Twisters and Chasms. Every time you look up, you’d get a flashback to your planet, fearing the clouds above could form into a tornado at a moment’s notice. You tried taking your mind off things by humming ‘Over at the Frankenstein Place’ to yourself, seeing as your setting seemed appropriate for the number, being out in the pouring rain surrounded by castles and all, but after a while, your parade through the thundering storm became more maddening than anything, and soon that unpleasant memory mechanic in the Land made it so that the song became stuck in your head, and was the only thing you could think about.

Esspin must have noticed you slowly going insane as you walked, because not long after, she said a prayer to herself, and the rain began to slow upon her invocation, eventually vanishing entirely. Along with it went the Picture Show song from your head. Although there’s still a lot of Lightning clouds, the walk has been dry ever since, but it’s been a long walk in and of itself. At the moment, you’re in hour thirteen going into fourteen of the journey and it seems like you’re nowhere near stopping. The breaks you’ve gotten have been sparse and short, with Jason saying you had a schedule to keep, and that getting somewhere safe was more important than being a little tired. You’ve been doing your best to keep everyone at a steady pace, but even with your passive effects and second wind keeping them energized, the group seems to be burning out, and fast. You aren’t sure how much longer you can all hold out for…

“I think I’ve lost feeling in my stepping poles.” Ragnaa huffs in an exhausted voice, having drifted to the back of the group with her stride shortening as your hike has gone on.

“…” You notice Haugrr in front of you turn to say something back with a sour look on his face, but pauses a moment. “Yeah, same. We should probably start looking for a place to bunk down for the day.” He finally says to her in a lighter tone than you were expecting.

“No.” Jason firmly says from the front of the pack. It seems like he isn’t even slightly entertaining the idea of stopping for the night. He seems particularly fixated on this monastery idea for some reason. From the way Dallra described it, it doesn’t sound any more safe than the castle you were in, but for some reason, Jason’s got it in his head that this place is some kind of Fort Knox. You can understand him wanting a secure base, but you don’t know why he needs to get there so quickly. This other group he’s so afraid of isn’t just going to fall out of the sky on top of you, are they? And with Dallra keeping an eye out for them, you’re sure you’d have more than enough time to prepare for a Strife.

“Aw, come on! This is bullshit!” Ryder whines, throwing his non-casted hand in the air. “We’ve been walking for-fucking-ever!”

“Quit your whinging.” Jason orders, keeping his attention glued to the road before you all. “We still have a lot of ground to cover.”

“God damn Drill Sergeant.” Haugrr says to himself. “What about you, goliath? Those Highblood poles must be running out of gas too, right?” He looks back to ask Esspin.

“I must admit, even I grow weary…” Esspin sighs while glancing back at Gretel who’s tucked herself in her hood, fast asleep. After his last vampire bite, Jason didn’t seem up to the task of carrying her for more than an hour or so, and left her in your care. “Perhaps a rest could invigorate us for the second half of this journey?”

“Four more hours, at least.” Jason dismisses the notion, not bothering to look back at anyone. “I want to be there by tomorrow…” Dallra, who’s walked a few paces behind him up until now glances back at you all, taking note of the worn out state of your team. A moment passes where she thinks something over before hurrying her stride to catch up with the Time player, quietly discussing something with him, which seems to furrow his brow in response.

“Hopefully she can talk sense to the boy.” Leah mutters beside Ragnaa, eyeing Jason from the back of the group.

“Something’s been off about him ever since he woke up…” Ragnaa informs her, breaking off into their own discussion. “The space around him moves differently now. L-like there something else there.”

“I reckon he’s off his rocker.” Leah decided with a scoff.

“Sanity isn’t the commodity it used to be. I can’t imagine we’ll be finding it at as easily as we used to going forward.” Ragnaa informs her of the dreary fate for you all. “The longer the Arena’s games continue, the more we’ll start to come apart by the seams. Done so by our opponent’s hands, same as by our own.”

“You feelin’ alright, Rags?” The Knight turns to her, hearing her ominous prediction.

“I’ve seen it. Time and time again, I’ve seen what’s to come.” Ragnaa says, beginning to mutter to herself now. “Made ash by the blind and vindictive. Our world torn asunder by a countermeasure of the dead, crushed by two opposing existences. You will all be ash soon. You will all be ash…”

“We need to get you someplace warm, soon.” Leah tells the girl with a look of concern, throwing her cape over the Seer’s shoulders to shield her from the wind.

As you glance back at the two girls with a concern of your own, you suddenly run into Haugrr, who’s stopped mid-stride before you. You’re about to ask what his deal is when you notice the rest of your group has halted as well. Glancing forward to see what’s happening, you notice Jason at the front of the group with his hand up, signaling the pause. You look out to the valley where you’re sure he’s looking and see what it is that’s stopped your caravan.

“What is it?” Dallra asks him, confused why he stopped.

“You didn’t see?” He asks her, as if he finds it hard to believe that she missed it.

“I was watching our trail to make sure we weren’t being followed.” She explains while glancing over at him. “What was it?”

“Was there someone there?” Mary asks, walking up next to him to look out at the open field.

“…” Jason remains silent, glancing around the empty space before you all as he scans for what he saw there.

“You feelin’ alright, Boss?” Creed asks, resting a hand on his shoulder to bring him back to the moment.

“It was nothing. Must’ve just been another one of those mirages that Leah killed.” He declares, sounding unsure of himself. Another mirage, huh? That’s what they’re calling the thing that attacked Ryder just before you left the castle. There was a lot of debate when you first started walking about what it was. Apparently the thing evaporated like steam when Leah shot it, so you weren’t sure if it was an actual player or not, but it seemed threatening enough regardless. Eventually the verdict was settled that this planet can produce physical manifestations of fear to attack its occupants. Ryder, of course, vehemently denied this, as, of course, he would never be afraid of some ‘douchebag is a windsock’. Whatever the case may be, you’ve all started calling them Mirages. It wasn’t that, however. You know because you saw it too. It was only for a second, but you saw someone there, out in the valley. It looked like a man with a pickaxe, as he swung the weapon into the head of another. You don’t think you’ll tell the others what you saw…

“Wait… there is something…” Dallra announces, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Just ahead of us on our trail. It’s a vehicle, heading in our direction.”

“In the valley?” Creed asks, seemingly confused how something could drive in the rocky terrain of the Land.

“Do you suppose their presence here is coincidental?” Mary inquires as well, looking out at the gorge before you all with a hand shading her eyes, the optic devices whistle and whirling as she scans for the approaching strangers. “Perhaps they’ve run into us by mistake.”

“This is no mistake.” Dallra disagrees, looking straight ahead of your group, focused on the far-off adversary. “They’re on our exact trajectory. They know we’re here.”

“Should we scram before they arrive?” You suggest, knowing the exhausted state of your team could make you easy-pickings if a strife breaks out with another group.

“No.” Jason decides, drawing a pickaxe from his strife deck and taking several steps forward towards the oncoming threat, waiting there for them to arrive. “We’re gonna kill these bastards.”

“Alright! That’s what I’m fucking talking about!” Ryder hurrahs, throwing a few celebratory punches as he steps up with Jason.

“Ryder, I-…” Leah tries to dissuade the boy before losing her steam when he glares back at her. Seeing that, she simply holds close to Ragnaa.

“What’s the status of the vehicle’s cargo? How many people do we have approaching?” Creed asks Dallra as he brings out his Baseball Bat.

“I don’t know. Its interior is blocked out, like it isn’t even there.” She shakes her head in disbelievement. “It’s just hollow.” Esspin gives you a glance to gauge your reaction to all this before wandering over to Frank to gently remove Gretel from her hood and hand her over to him.

“If you would, please keep the little one safe.” She asks of him as he takes the Consort.

“Of course, Miss Kalzah.” He agrees without a second beat.

“Thank you, Francis.” She pats him on the head before returning by your side. Seeing that it looks like a fight is inevitable now, you decide to arm yourself in preparation. You’ve got no idea what you’ll be facing, so you decide to summon your more versatile Blades of Glory Fans, as opposed to your usual Sails on the River Lethe set. The cool and fiery Bladed Fans appear within your hands and you unfurl the bad boys, ready for what might come. Esspin brings out On The Morrow as well, taking aim in the directions your entire group now faces.

“You people are ridiculous.” Haugrr crosses his arms, unimpressed with the group’s preemptive preparation.

“Shut up and get ready.” Jason orders, still as a statue at the front of your group. As tensions of the situation begin to boil over, you all hold firm where you are, waiting in nervous anticipation for the enemy to reveal themselves. A suffocating minute passes where no one dared move a muscle. And then it appears. Off on the horizon, an RV making its way on a direct path towards your group. A few of you readjust yourselves, as if the reveal of the motorhome was a relief to them in and of itself, before tensing back up to prepare for it.

“That was the same scuttlehive at the Grey Palace.” Ragnaa comments, filling the silence that had overtaken the team. She’s right. It’s a little hard to tell from here, but its front bumper is bent in the same place as the one parked in front of the Hotel a few nights ago. Same bleak paint job too.

“Wait, so these are… Consorts?” Ryder asks, looking back at the Troll.

“If it’s from Lohan, it would make sense why I can’t see inside…” Dallra concurs with the assessment.

“Doesn’t matter where it’s from. Only who’s inside.” Jason informs you all, his grip tightening on his armament. With that, the chatter dies back down, and the team goes back to watching as the vehicle nears, unchanging in its trajectory straight for your position in the gulch. You can practically hear the sweat dripping down the people’s foreheads as it draws closer and closer. Eventually, the fast approaching entity begins to slow once it sees you, breaking to a cruising speed upon its arrival before your group. Directly in range now, the RV’s driver decelerates to a crawl before swerving off to the right to bring their rig around, slowing and eventually parking with its side facing towards you so that you can see the vehicle’s cabin door directly. They’ve stopped maybe twelve or thirteen yards from you, sitting before you with the likeness of a UFO that’s just landed in your backyard. And you wait, with nerve-wracking anticipation for the aliens within to descend their spaceship and make demands of being taken to your leader. The irony isn’t lost on you that you have an actual alien right next to you, and she’s yet to make any such demands, but still, it feels like that!

Even with how close they are, you can’t make out the interior of the rig, its windows too tinted to distinguish who’s driving this thing. While although still a mystery as to who it is within, you can certainly tell that there’s someone moving inside, with their shadow getting up from the driver’s seat and moving back to the cabin of the vehicle. You’re about to suggest if you should just go up and knock when the cabin door swings open, causing those within your group to startle at the sudden movement. Appearing in the doorframe is a shadowed figure of a slender individual, walking cane in-hand and head capped with a fancy looking hat.

“Welcome, welcome, one and all, to Uk n’ Gin’s Traveling Intel Emporium! Where the Info you need can be Yours, for the Right Price!” The figure yells out like a circus barker as they descend the steps leading off the vehicle, finally revealing themselves. Stepping down from the RV and out into the Land is… huh… You actually don’t know this one. Before you, cane by her side and with an eager posture, stands a young girl, skin as blue as the twilight sky, with a bright smile adorning her face. Dressed in bright orange, you can immediately identify her as the Mage of Light, and on her head is a white straw boater hat with an orange stripe across its brim, a ’13’ stamped upon the white circle at its center. “I bid you a fair evening, followers of Argo, and open our parlor doors to you.”

“Cut the shit, freak-show, who the hell are you?” Jason demands, unmoved by the eccentric performance before him.

“This humble saleswoman goes by the name of Ukulele, but you, my friend, can call me Uk, Uki, Ukay, Lele, whichever most might strike your fancy.” The Mage introduces herself while strutting up to your group. “I’m what we in the business call an Information Broker. Me and my associate go from Land to Land vending what we know to the curious minds in the Arena for… reasonable prices, and we just so happened to be passing through and thought we’d come do business with you.”

“Right. ‘Just passing through’.” Jason skeptically eyes the girl, holding out his pickaxe at her to halt the Mage from getting any closer. “Well, Broker, why don’t you inform me of a reason why I don’t put a spike through your head and be on my way?”

“Because I know something that you don’t, Jason.” Ukulele says with a smile, grabbing her cane by its middle and using it to gently push his weapon out of her face, replacing the space it occupied with her hand, outstretched for a shake. “And I’m sure you’ll want to hear what I have to say.” Hesitantly, Jason looks down at the proposed hand, taken off-guard by the Mage’s fearless forward advance, strolling up to his threat without so much as blinking. After a moment of pause, he does go to shake, as is custom for the group, but the girl, with a twinkle in her eye, quickly retracts from the handshake. “Ah! But we mustn’t shake on it just yet. Such pleasantries are best saved for after business is concluded. Please, in the meantime, let’s discuss this in a more comfortable setting.” She explains, gesturing for the RV’s open door. Jason remains silent, passively observing the situation a moment before finally speaking up.

“…Creed, Sara, you’re with me.” He finally says, attention still locked on the Mage. “Everyone else, five minute break."

“Huh? Why me?” You perk up, having not expected to be called on. You get him bringing Creed, the guy’s practically his right-hand-man, but you?

“You’re second-in-command and our best close-quarters fighter.” Jason informs you, much to your surprise.

“I am?” You ask to both points, unaware you had any form of leadership over the team.

“Hey, what about me?!” Ryder bellows, trying to push his way into Jason’s attention.

“If I need someone to take a beating for us, I’ll give you a shout.” He scoffs at him before making his way to the motorhome’s entrance, leaving Ryder to growl in frustration at the insult. Creed strolls after, leaving you to linger for a minute. You go to follow after, but Esspin takes you by the hand before you can take your first step.

“Sara…” She calls to you with a worried expression. “I-…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll only be a few feet away.” You assure her. “I’ll yell if I need you.”

“…” She doesn’t say anything back, but nods her head in assurance. With that, you make the jaunt over to the RV.

“Sorry!” You whisper to Ryder, awkwardly smiling as you hurry past him.

“Bite me.” He rasps under his breath back.

“M’dam.” Ukulele greets as you approach. Closer to her now, you can’t help but notice that deep blue skin of her’s has a soft appearance, almost Felt-like in nature. Is she some sort of puppet-creature? Like one of those life-size Smuppets models, only with a normal sized nose. You give her a polite NodxSmile combo and hurry up to the vehicle. Hopping up the steps and entering into the cabin, you’re met with a tense scene before you. Jason and Creed huddle at the back of the RV’s kitchen area, their weapons down but clearly at the ready for something. Following their fixated gaze, you’re startled to see a second rather large player lingering at the front of the van. Stark white skin and deep hollow eyes, you nearly mistake him for a ghost at first glance. He keeps his arms crossed as he stares back at you all.

“You think he’s another vampire?” You hear Creed whisper to Jason, on edge from the mysterious player’s presence.

“I don’t know, but he looks just like her.” Jason answers, eyeing up the goliath. “Even has a tail and everything.” Upon Jay's comment, the beast's tail, which had a split at the end, whisks behind him, hidden from further observation. Taking a second look at mans over there, he does have a striking similarity to the creature that hopped on Jason’s back earlier today. Same species maybe? He’s dressed differently, though. The Thief who you saw wore tattered brown rags, but him, he wears a dark blue ensemble, basic trousers and a longer robe-like tunic with what look like rune-inscribed tastes handing down from his collar, a torn up looking cape draped behind him and a dunce cape type hood that’s he’s left down for obvious reasons. His hair is shorter, but still tied back and there’s also a T shaped brand placed over his right eye. He’s also apparently packing, if that codpiece you’re currently trying to ignore is anything to go off of. You’d tell him to show some decency, but the man is obviously proud of it with how shamelessly he’s got it out. If nothing else, you can’t knock the confidence.

“Well now that we’re all here, shall we get down to business?” Ukulele asks, entering into the RV behind you, shutting the door.

“Who the hell is he?” Jason notions to the large erect man in the corner, gesturing at him with his pickaxe.

“Ah, of course! How rude of me. He, dear guests, is my close friend and business partner, Ginnun of Clan Tau. He’s what you would call a Dwarf.” She explains, making her way over to stand next to the man.

“Dwarf? Like from-“ Creed begins to ask.

“I don’t know what Germany is and I don’t care about their fairytales there.” Ginnun dismisses, seemingly getting that a lot.

“Guinea here is the Jester of Void. The titular second half to our information gathering business. I’d be nowhere without him!” Ukulele sings his praise, though to not much response from the Jester, who stoically continues to observe you lot. “But!" She taps her cane against the floor. "Enough about us, it’s you all I wish to talk about.” She slyly informs you, setting her cane aside as she takes a seat at the breakfast nook in the wall of the kitchen.

“You said you had something I wanted to hear.” Jason reminds her as he takes a seat across from her. You look to Creed, wondering if you should all squeeze into the nook. He leans against the kitchen counter and motions for you to take the seat instead. How gentlemanly! You do so, taking your spot next to Jay as co-captain. “So talk.”

“Of course, of course.” Ukulele smiles, waving her hand over the tabletop, summoning a light construct in the shape of a Briefcase before you. “However, there is the matter of payment.”

“Payment?” Jason incredulously repeats, put off at the expectation.

“Certainly.” The Mage nods, opening the Briefcase, revealing a series of glowing yellow nodes and cubes. “Fortuity alone can only get you so far in this world. At the end of the day, it’s what you have that makes the difference. After all, Luck is just preparation and opportunity. You understand, yes?”

“No, I actually don’t. What are you, conmen? Are you hustling us?” Jason asks, getting belligerent.

“Not at all, sir, not at all.” Ukulele emphatically denies, holding up her hands as if to show you she’s literally got nothing up her sleeves. “In fact, our first transaction of the night is already paid for. You need only sign here to confirm that you’ve received the message therein.” As she speaks, the Mage sifts through a folder pocket in her briefcase, pulling out an ethereal document with a whole wall of text and a sign-line, pushing it before you both on the table.

“…Is this legally binding?” You ask her as you quickly scan over the listed information, seeing it’s got the basic layout of a typical contract with its information listed, but not immediately spotting anything nefariously lawyerish.

“My, of course not. This is just some basic ledger keeping. We try to keep an organized log of transactional history, especially for transdimensional courier services such as this. It’s nearly impossible to backtrace if you don’t have a coherent record to go off of, but please, take all the time you need to read it over if you’re still unsure.” She explains, folding her hands as she waits patiently for you both to continue on.

“It says here that the message was commissioned by an ‘M.L.’ benefactor?” Jason says, looking over the document. “What does that mean? Someone paid you to send me this?”

“Precisely. As opposed to a collect call, the original sender of this message opted to pay in full for its delivery, thus why you’ve incurred no additional charge to receive it.” Ukulele explains, placing a pen upon the light parchment.

“Well who sent it?” Jason inquires, looking up from the paper at her.

“Still can’t guess, hm? Let me put it this way for you then; M.L. stands for mageLight, Jason.” She explains to him. Suddenly, as if a fast moving fog has rolled in, an uneasy atmosphere settles over the conversation. “And it certainly wasn’t me who sent it.”

“You mean…” As Jason pauses, searching for his words, you notice an odd tension begin to strain his hand, as if struggling to keep them from balling into fists.

“We have a winner.” Ukulele smiles, confirming whatever deduction Jason’s come to.

“You knew Lucas?” He finally asks her. Lucas? Wasn’t that the name of him and Mia’s session mate? The one Jason… Oh no.

“Mh.” The Mage nods, confirming the relation. “Although we vend to all the contestants in the Arena, let’s just say I’m more than a little familiar with the fate of your friends, friend.” She smiles, smugly resting her chin within the cradle of her interlocked fingers, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly at her declaration. In response, Jason slowly lowers his hand, resting it against the pickaxe he’s left in his lap up until now. Ooooh noo.

“I’m going to assume you don’t know what you’re implying when you say that, but I suggest you watch your tone around me.” Jason instructs, barely keeping a lid on the fury in his voice. Hearing this, Ginnun, who had been uncannily silent up until now, shifts his weight to the side and repositions his hands to his side, letting out a grumbling growl in response.

“Oh I’ve been minding much more than my tone around you, Jason. I know exactly the kind of man you are.” Her smile grows even larger. “And I know that men like you, more often than not, are willing to pay whatever the cost may be to get what you want. It’s why we’ve come all this way to find you. You’re good business.” Staring each other down, you can’t tell what either of the two are thinking. She, a smiling stone wall and he, a frothing wildcard. You glance back to get Creed’s reaction to this but you see he’s too busy to acknowledge your peek. His attention is fixated on the Jester, carefully watching his every move for any step out of line. You also notice that he’s keeping the grip on his Bat out of plain sight from the strangers, subtly blocking them from seeing it with the side of his thigh. So this is going south remarkably fast. Perhaps put an end to it?

“Sooo… what was the message?” You ask the Information Seller, hoping to keep the conversation moving before things get all No Country For Old Men up in here. As you do, Jason makes a move, nearly causing you to flinch yourself. What you had thought would’ve been a declaration of Strife actually turns out to be him reaching for the pen instead. You can’t tell if your friend was following your lead or if he just came to the decision himself, but regardless, you’re glad the bloodshed was postponed.

“It was a dire warning.” Ukulele informs you, digging through her briefcase as Jason signs her document, which vanishes upon notarization. “Apparently, through some manner or another, Lucas had managed to divinate a vision pertaining to Jason here, allowing him a glimpse of the future within the Arena. Whatever he saw during this experience, he saw it fitting to send forewarning of it through our services.”

“W-wait, wait, that doesn’t make sense.” Jason shakes his head, confused with the information being presented to him. “Lucas was-… Lucas had already passed on before anyone in my Session had anything to do with the Arena, let alone knew it existed.”

“Apparently not so.” The Mage disagrees. “From the info he left you, Lucas seemed to have ample knowledge of what was transpiring here. We received this request an entire week and a half before the Arena games even started, just to put the timeline into perspective. Ah, here we are.” She exclaims, retrieving a small tube from her case.

“I don’t get it… If this was so important, why not tell me himself?” Jason mutters. “If he knew about all this, why keep quiet about it?!”

“Just a theory, but perhaps he gathered that this manner of receiving his message posed the most fortuitous outcome for your situation, one where you more readily heeded his exhortation than if he told you directly? You seem a rather stubborn individual, set in your ways, so it’s entirely possible that he factored for this character trait and came to the conclusion that a more direct conveyance of information would have resulted in your brushing him off, ultimately leading to you falling prey to the threat he warned you of in the first place. If that were the case, I’d certainly concur with your friend’s conclusion, this roundabout method certainly caught your attention more thoroughly than any direct conversation ever could have.” Your host explains in great detail the extravagance of the situation, much to Jason’s growing annoyance.

“…What the hell does the letter say.” He narrows his eyes at her.

“Of course.” She knowingly smiles before twisting the tube she withdrew from her bag in two, pulling the piece apart to reveal a small scroll of light between them. “Hm. His message warns of the weapon destined to remove you from this plane of existence, via ‘complete annihilation’. A device he calls the Seventh Gate of Heaven. He doesn’t elaborate on what the actual weapon is, however, he does foretell a manner in which to identify it. According to him, the weapon will first be used on two individuals within your direct network, one of Hope-bound and Rage-bound, respectively, at which point you will know that its sights are set upon you.” Hearing the puppet-girl’s words, a sudden panic jolts through you. Players of Hope and Rage…? Surely she doesn’t mean… “Unfortunately Lucas offered no counsel in which to counteract or circumvent this weapon, leaving me to believe he felt confident in your abilities enough that he felt the warning itself would be a sufficient enough countermeasure for you to avoid this fate. I have no way of guaranteeing this, however, so in my professional opinion, I would still err on the side of caution regardless.”

“Can I see this?” Jason asks, reaching out for the scroll from her. She gives it without fuss and Jason begins skimming through the message himself, his eyes darting from left to right as he quickly scans the page, reading over his late friend’s last message. “……What’s this last part?”

“You’re referring to the final paragraph, correct?” She asks, peering over at the letter he holds in his hand.

“Of course I am, what the hell else?” Jason grunts with an annoyed tone, still reading over the message. “It says ‘This weapon, though grave, is only one half of the dread fate that awaits him. It is imperative, repeat; Imperative this be recounted in full; Jason, if the End of All Things is to come to pass, Beware of Mal’. End of transmission. What is that? Mal, what the hell is that?”

“We were actually hoping for you to shed some light on this. We have no idea as to what he’s referring to here.” Ukulele explains, glancing back at Ginnun, as if to confirm his testimony. He only quietly nods his head down while shutting his eyes. “We’ve checked our records, consulted several archives, even went cold-call phishing for secrets regarding it, but we’ve come up empty every time. No mention of a Mal anywhere, at least none that made sense in regards to the context that he spoke of. If the term Mal doesn’t mean anything to you, then it’s really up to guesswork then. Our current theory is that his message ran longer than his payment arranged for, resulting in the ending being partially cut off, with Mal being the intended start of a longer word, such as Malpractice or Malfeasance.” Hearing their explanation, Jason takes a long breath in through his nose, letting out a deep sigh as if he were simmering.

“So you’re telling me… that the most important part of Luke’s message… the one trying to save me from a terrible fate… was cut off because you cheap bastards couldn’t let him finish One Final Word?!” He shouts.

“Unfortunately Lucas only had payment enough for two short-length messages.” The saleswoman explains with an exacerbated breath. “Information isn’t a weightless good, sir. It takes up storage, which is what we price our services on. If what he needed to tell you was as important as he said it was, he should’ve devised a more condensed way to convey it, or fronted a larger payment. I don’t make the rules of economics, I just abide by them like everyone else.”

“Yeah, well-…” Jason begins to get loud, but stops short and pauses. “What do you mean, two messages?”

“We have on record that he arranged for two messages to be sent out in the Arena. One to you, and one to a third-party individual.” She promptly reports.

“Who the hell is this third party, then?” Jason asks.

“We aren’t at liberty to say. Discretion is our business’s paramount motto.” She promptly informs him.

“Well then what was the message?!” He demands this time. “He was my friend, I deserve to know what he said!”

“Second verse, same as the first, sir. Discretion, discretion, discretion.” She dismisses yet again, not sweating his rising temper. “Our information is on a need to know basis, and you simply do not need to know.” You think you hear Jason’s teeth crack, he’s clenching his jaw so tightly.

“D-did Lucas maybe have margin notes that… we could… look at, maybe?” You quickly interject before things can get too out of hand again. “Like a rough draft that you could perhaps let us have… i-if we make another purchase from your store?” There’s no beating around the bush with this, you’re straight up attempting to bribe this lady. Let’s hope her morals are as loose as the other salesman you’ve known.

“Well…” Her smile widens, knowing full well what you’re doing. “I’m sure we could be persuaded to throw in a few supplemental tidbits of information that might sweeten the deal for any additional transactions you might make tonight. Right, Gin?”

“It’d certainly be permissible.” The Jester agrees with a monotone voice.

“So this is a hustle.” Creed comments, causing you to jump a little, remembering he’s still in the room. He’s being uncharacteristically quiet for some reason. Maybe he’s trying to psych out the Mage’s muscle or something? A game of chicken to see who talks first, only speaking up once the other guy blinked?

“It’s a rigged game, sweetheart. Don’t hate the players trying to rig it in their favor.” Ukulele shrugs with a smirk.

“And the payment?” Creed follows up, staying with the conversation.

“To be determined upon discussion of the information in question.” Ukulele folds her hand again, the front rim of her boater hat tipping down in a jazzy kind of way. “In short, make us an offer and we’ll go from there.”

“Uh-uh. Not gonna fly.” Creed shakes his head. “All costs are to be stated beforehand by the vendor. None of that upping the price once you know what we want bull-shit. Name the amount and then we’ll decide if it’s worth paying.” Seems Creed’s more experienced with negotiations than you realized.

“Hmm.” The Mage hums at the hardball tactic. “Very well. However, we don’t accept Boondollars as legal tender in this establishment. I’m sure you know how trivial meager coins have become in the late-game stages of Sburb, and even more so for those of us in the predicament we’ve found ourselves in here. So a different payment must be substituted.”

“What do you propose?” Your Heir continues to negotiate for you.

“A basic Barter system should suffice. Goods exchanged for services.” Ukulele suggests.

“You aren’t going through our inventories.” Jason quickly dismisses before they can get any ideas.

“No need to. We’ve already identified several items within your possession that we’d be willing to accept as payment.” She happily explains, only seeming to frustrate Jason even further.

“…What are you selling?” He begrudgingly asks after brooding a moment.

“Well, if it’s something with a bit more practical use for you specifically, we have save data for a Checkpointing ability we think you’d be most interested in.” She explains, closing her briefcase and quickly circling it around on the table, re-opening it to reveal new contents within. Sitting within the rigid bag are two crimson red floppy discs, both circled by narrow orange lines that form a square around them.

“You sell checkpoints?” Jason curiously asks, seemingly recognizing the items. “W-… where do they go?”

“That all depends. You see, while Save Files are typically set to specific times and locations recorded by the users themselves, our Checkpoints were specially designed to adapt to the personal chronology of whoever activates them. Doing so makes them a universally sellable good to any Time-bound, upping the value significantly. They aren’t cheap, by any means, but I can assure you they are well worth the price.” Ukulele explains the manner in which the supplementary items work. “In the cases of these two Files, the one on the right will jump you to the point in spacetime where [[[Fate]]] has deemed you are Needed the Most. The exact moment your presence plays a pivotal role in the continuation of causal existence. Almost like a skip-to-the-end button. The one on your left, however, this one will take you back to the moment you experienced your Greatest Grief, allowing you a second chance to make things right. The ultimate do-over button.”

“You mean… my…… H-how much?” Jason asks with a kind of subtle franticness. “The one on the left, what will it cost me?” While happily explaining the details of the items up until now, Ukulele’s expression suddenly dampens.

“The cost of the Checkpoint on the Right is your Eyes. The cost of the Checkpoint on the Left is your Life.” She informs him, serious as can be. Jason takes a moment to process the weight of these price tags before slamming his hands down on the table.

“What the hell kind of game are you playing at, bitch?!” He angrily asks. “You think you’re clever, with that little threat? You think this is some kind of joke?!”

“Ahaha, Jason, she isn’t making a threat on your life, we can just choose not to buy the ridiculously priced goods.” You nervously whisper to your friend before he can completely lose it on the saleswoman. “Let’s simply move on to the next item and not make a scene, okay?” He grumbles something under his breath as he glares across the breakfast nook at the girl.

“I can tell you aren’t interested with the overly-pricey pieces we have today.” Ukulele says with a polite customer service tone, closing up her briefcase and setting it to the side. “How about we just stick to purely information for now, yes? Such as how the Prince of Life knew exactly where to find the next person-of-interest you wanted to recruit.” Hearing her offer, a sudden quiet befalls all of you. It was stupid not to realize it up until this point considering how much they already knew about you all, but the mention of Jason’s latest recruitment setback seemed to telegraph to your trio that these two were somewhat familiar with your current plans to escape the Arena, leaving you to cautiously look to one another. “Caught your attention, didn’t I?”

“The Prince killed the person we were looking for?” You ask Jason, realizing he never actually told you the details of what happened. He gives you a simple solemn nod in response.

“Dallra said the Prince’s same Blindspot that appeared up on the Pyramid made a direct path for the Maid of Light only a few days after I was unconscious.” He explains the events to you. “Almost like he knew where they were hiding… And you’re saying it wasn’t just coincidence.” He turns back to the Mage.

“Not in the slightest.” She confirms with a knowing smile. “However before that… in regards to our payment…”

“I swear to god if you say some fuck-shit for a price.” Jason begins to heat up again.

“Nothing outrageous, I promise.” She holds up her hand to swear-oath. “But tender is due. I request your Hand-Held Supercomputer for this information. Do you find this acceptable?”

“The Supercomputer?” Jason asks, confused at the request. “Why?“

“We have a few terminals in dire need of a processor boost just such a device could provide.” She explains her reasoning. “Hooking it up to our systems would greatly expedite our researching process. If you would kindly offer it up for trade, we would be most gracious.”

“Ah, okay. Done.” Diving into his inventory, Jason cracks the maze puzzle his modus produces and deploys an absolute unit of a phone, with the brick nearly cracking the tabletop when it’s deployed. With a pleased nod, Ukulele accepts the offer, opening up her briefcase to deposit the device within. “Alright, now talk.”

“To understand how the Prince discovered the location of the Light-bound, you must first understand what the Arena offers as incentive in order to encourage bloodshed between the Godtiers here. Upon vanquishing another within the Arena’s boundaries, a Boon will be presented to the Victor of the fight, bestowing a small facet of the Vanquished's power to them as an edge against other Contenders in the Ritual. These Boons can range in power and potency depending on the combination of Class and Aspect. For an individual as formidable and bloodthirsty as the Prince of Life, it is only natural that he’s acquired many-a Boon to utilize in his conquest against all of Life itself. In particular, the Boon that led him directly to your mutual target was that of the Seer of Heart's.” Hearing the Mage’s words, your mind freezes, and a deep chill soaks into your bones. You exhale a small breath, yet it feels as if your lungs have been emptied, and you begin to suffocate. “A Seer’s Boon would grant an individual occasional visions pertaining to the Aspect of the vanquished in question. Heart, in this case, would focus these visions on Individuals, ones that pertain to the ultimate goal the Boon’s Holder has set out for. We’ve done a bit of digging, and while not entirely certain, I’d venture a guess in saying that the Prince has a grudge agains Jason here. We’ve gathered that he’s a rather prideful fellow, and have come to the conclusion that in the process of you outwitting him in your last Strife, Jason, that you’ve jeered him on into a kind of fixated state, one that won’t allow him to simply disregard your escape from his destructive grasp. As such, he’s been receiving visions of those pivotal to the success of your plans in order to systematically undermine your efforts. Thus resulting in the unfortunate demise of a fellow Light-bound.”

“Just how many of these Boons does this Prince have?” Creed inquires, assessing the concept and digging further.

“If you get a Boon by killing someone…” Jason begins, recalling the kill-list that bastard has racked up. “That would mean he’d have ones from the Sylph of Time and Witch of Heart without question. As well as…”

“Greg and Amvinn.” You say for him. “The Prince killed them and now he’s using their powers to hurt us...?” You feel the knuckles in your hand -crack- as you tightly grip your fists, the skin there turning white from the strain cutting off the blood flow. “Where is he now?” You turn to your informant. “His location. Sell me it. Whatever you want. My inventory, my eyes, my heart, I don’t care what your price is, tell me where I can find the Dead Man!”

“Sara, take it easy, yeah?” Creed advises. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves with this.”

“No! This can’t stand. I won’t allow it!” You dismiss his suggestion of calmness. “That monster has done too much to not be hunted like the animal he is! I can’t permit him to take another breath on this world knowing he’s using our friends in such a manner! So tell me where he is and I’ll give you anything you want!” You turn back to Ukulele once more.

“As… tempting as that offer is,” She uncomfortably rejects your proposition, as if she didn’t just request Jason’s eyes only a minute ago. “We unfortunately are unaware of the Prince’s whereabouts at this current moment.”

“Why the hell not?!” You angrily reprimand, taking a page from Jason’s book. Normally, you might’ve really appreciated the pun regarding taking a page from a Page, but unfortunately, you’re entirely too pissed off to care!

“In addition to the Boons he’s acquired from your companions, he’s also taken one from the Scout of Void.” Ukulele briefly explains.

“Scout?” Jason raises his eyebrow, confused by the Title.

“The Dwarven equivalent to a Rogue.” She informs him. “An individual with that Boon alone would be a nightmare to track, with the Void he’s been leaving behind covering his trails as they’re being made, concealed by the secrets he’d allocated to them, but pairing this with the Witch of Heart’s Boon, which bends his emotions to a fine-point towards a single goal, he’s been practically made into a thoughtless machine with no trackable mental-presence in the Metasphere. In addition to this, even if we were to dedicate all our efforts towards pursuing him exclusively, the Boons he’s taken from the Time-bound would significantly hamper our progress. The Mage’s Boon has opened his awareness towards Time, made him more susceptive towards the advantages he could learn from it, meaning he’d know how to delay any pursuers for as long as fatefully possible, know when his time to strike was best placed. The Sylph’s Boon would only compound this, extended what little time he might have left by tens-of-folds, allowing him to bide his time as the Aspect slowly mends itself within him. I apologize, but given his current state, the Prince is simply too elusive of a target to find.” Ukulele explains, putting the cherry on top of the shit-sundae. “If it’s any consolation, he’s hunting you as we speak. If you’re lucky, your quarry will find his way to you on his own, given enough time.” You brood in frustration hearing all this. It isn’t fair. Damn it, it just isn’t fair! That thing doesn’t have any right to live while your friends are dead in the ground!

“There, we bought something from you. Now about Lucas’s other message.” Jason moves on like it’s nothing you’ve hit a dead end with the Prince.

“Of course. A deal’s a deal. However, we do have one more piece of information I’m almost certain you’d be interested in getting your hands on.” Ukulele offers to him with a confident air around her.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” He asks, unimpressed and unbelieving of whatever else she’s selling.

“How the Mage of Blood got his phone to work.” She says with a sly smile. Jason appropriately perks up at this offer.

“…Name your price.” He tells her, all-in already.

“Your pair of temporally-detached headphones.” She complies with his request with a tilt of her head. “Ginnun’s been looking to get his hands on a device that can access individual chronologies. It’d be a great favor to us if you could part with them.” With a nod, Jason dives into his inventory without a second thought.

“Here. Temporal Beats by Scratch.” He hands the lime-green headphones over upon summoning them. “…How’d they do it.”

“Hmhm.” Ukulele chuckles, amused by Jason’s eagerness. “If you would, do you mind letting me see his phone first?” A moment passes, with Jason looking at the saleswoman with a skeptical suspicion. Eventually, though, he opens his inventory with a begrudging hum, pulling out from it a red cased smartphone. “Open up the back.” The Mage instructs once it’s in his hand. Jason hesitantly looks at her once more before glancing down at the device in his hand, eventually flipping it over and carefully prying the back panel off the frame.

“Wha-… What is that?” He asks upon seeing the insides of the phone. You glance over to take a look as well and see a strange chip inserted at the top of the phone just above the battery, covered in some kind of yellowish white chalk substance and what look to be little barnacles.

“An antenna specially designed to circumvent barriers placed on counter-communications.” She updates him on the technology. “Can you guess who might have given it to them?”

“They didn’t make this themselves?” Jason looks over to her to get visual confirmation. She shakes her head ‘no’ to him. “This stuff on the card… this is dried Hope Fluff. You mean-…!”

“Bingo. ██████████████████ themself gave it to them.” The Mage says. For a second there, you thought you zoned out, because it was like you couldn’t focus on the words she was speaking. What was that name she just said?

“N-… No, that doesn’t make sense. He said he was a neutral party, why would he do that?” Jason asks more to himself than you all.

“It’s simple. They wish to empty the Arena by any means necessary.” Ukulele explains, shrugging her shoulders with her hands extended out. “The Rogue made a compelling case that such a precious artifact would allow her posse to better accomplish this feat. We don’t have the entire log of her interaction with the water-terror, but we’ve scavenged bits and pieces of it throughout our scourings. She spoke elegant words of assurance that if the fishy bastard were to present her with an advantageous gift, one that gave her a constant connection to those under her, it would better aid her in the bestowal of the Survivor’s Prize. After all, who better to decide who lives and who dies than the Rogue of Life?” With a few quick traces of her fingertip against the tabletop, the Mage inscribes a magic sigil on the surface before you, invoking a sudden hologram to flicker into existence over it. Like a scene straight from an old Nord’s tale, you see an individual upon a small rowboat on a foamy sea, face-to-face with some grotesque abomination, its eel-like head breached from the surface of the water looking down at her like prey. The individual in the boat, no larger than a figurine, stands before the monstrosity with a determined look, passionately debating in their paused stasis of the display. “She had brought up the fact that you’ve an ace-in-the-hole yourself to persuade your mutual friend to present her with the equipment. The Ship you have. She claimed it put you significantly ahead of her in your endeavors, and stated that it was only fair that her team received an advantage as well.” Jason jerks in place, looking like a jolt of pain just ran through his ribcage.

“How did she know about the ship…?” He asks, the orange glow from the hologram shading the half of his face away from you in shadows.

“Why, Arnimonemus told her, of course.” Ukulele states like it was obvious. “Yes, I remember when we got a hold of that string of dialog. Came across our screens like a news outlet’s headline; ‘The Page of Time; Jason has acquired a means of Escape. A Ship of Mysterious Origin’ he said. How uncouth, really. It’s quite rude to air someone’s secrets out without so much as a care like that, if you ask me.” She snickers to herself at her last comment.

“……Thank you for this information.” Jason tells her, sounding calmer than he has in days. Again, though, you notice that black smoke drifting off from his head like a poisonous haze. “I think that will be all we need today.” He turns to you, signaling to rise from your seats within the nook. You do so, allowing him to rise after you. Looking like he’s on autopilot, Jason begins to go for the door out, intending on leaving the motorhome without another word. The saleswoman gets up as well to see you out.

“Boss.” Creed catches his attention before he can get a hold of the door handle. “What about the notes? From your friend’s other message?”

“Right.” Jason acknowledges the reminder with an almost monotone voice. “Where are they, then?” He turns back to Ukulele.

“Let’s see.” She mutters to herself, turning back to open her briefcase on the table, sifting through the papers within. “The message has been delivered already, so our duplicate has been filed away within the records system. I’ll have to step out for a moment to retrieve it for you, but it shouldn’t take me much more than a few minutes to find it.”

“Wait, you’re leaving?” Jason asks, stepping back to the breakfast nook once more.

“In a way.” Ukulele says as she retrieves a strange Orange Tome from her case and places it on the tabletop. “I’ll be entering into here.”

“What is that?” You inquire, beholding the unusual book as the Mage opens it up and flips through the egg-white pages.

“It’s a Juju, my dear.” She answers, glancing over to look at you. “A dictionary able to house any piece of information you place within it. I use it as an added level of security for the information we offer for sale.”

“And you can enter it?” You follow up, looking down at the book before her. It’s currently open to a page defining ‘Tragedy’. That’s… ominous.

“It’s bigger on the inside.” She quickly explains.

“Hold on a second there, you aren’t going anywhere.” Jason orders, stepping up to her, tightening the grip on his pickaxe. “How do we know you can be trusted not to try something on us? You could be doing anything in that little book of yours. You could be preparing for an attack!”

“Sir, what would be the point of divulging everything we’ve talked about this evening if we were just going to hoodwink you afterwards?” Ukulele asks him, hoping to point out the ridiculous logic behind Jason’s fear. What’s got him so paranoid all of a sudden? Just because she wants to jump into her pocket dimension, he thinks she’s going to try and pull a fast one on you all?

“W-we-well, what if the info you give us isn’t really from Lucas’s other message? What if you’re just going in there to buy yourself a minute to make something up to give to us?” He begins to grasp for straws to justify his suspicions.

“What if everything I told you tonight was made up?” She proposes with a questioning raise of her eyebrow. “All of it, lies meant to deceive you. Would you even be able to tell the difference?” Jason narrows his eyes at her, his face turning into a glare at the saleswoman. “Fine, fine, you’ll obviously need some form of verification.” She acquiesces to Jason’s paranoia, looking to quell his growing suspicions. “Hmm… Alright. If you don’t trust me enough to look up the info you’re looking for alone, then I’ll just have to bring one of you with me to corroborate my actions while away.” The Mage confidently places her hands on her hips, proud of her clever compromise. “You. You’ll come with me.” She looks to Creed of all people.

“Wha-? Me?” He sputters, thrown off-kilter by her declaration.

“Where we’re going, only I have access to. I’m unable to physically bring anyone else into the Juju with me, so if one of you wishes to accompany me as I find this message, it’ll have to be someone who can merge with a facet of my essence.” She explains the dilemma. “You’re able to enter the mindscapes of others, aren’t you? I’m sure you’ll find the accommodations within mine cluttered yet expansive.”

“Boss…?” Creed looks to Jason for what to do.

“…” Jason remains silent as he decides what to do. “If he’s not back within thirty minutes, I kill your boy-toy.” He eventually tells Ukulele.

“Delightful!” She brightly exclaims. “Gin, entertain the lad while I’m away.”

“Ma’am.” The Jester dignifiedly acknowledges her instruction.

“Sir?” Ukulele turns to Creed once more, waiting on him to comply with the group’s decision. Hesitant a moment, Creed eventually shakes the nerves off and goes with the flow, turning transparent as he begins to glow green, before elongating into a bolt of lightning that arcs out and strikes Ukulele in her temple. The only reaction she had to the hit is her eyes close. And when they open again, they’re a light green now, opposed to their normal dark blue. “Be back in a jiffy!” She bids adieu while placing a hand upon her tome.

Upon contact with the page, her entire body turns into an orange silhouette, before quickly shrinking into the book in the blink of an eye, vanishing from the RV. With just you and Jason now alone with the Jester guy, a notable silence settles within the motorhome, with neither boy having much to say. You’d speak up yourself, but with everything you’ve been bombarded with today, all that you’ve been told by people you’ve only just met, you’re feeling mentally exhausted with it all. You want nothing more than to just crawl into Ess’s recuperacoon and drift off to sleep for the next week. Normally, you’re a lot more enduring, but it feels like you’re at the end of your rope here. You aren’t sure how much more of this you can take…

“Sara, you can go wait outside with the others.” Jason suddenly says, breaking the silence as he sits back down at the table, settling in while staring directly at the Jester across the room from him. “I’ll wait for Creed here.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting with you.” You politely offer, figuring you shouldn’t leave either of these boys alone with tensions so high.

“Go.” He dismisses, doubling down without a second thought.

“O-okay.” You relent, realizing it wasn’t an offer. “See you in a few…” You tell him as you turn to exit the vehicle. He doesn’t look away from the man in the corner. Opening up the door to the RV, you take the step down and leave and-… wait a second… You’re not Sara anymore… Being peeled from the person you were, the POV is stripped from the girl like a husk shucked of its corn, leaving you naked and exploded within the narrative. And there she goes, leaving the RV and shutting the door in front of you. What the hell happened? How is-… Oh. So that’s what happened. It seems the Jester of Void has something more left to say. As such, he’s decided to keep us here a little longer. Well then, clown. On with it. What more is left of this conversation?

“So…” Jason speaks first. “Mage of Light, huh? What made you want to partner up with her?” Upon being addressed, Ginnun-Tao slowly steps forward from his place at the cockpit of the motorhome, his heavy footsteps creaking the floorboards beneath him as if they were to snap under the weight of his enormous frame. Lingering at the head of the breakfast nook, the Dwarf looks down at the Page for a moment longer than one would find comfortable before taking the seat across from him.

“…” The two face off with one another, staring from opposing sides of the table as their thoughts run rampant analyzing their opponent. They monitor the other’s every minute detail, their every tiny breath and facial tweak, scrutinizing the other’s every flaw and shortcoming until a verdict is made. And then; the Jester speaks.

 

Reader, Listen In.

Chapter 53: > Interlude; Laws of the Pack

While Jason and Ginnun-Tao gaze deeply at one another, waxing ♠midnight♠ like a couple of schoolyard nemeses making goo-goo eyes from across the lunch room, actual relevant events are transpiring in the narrative. We’ll get back to their romp in the shadows soon enough. For now let’s see what’s going on in the Light.

Now, who to be, who to be, who to- Oh… right. The Dwarf is still blocking the POV from leaving the RV. That’s more than a little inconvenient… all the story’s plot is happening outside, but with the POV still stuck behind the Jester’s Barrier like this, we’re going to be a little restricted in what we’re able to see regarding those so-called ‘relevant events’. In fact, we might end up missing them entirely! And there was some crazy relevant stuff going on out there too! No, we can’t talk like that. We can find a way, alright? We’re just gonna have to get a bit creative with this, is all. Since we don’t have the Point of View to work with, suppose we’ll have to use a Point of Inference instead.

Let’s get into this then. Where were we? Right, Sara had just left the Traveling Emporium to rejoin her team waiting for her outside. After receiving the news regarding the Prince of Life and his bastardization of her late friend’s powers, she’s been left with quite a bit on her plate to think about. We could infer, then, that the events would go a little something like this;

Stepping out of the vehicle, you’re immediately hit with a chill breeze running through your hair, attempting to lead you away from this place. Up above, a clap of thunder rolls like the distant rumblings of a drum as the storm threatens to come crashing down on top of you. It dawns on you upon hearing this that you hadn’t heard any thunder during your meeting inside the motorhome. Not even so much as a muffled strike of lightning made it through those walls. Almost like you were isolated from the world while in there. Odd…

Walking up, you find that everybody’s broken off into their own sub-groups, sprawled out as they sit, trying to make the most out of their brief break. Leah’s hanging around Ragnaa like usual, with her cape still over her shoulders, but their third is sitting back-to-back with Haugrr off on their own. Mary, Frank and Dallra have gathered around, Frank lying flat on his back on the ground with Gretel and George by his side while the two Space players tinker with their respective gadgets. Leaving Esspin on her own, legs crossed and dead ahead from the RV’s cabin door, waiting on your return. She perks up when she sees you exit and you hurry over to the Troll.

“Is everything alright?” She inquires as you approach. “Are the boy’s still inside?”

“Esspin, will you help me kill someone?” You ask, ignoring her initial question. Accordingly, the chatter from the others dies down upon hearing your request.

“Sara?” Esspin looks to you with a shocked concern, surprised by your words.

“The Prince. He’s still alive.” You tell her of what you’ve learned. “And he-… He’s gotten ahold of Greg and Amvinn’s powers. He’s been using them to hunt us down... To find out where we are so he can gore us just as he gored them!” Your hands are in fists now as you shakily try to force a composure, and you feel the rain hit your face as a drizzle picks back up again. “I thought I could let it go. I thought I could honor their memories and keep moving forward, but I can’t. Not with him out there, still drawing breath. Not with him using their spirits like fucking ghouls to torment us.” Beside you, you notice as someone gets up from the ground as you speak. It’s Haugrr.

“Ah, the fuck man?” Ryder quietly exclaims as he rolls back without a support to keep him upright. The Revenant doesn’t pay him much mind, though. He’s looking at you. You can tell. You can alway tell.

“…” He doesn’t say anything. He just watches with the visage of another, haunting you like a phantom with it. Just beyond your reach that you can’t find him, just out of focus enough that you can’t make out the finer details of his face. But he’s there still. Watching from the other side of the threshold. You can’t bear to look back.

“I know we can’t go after him right now. I know how important the mission is, but a time will come when that animal comes looking for his pound of flesh.” You tell your Mage as the dead linger in your peripherals. “Please say that you'll be there when that happens. I need to know you’ll be beside me when he crawls out of whatever pit he's been hiding in. I need to know you’ll be there with me when I put that bastard into the dirt.” As you complete your confession to the holy woman, your breath erratic and short, a dreadful moment comes to pass, with her only looking at you like one would a wounded animal. Pitying a poor thing like you, yet cautious of if you might snap at a wrong move. You feel the concerns of her sadness here come to a conclusion, and your heart pounds as you wait for her answer. Finally, with a quiet and dignified sigh, Esspin rises up from the ground to face you, her already subdued stature soon overtaking your own with ease. She looks you in the eyes and she speaks.

“I care not what might appear on the horizon, my dear. Let the hoards of tomorrow bring forth what devils they hold. Beside you, I will stand true, time and time again. For your enemies are my enemies.” She tells you before placing a gentle finger beneath your chin, tilting your face up and pressing her lips against your own. You close your eyes, and press back.

“Hm.” Mary mutters, beholding the scene. “Never would’ve guessed.”

“Pff. Gay.” Ryder comments, looking up from the ground before letting his head fall back.

After a moment enthralled by the kiss, you and her eventually separate. And even still, you take her by the hands and stare deeply into her eyes once more, lost in the lovely orchid patches. Above, a breeze passes by, the only sounds to accompany you in this intimately public scene. Off a ways, Leah broods besides the Troll next to her, her mind heavy with contemplation as she observes your embrace. She glances at the alien from the side of her eye, looking as if she wants to say something to her, but ultimately keeps quiet, closing back into her thoughts once more.

“Hey, Sara. Not to interrupt…” Dallra calls over to you. “But where is Jason and Creed?”

“Oh, sorry! Almost forgot.” You apologize while wiping the mist from your eyes. “They’re still inside, finishing up on a deal we made with these people. The lady in the hat had a message from one of Jason’s session mates and she had to go looking for it. Her and Creed are in a book now, I think?”

“A book?” Mary perks up again.

“Yeah, apparently it’s bigger on the inside?” You shrug. “I’m not really sure how it works, but she’s looking for the message, and Creed is watching her because Jason thought she was going to plan an attack.”

“Why did he think that?” Dallra inquires, tilting her head to the side.

“Because he’s a psychotic nut-job.” Haugrr answers for you. You furrow your brow at him.

“Bigger on the inside… how curious.” Mary hums to herself, contemplating the finer details behind the concept. “Does three-dimensional space fold differently within the bindings or is it simply a transport to a disconnected subspace? I wonder what it could look like in there…”

Yes, that’s definitely how the events transpiring outside the RV must be going. Who knows if it actually happened, but wasn’t that nice? See, you don’t always need to be in the center of the action to still enjoy the story. You can infer what might’ve happened as if you were there to witness it! Speaking of which, Inference-Mary raises a good point. What does the inside of the Dictionary Juju look like? From what was described, we could probably infer that it’d be something like this;

 

Okay, you can come out now.

 

Stepping out of the weirdly cozy late 1800s New York Office the Mage has as her mind palace for some reason, your eyesight is almost immediately overloaded with sensory information, causing you to slam your lids shut, practically flash-banged by your surroundings.

“God! What the hell?!” You exclaim, trying to shield your eyes from the bright light. “What is this place?!”

“Yes, the first time is always a little overstimulating.” You hear the Mage tell you from beyond your blindness. As you try to cope with the overwhelming sensation bombarding your vision, suddenly, your glasses are snatched from your face. Glancing over, you’re barely able to spot Ukulele standing beside you, tinkering around with the lenses of your frames. “Here, this should help.” She says before placing your glasses back on. You wince slightly at the sudden forceful redressing, but quickly realize that the brightness burrowing into your optic nerves is a lot more manageable. Able to see now, you find that you’re at the center of an enormous Library, with what must be tens of upper levels above you. Looking down, you see you’re standing upon a massive marble Sun emblem at the bottom of an enormous spiral.

“Whoa…” You mutter to yourself, beholding the place.

“Welcome to the Domain of Knowledge.” Ukulele gladly greets you, using her cane as a support as she leans to the side, standing before her archive with confidence.

“This place is… craazy…” You note as you continue to look around, having a hard time conceptualizing what could possibly fill so many books. Glancing down the numerous corridors surrounding you between the massive bookshelves, you don’t see an end in sight to it all. The place is in a circular layout, with you appearing to be at the very center of it all, and what look to be sixteen different routes you can go down, one for each ray of Light on the floor’s Sun emblem.

“Quite so. Now come along, friend. For my partner’s sake, we’ve a schedule to keep.” The Mage informs you as she turns on her heel, strolling towards the north most hallway. You linger behind a bit, taking in the atmosphere of the place a little longer before hurrying after her.

“Hey, what was that you were writing on my glasses just now?” You ask once you catch up with the Mage.

“It’s a Refraction Sigil.” She glances back at you as you enter into the city block-wide corridor between bookshelves. “It takes in information in its rawest form and bends it in a manner that becomes more easily understood. The Juju’s interior tends to be a bit too much to comprehend for a person’s first trip inside, so the spell should help you adjust during your time here.”

“So it’s translating what I see for me.” You surmise, still taking a look around. Up close now, you finally can appreciate how massive the shelves are in this place, with two additional mezzanines on the first floor alone. There are actually a few people moving around on the upper balconies that you notice as well. You feel as if you were a mouse in a giant’s study, like some sort of French folklore protagonist. “Does that mean this place isn’t actually an enormous library like the way it looks?”

“If that’s what you understand it to be, then it is.” She explains while taking a left at the first corner you reach. “Many experience the physical environment here differently. It depends on the individual and, if you’d pardon the on-the-nose saying, their point of view to decide the form it takes.”

“Hold up, I thought you said you were the only one who had access to this place.” You note, rounding the corner after her.

“To the Juju, yes. To the Domain of Knowledge, no.” She distinguishes the difference. “Take a look around you. You see others walking about, yes? Those aren’t projections you’d see in a mindscape. They’re real people, just like you and I, all consulting the greater sum of knowledge for an inquiry of their own.” You glance back up at the people on the upper balconies around you as they go about their business, all dressed in Orange robes.

“They’re…?” You prompt her to go on, not quite sure if you’re following her correctly.

“All Mages of Light, yes.” She confirms your hunch. “A little known fact about Mages; given a close enough contact with one another, we like to talk. Keep in touch, exchange notes, see what the other has gathered on their journey. And none other like to talk quite as much as the Mages of Light do. We Mages of the Light-bound communicate through our Knowledge. We experience it differently than the others in our domain typically do. To us, it’s almost like a vast network of information that connects every one of us together, the way a Sun connects its surrounding planets to a distinct solar system, providing light enough to see one another. In a simpler way to put it, though, the Domain is the source of all knowledge, and we Mages just so happened to find ourselves at the source by coincidence. Akin to the thirsty beasts of the savanna all gathering at the same watering hole, or perhaps even like moths attracted to a single flame. Now, not every one of us has a physical manifestation of this connection like I do, mind you. Some meditate to speak with others Mages. Some experience this connection as a voice present within their head. Lucas was able to astral project into the Domain of Knowledge, while I’ve devised a doorway through the culmination of everything I know within my Juju. Whichever the case may be, the result is the same. Gossip between the likeminded.”

“That sounds like a lot to take in.” You comment, impressed by the grander of it all yet simultaneously getting a headache at the concept of being hooked up to something this big. Even for you, this seems like a bit much.

“If you think that’s bad, you should see the Seers of Light. At least we get to legislate the information we possess to a degree, but those poor suckers get the info funneled directly into their brains without so much as a say-so. Once they get to a certain level of power as a God Tier, it’s like a non-stop barrage of knowledge until they’re driven mad.”

“Hmm…” You hum at the bleak concept.

“Right this way.” She prompts you to follow as she struts up a stairway built into the bookshelf, leading to the above mezzanine. As you ascend the steps, you glance over at the books to your immediate right, noticing that most of the bindings facing you are a glowing orange, however some are dimmed, appearing almost blacked out in their place on the shelf.

“Hey, what’s with the dark tomes on the bookcases?” You ask Ukulele as the two of you take a bridge at the end of the isle you’re on to the other side of the corridor.

“Those would be the things I don’t know.” She promptly explains.

“Isn’t your whole thing to know things, though?” You probe further, confused by the discrepancy in her Knower of Knowledge Title.

“Certainly. I know a great many things, sir, however there are still gaps in my knowledge regarding particular fields. I’m not omniscient.” She elaborates on her intellectual standings. “If ever I need to learn something, though, I simply need consult my fellow Mage here and strike up a trade with them. Once done, I’d then exchange something known of mine for the inquiry I was searching for, thus filling in that pocket of ignorance for me.”

“Huh. Does that mean you forget a piece of information if you trade it away?” You ask her, taking another bridge to the next corridor ahead of you. “Is that why some of the books here are blacked out? Because you traded them for something else?”

“No. Do you forget something every time you tell it to someone else?” She asks back like your question was a dumb one.

“No, but if that’s the case, why don’t you just exchange everything you all already know with one another? Wouldn’t that complete everyone’s collection of knowledge here?” You suggest to her, figuring all the Mages of Light would collectively know just about everything together if they pooled their resources.

“Besides the fact that the average mortal mind would malfunction upon receiving the entire known knowledge of the universe, we use information as goods for trade.” She explains, leading you up another staircase to the second mezzanine on the first level. “Free and total access to all information would destroy the ecosystem we’ve established between Mages, it’d be a nightmare. There’s also the added fact that information doesn’t last forever. Just as a physical book weathers with age, our sum-total knowledge gets smaller and smaller if we do not expand it. You out of everyone should know how easily a memory can fade.” She glances back while strutting along the wooden balcony you’re on. “Not only that, knowledge can be privatized, stolen, even diluted or destroyed outright. I can’t tell you how many tomes on these shelves Ginnun has accidentally destroyed when we’re searching through the ether for hidden information. But the added payoff is that he brings in new info consistently, so I can’t be too mad at the lug.”

“What’s the deal with that guy, anyway? He seems… off.” You say, recalling the ominous feeling you got from him back in the RV.

“He can be standoffish, yes.” She agrees with a begrudging tilt of her head. “But I ask you not to judge too harshly, sir. He’s had a hard life, that boy.”

“I guess you kinda have to, if you end up in the Arena.” You agree, knowing you’re probably not one to talk, given your own history.

“You should have seen him in his youth. So spry and thirsty for knowledge.” Ukulele reminisces, having quite a few good things to say about her partner. “Back then he was Ginnun-Gamma of Clan Gamma, the Dwarf’s scientifically inclined bloodline. He was in his element there, neck-deep in research and study. It wasn’t until… well, it’s not my story to tell. I’ll only say that there was an incident that took place which changed a lot for him. What should have only been a simple disagreement between scholars, but the deceitful whoresons he called peers back then took things too far. Stabbed the poor boy in the back when he wanted nothing more than to let bygones be bygones. Made him a pariah to his people and an outcast to his Clan.”

“Is that why you said he was from Clan Tao?” You ask, remembering how she first introduced the Jester.

“You’d be correct in that assessment. Tao was the only tribe that would take him after everything happened.” She nods, clearly upset by the memories. “While they treated him like Kin there, the Tao bloodline were a ritualistic and superstitious branch of his species. They relied on the occult worship of primordial forces in order to expand their regions, praying to dark gods to grant them prosperity in their endeavors, and curse misfortune upon their enemies. Can you imagine that? Gin was a scientist before his betrayal, an astrophysicist. He was brought up with facts and evidence as cornerstones of his childhood. And then, to have to set that all aside for hoodoo nonsense in order to survive. I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been.” It’s subtle, but you notice a change in the Mage’s stride. Her confident swagger that much less so. “He’s still kept that same curiosity he had growing up, and I admire that greatly about him, but it’s subdued. His Light has dimmed. And that makes me very, very sad, I’d say.”

“…” Historically, you haven’t been the best in regards to comforting others in distress, so you elect to stay quiet in the Mage’s recountings over her friend’s grief. It seems that all that really needed to be said on the matter has already been done so long before you arrived.

You walk for a time more after Ukulele’s tales, passing a few Mages on the balcony you’re on as you go, getting a look at them up close. Most alien in appearance, with one or two humans mixed in as well. They’d greet your guide by name before continuing on, and while courteous, they did give you a strange look as they passed, clearly put off by your presence within what must’ve been a private sanctum to them up until the moment you entered. Finally, you reach a small gap within the bookcase’s endless tomeage, leading to a side passage built into the shelf itself.

“Here we are.” Ukulele informs you, entering into the bookside alleyway. You follow after, walking into what looks to be a small office space filled with scrolls and documents. “It’ll just be a moment to find what we need.”

“What is this place?” You ask her as she sifts through the shelves and filing walls in the room.

“My work station. It’s where we file away the records for all the messages we deliver.” She informs you, bouncing from cabinet to cabinet.

“So I guess Boss was wrong about you trying to ambush us, yeah?” You ask, already well aware your presence here wasn’t needed.

“No, but if I did, he certainly would’ve screwed himself by sending you in here with me.” She tells you while picking up a scroll and reading through it quickly. “You’ve got no way to leave this place without me. If I left before you could re-merge with my cognition, you’d be trapped here.”

“Hm.” You hum, not sure how to take that information.

“On a related note, Creed. A word of advice, free of charge; I’d be more cautious in the future about trusting strangers.” She tells you, checking the drawers of the desk in the room. “A Heir’s Boon is quite the treasure in the Arena’s games. It provides an extra layer of protection to its holder, essentially allowing them to Inherit your Aspect’s favor for their own. Once more people figure out how the power system operates here, you might find a few headhunters at your doorstep, looking to collect that protection for themselves.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.” You nod to yourself, a bit disconcerted by the concept that you could be considered big-game in the Arena.

“Ah, there you are, you tricky little footnote.” The Mage says to herself as she pulls a document from the center drawer at her desk. “O-kay, Message No. 2 commissioned by a Lucas D. Helmstetter. Hmm.” She pauses a moment, reading over the contents of the parchment. “Alright, it appears the message Lucas had requested be delivered was a brief excerpt from human novelist; Rudyard Kipling’s The Second Jungle Book.”

“That it? Just a page out of a book?” You ask, expecting something a little more substantial from this task.

“It appears so.” Ukulele answers, nonchalantly. “It was to be delivered to a Mr Johnson within the Arena via a third-party system.”

“Is there a first name attached to that?” You further inquire, grasping at straws for something to bring back to the Boss.

“Unfortunately not.” She shakes her head. “Due to the clandestine nature in which the message was requested to be delivered in, we never made physical contact with the Mr Johnson in question. In fact, Gin and I didn’t really have all that much to do with this delivery at all. The instructions were to leave a copy of the book the message was from open to the page he wanted delivered in a church on Logaw. Beyond this, a Greg Czereno was supposed to find it there and make the rest of the delivery himself.”

“Alright.” You huff, remembering Boss’s reason for sending you in here in the first place. ”How do I know if this is the actual message this Lucas guy sent?”

“How would you have known, regardless?” She asks back at you. You don’t have an answer.

“Fair enough.” You sigh with a shrug. “Damn.” You clack your teeth, frustrated at the nothing-burger this turned out to be.

“On behalf of UnG Enterprises, I apologize that we could’t be more helpful in your inquiry, sir.” She formally informs you in the tone of a telemarketer.

“Ah, don’t sweat it.” You wave off her apology. “This was a shot in the dark, anyway.”

“Shall we return to the exit now?” She asks, politely gesturing to the door with her cane, respectfully allowing you your space on the off-chance that failing your side quest left you agitated.

“Right behind you.” You answer with a sigh, beginning to make your way back.

Yep! You’re fairly confident that that’s how the situation within the Juju would’ve gone down. At least, like… 90% sure. That’s about as sure as you need to be, isn’t it? Man, inferring things can sure be fun sometimes. Where were we, though? Right! The POV is still trapped within the RV. Let’s work our way through the Jester’s discussion and see if we can’t set it free, shall we?

Chapter 54: > Faces Beneath the Ice

You exist there, adrift within the dark between molecules of the RV, lying in wait to behold the discussion between the Page of Time and Jester of Void. You listen in, and hear;

“She’s Kin to me.” The Dwarf says to the Human. “The things she’s done for my sake, and my sake alone, have indebted me to her. Something I will not take lightly.”

“Is that right?” The Page huffs, seemingly bored with the answer.

“I suppose it is.” The Jester solemnly nods. “She was there for me during an uncertain period in my youth. Without her aid, there’s no telling where I might’ve ended up. Agreeing to be her partner was the least I could do to pay her back.”

“Well, you’re certainly an odd pairing. I’d almost say you’re damn near opposites.” The Page laughs with a scoff, beholding the pair as if they were a pitiful sideshow amusement to him.

“You would be wrong.” The Jester firmly declares, an unmoving expression on his face as he says so. The Page’s eye twitches at his hasty comment.

“I rarely am.” He arrogantly counters as he glares at the man opposite of him.

“Then this moment must be just such an occasion. Ukulele and I are of the same cloth. This is indisputable. Our paths have faced many of the same obstacles, shown us many of the same hardships and tribulations. Shaped us in ways that have left us resembling in mettle.” The young man explains his belief. “Even in the respect of our Titles as Champions, we are alike. Jesters and Warlocks. We both see the bigger picture, and try to be a part of it. We both like to keep in contact with our own kind.”

“Hang on, ‘keep in contact’? You mean with the other Bards? Er- Jesters. You all keep in contact?” The Page asks, curious about the news of yet another group in the Arena.

“We have a Council. Held meetings for around a month before the Roster was completed and the games began.” The Dwarf explains to him.

“Oh…” The Human pauses, contemplating upon the information. “I’m sorry about what happened with Finlus, then.” Hearing this, the Dwarf tilts his head up slightly, his ear twitching as if almost batting away what he’s heard.

“Finlus?” He repeats, surprised to hear the name.

“He was one of your allies, right? He must’ve been if all the Bards were part of the Council.” The Page deduces, leaning back in the seat at the table.

“He was, for a time.” The Jester says. “Last meeting, he tendered his resignation due to a disagreement with another member. Though familiar with the Troll, I didn’t know him intimately. He always kept his distance with the other Jesters. Always plotting something from the sidelines… What do you know of the man?”

“He passed recently.” The Page delivers the grim news.

“You saw this?” The Jester inquires.

“No. I have no idea what happened, personally.” The Page gently shakes his head. “A while back, I found an Archive on the Land of Knowledge and Thirst. In it, a series of Stone Slabs were scattered about inside, each one dedicated to a different player in the Arena, glowing while they were alive. Finlus's Slab went out the last time I reviewed who was still kicking. I only met him once, but… I figure the closest thing to a next-of-kin for him ought to know.“

”…” The larger of the two young men stays quiet upon hearing the other’s account. He searches for what he might say, or rather what he ought say given what he was presented with. Yet he finds no reason to speak at all.

“Not too torn up, huh?” The other grunts, seeing the verdict on the Jester’s face already.

“Not particularly.” He agrees.

“Dwarves are a weird bunch, I think I’m realizing.” The Page huffs. “This is my second interaction with your kind, and both have been off-putting, to put it kindly.”

“Dwarves are an echo of Humanity, same as Humans are an echo of Dwarves. Anything you don’t like can just as easily be found in your culture, same as ours.” The Jester deflects the insult without much strain.

“An Echo?” The Page skeptically asks the man across him. “How’s that?”

“We stem from the same Genesis. Two universes back on the Chain of Creation, fate split us apart. Ever since, our existences have run parallel with one another.” He answers, involving him within a vastly held secret he couldn’t possibly appreciate. “There have been minor differences, from a cosmic point of view, however your existence bears a striking resemblance to our own, all things considered.”

“That so?” The Page chuckles, unbelieving of what’s been told to him. “What’re these differences, then? You have tails and we don’t?” He mocks.

“The Tails are a sign of Godhood.” The Jester answers the joke. “Only the most powerful without our culture ever mutated to grow them, representing the peak of our evolution. Those in the Arena have only received them due to the fact that we’ve ascended. Beyond that, the most glaring difference between us is our procreation.”

“…I don’t like where this is going.” The Page narrows his eyes, skeptical of the turn in the conversation.

“Our universes were created by a species with a much more complicated system of relationships than our own. Because of this, both of the cultures we hail from inherited facets of those systems to utilize as our own. Humans picked up the practice of ♥Red-Rom♥, while Dwarves gravitated towards ♠Black-Rom♠. We base our most intimate relationships upon Combat and Warfare. The partners we procreate with are our greatest rivals on the battlefield.”

“H-… How does that work?” The Page hesitantly asks, afraid he’ll actually get an answer. “You mean you just… go at it, in the middle of a fight?”

“Not in the manner in which you are familiar with.” The Jester promptly answers. “There is no gentleness about it. No compassion for our partners, only admiration for their prowess. We experience Love the same way you experience War. It’s a thing only the deranged in our culture want, but we acknowledge that sometimes it’s necessary for survival. However, if an offspring is intended, two ♠Fated Rivals♠ are to meet on the field of battle where they are to exchange blows until a victor is decided. A child’s genetic makeup is determined by which traits proved most advantageous during strife. Which of the parent’s features won the fight, which put up the greatest resistance. The victor’s traits are favored most, although not solely, while the defeated is to carry the child to term. In this regard, both parties gain something from the exchange, the victor in that their genetic lineage is propagated, and the defeated in that they will bring a child bearing stronger traits than their own back to their Clan, strengthening their bloodline further.”

“Hold on, how is that supposed to work for the guys if they lose?” The Page inquires, morbidly enthralled with the inner workings of the alien species.

“Dwarfs don’t bear primary sexual characteristics the same way Humans do. What you would consider as male and female within our species are in fact evolutionary builds conditioned for different forms of combat, both of which are capable of carrying child.” The longer their discussion carries on for, the more uncomfortable the Page outwardly becomes. “There are builds such as my own, which are larger, with a more muscular frame meant for displaying overwhelming feats of strength in combat. And there are more Slender frames, built for speed and stealth, meant for stunning displays of blitzing dexterity or cunning trickery on the battlefield. The morphology of our species is in constant flux due to the nature in which we pass on our genetic information, so even with that Build binary in mind, a Dwarf’s form in a wide spectrum of physical traits and mutations, resulting in a range of abilities we could physically display regardless of our dimensions.”

“All of that is weird and I don’t like it.” The Page dismisses, disgusted sneer on his face. “Why can’t aliens just be normal for once?”

“Statistically speaking, our practices are remarkably typical for our environment.” The Jester dissects his opinion. “Most species capable of withstanding the vacuum of space tend to reproduce via combat or some other form of impersonal ceremony for genetic harvesting. Dwarves, Cherubs, Phoenixes. It’s a coincidental anomaly within biology, like how everything seems to evolve into crabs given enough time.”

“I’m changing the fucking subject, you're a god damn travesty to socialize with.” The Page declares with a huff. “How about we keep things business oriented for now…”

“You wish to make another purchase?” The Jester asks, surprised by the inquiry.

“Not per say.” The Page denies. “I was thinking over the information you’ve given us already and was wondering if it was actually true that you two can’t find the Prince of Life. Shouldn’t someone with your power kit specialize with deconstructing the Void concealing others?”

“Without question, I’m sure I could pick up a trail of his.” The Jester folds his arm as he contemplates the hypothetical task. “Yet following it would be like tracing the tracks of an extinct species through excavating their fossils. Sure, it might be feasible given enough time, but the Prince is an ever-changing quantity. The energetic gorge-hatcher moves around a lot, spreading his Boon’s Void all about the place, shrouding his environment, and more importantly living creatures with it. Living creatures that make their own trails and complicate the research process by several degrees.” The young man sighs in frustration at the concept. “In this regard, it’d be more advantageous to simply climb a really tall building and look for him from the vantage point for when he inevitably comes by. If I were to speak honestly, your odds of finding him using this strategy are, in all likelihood, considerably better than any method we could offer as an alternative.”

“Hm……” The Page scoffs, unimpressed by the Jester’s perceived shortcomings. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I suppose it can’t be helped.”

“…” With business thoroughly dealt with, the two Ascended go silent once more, the Human of the pair awkwardly looking about the RV’s cabin to avoid eye contact with the Dwarf while he stares emotionlessly at him from across the table. A bit awkward now, you linger a moment in the kitchen before moving on to explore the rest of the vehicle. If you have to be stuck here, might as well take a poke around. See if you can’t find anything interesting.

Drifting off to the upper area in your ethereal form, you come to the front seats of the motorhome. Rather standard looking set up. Worn-out drivers seat, opened Tab in the cupholder. They even have a pair of lucky dice on the rearview mirror, how fun! …wait, the rearview mirror only shows the inside of the RV. Why do they have this? Whatever. Pointless visual fixtures aside, the particularly eye-catching installation in this area is actually the navigation terminal. Two screen system, displaying both a map of the current Land the RV resides on as well as the greater Medium area, with all Twenty Five Lands of the Incipisphere present. Hold on, Twenty Five? Huh, guess they haven’t accounted for the Land of Frenzy and Crash conjoining with the Land of Conflict and Repose yet. They really need to update their systems already. There’s also a NavPoint display below the screen area, with the most recent destination locked in on the coordinates for the vehicle’s current location. A piece of paper has been taped below this screen, with the term ‘Argo Crossing’ written on it, as well as an estimated time of arrival and group number expectancy. Seems Uk n’ Gin’s Traveling Intel Emporium were working off more information than they’d let on.

“……!” Seen in the pointless rearview mirror on the RV’s windshield, you notice as the Page suddenly juts up with a look of disturbed realization flashing across his face. ”…………Wait a second…” He suddenly says after simmering for a moment. You drift back to the kitchen area to listen. “If fighting for a Dwarf is like… y’know… intimacy for you guys, does that mean the Arena is-“

“A debaucherous cesspool, yes.” The Jester finishes for him, already well aware of the glaring reality of the blackhole he’s been trapped in. “A War should only be waged between Clans, hosted on the sanctity of the battlefield. Not held like a Friday-night kegger, planned by a bunch of horned-up college kids as a part of their plot to turn every Celestial body in the Incipisphere into some kind of planet-sized Mosh Pit Slugfest, where strifes break out every five paces and rivalries are struck up as quickly as they’re forgotten.”

“Not your cup of tea, I’m guessing?” The Page comments, not expecting the Jester’s fervent opinion on the matter. “Huh. I figured a Void player like you would’ve been all about all that debauchery stuff. People going around, cruisin’ for a ♠Bruisin'♠, taking a swing at ya at the drop of a hat. Didn’t you normally have to pay for that kind of thing back on your planet?” He chuckles to himself. “Sounds like alien paradise.”

“I guess you could consider me more traditional.” The Jester surmises. “I believe a Dwarf should only have one adversary at a time, none of this nemeses nonsense. This Arena is so ripe with degeneracy, it makes me sick. Everyone hurling their javelins at anything that so much as moves. Shameless.”

“I don’t think I like the use of ‘javelins’ in that analogy.” The Page comments to himself.

“Good.” The Jester grunts, crossing his arms. “You shouldn’t be throwing them unless it’s at someone you despise.”

“Is that why you and Uki have just been driving around, selling shit to people? You’re piss-shy about getting into a brawl with strangers?” The Page theorizes with a mocking grin. Still listening to the conversation, you continue on in your exploration of the RV.

“I’m no fool, Apprentice. I’m fully aware of what is expected of us in this tournament, no matter how illicit I find the practice.” The Jester leans back, straightening his posture. “And I’m more than ready to act when the time may come. Our business, however, isn’t a means to postpone this eventuality. Merely a means in which to pursue a vested interest.” Moving to the rear of the vehicle this time, you find an open door just before the back room. Seems to be a built-in restroom of a sorts. Interesting looking toilet. Almost like one you’d see in a motorhome…

“That being?” The Page cocks an eyebrow at the statement. You don’t actually see him raise an eyebrow, being in the toilet and all, but you think that’s an expression he’d make given the tone of his question.

“A secret too expensive for you to afford.” The Jester informs, reminding his opponent of the profession he’s employed in. Entering into the back room, which you realize is in fact a bedroom, you’re surprised to find an enormous screed sprawled out on top of a large bed in the corner, and several terminals hooked up at all sides of the room, with wires hanging about the entire place and data printing from a few of the stations. Taking a look at the screen on the bed, you’re surprised to see what looks to be live footage from within the kitchen of the RV, as if watched through surveillance. Wait a second… what the fuck, is that my god damn 4th Wall?! That cost me like $10k to replace and these mother fuckers took it?! Oh they are so getting a Bad Ending.

“…I’ve been wondering about that, actually.” The Page pivots in the conversation. “If you don’t accept Boondollars as payment for your little services… what exactly did Lucas use to pay for his message to me?” Upon hearing the inquiry, the Jester goes quiet. You see on the ill-gotten screen as he glances over at the Juju that lay off at the end of the table just to his side, contemplating whether to answer or not, unsure of the information’s value.

“………The Last Bit of Good Luck he had left.” He eventually informs the Page, turning back to face him. “Several weeks back, Uk had entered her Juju to file away the latest reports we’d dug up from the Void and found his delivery request sitting on her desk, paid in full. She and Mr Helmstetter were familiar with one another before this, but the two weren’t colleagues. He apparently wasn’t a fan of her entrepreneurial usage of their collection of Knowledge, so his request came as a great shock to her.”

“What’s her deal? What’s she want with all this stuff anyway? Human Eyes? Bits of Luck? What does she do with them?” The Page finally asks the question that’s been burning a hole in the back of his mind.

“It’s part of her nature to collect. To gather magical charms for ritual hijinks and such. She comes from a very particular type of culture I doubt either of us could fully comprehend.” The Jester explains to the best of his ability.

“What… is she?” The Page dubiously asks, uncertain if he even wants to know.

“A Leprechaun.” The Jester answers, causing the Page to lean back.

“You’re fucking with me.” He declares without hesitation.

“I’m not.” The Jester denies.

“That’s ridiculous. That’s a ridiculous thing to say.” The Page continues to deny, still feeling as if he’s being taken for a ride. “What is that even supposed to mean?”

“They’re a Construct Species created by Stubb, similar to the Carapacians on Derse and Prospit, or the Consorts generated by the Land enrichment subroutines.” The Jester elaborates for the human. “It’s not surprising that you haven’t heard of them prior. In fact, it’d be most unusual if you had. Leprechauns are intended to act as minions for champions who’ve gone down the path of the conqueror within a dead session. Only under very specific conditions do they appear within a Medium.”

“Path of the Conqueror…?” The Page repeats, intrigued by the term. “W-wait, hold on a sec, so if Ukulele is someone’s minion, then why is she here? Why isn’t she off… I don’t know, doing some jackass’s bidding or something? Or… is selling people this stuff their bidding?”

“Uk had a… falling out with her family. Due to the circumstances surrounding her creation, she was always at odds with her fellow servants.” The Dwarf looks off to the side, staring at the door leading out.

“And how’s that?” The other leans onto the kitchen table. Investigating the bedroom area further, you come to find it appears to be the research area of the UnG business, with several terminals dedicated to monitoring major activity within the Arena, as well as some that appear dedicated to a few backchannels and private chats they’ve hacked their way into. Funnily enough, the text coming in on one is talking about Leprechauns as well, just like the Dwarf was only a minute ago. It says-

“Leprechauns are a Male species. The odds of a Female being born within their ranks are one hundred and thirty trillion to one. By all accounts, she had to be the luckiest creature alive to simply be born. Yet in this same regard, she was terribly unlucky as well, as her very nature put her at odds with the rest of her species. Never to truly understand her fellow felt-skins beyond the surface level she could only observe in, forever destined to be an outcast among her brethren. An Anomaly in every sense in the word. Alone, in its worst.” As you watch the words being spoken in the other room come across the screen in realtime, the Waste of Time, off in his dingy little office somewhere, realizes that the associates at Uk n’ Gin’s Traveling Intel Emporium have somehow backdoored their way into his writing station. His first instinct is to install antivirus software onto his system and remove whatever it is they have monitoring him, but upon giving a once over to the device he types with, he realizes he has no idea how he’d even do that. It’s a fucking typewriter.

“What about the person she served?” The Page proposes. “That conqueror guy, what was his role in all this?” How do you even hack into a typewriter? It’s a typewriter.

“It’s certainly true, he could have made all the difference in her life. If there were ever to be a man who could change the circumstances of another’s story, it would’ve been him. However, he cared not for his underlings, only viewing them as tools to enact his plans. He saw her predicament as merely a symptom of an immutable fact; the Different are treated as such.” The Jester lets out a heavy sigh upon this revelation, subconsciously reaching up to rub the skin of his face, just beneath the brand on his eye. “As to be expected of a Champion from a dead session. Compassion is not a thing easily gained from the Tsar of Light.”

“Tsar?” The Page mockingly repeats. “What, is that like Dwarvish for Prince or something?” I swear to god, if I have to get a new typewriter, I- they don’t even make these anymore! This is an antique!

“Incorrect. Tsar is the Dwarven designation for the active Master Class. The Supreme Controller of their Aspect’s dominion.” The Jester clarifies. “In Human texts, it’d be referred to as a Lord.”

“Master Class… what is that? I’ve never heard of those before.” The Page inquires, recalling nothing of the sort from the Archive he uncovered. You know he doesn’t recall it because it says so on the god damn jailbroken terminal monitor!

“The Master Classes are a special designation given to Champions under remarkably exceptional circumstances, granting them the culmination of all Active or Passive abilities in which to rule with.” The Jester reveals. “Active being Tsar, Passive being Kaiserin.”

“And she served under one?” The Page follows.

“For a time.” The Jester nods. “But once they left the Medium, starting out on their journey to conquer the cosmos, she found little reason to stay loyal to the pack. She struck out on her own one night and left to explore the universe her Tsar had brought her to. As chance would have it, it just so happened to be my universe she was in at the time. We met and… the rest is history.”

“Yeah, well she-…” Upon the terminal screen revealing the conversation within the RV, you see that the Page had started his sentence with every intuition to insult or deride the man across from him, but stopped short. Halted by a chance moment of sobriety in the ever buzzing madness clouding his head. When had he become like this, he thinks? So irritable and quick to insult? How had he let himself get this way? “…well she sounds like a pretty good friend.” He finally tells the Jester, ashamed by his indented conduct.

“♦Friend♦… Yes, I suppose that is what she is to me, isn’t she…” The Jester mutters to himself, reflecting on the nature of his partnership. “A word of advice, then… Time-bound.” He calls to the Human, summoning him from his self-pitying fugue. “Take heed of those you keep around you. Their loyalties might not reside where you think they do.” Upon hearing the words of warning, the Page reels back slowly until he’s upright again.

“Excuse me?” He asks, thinking he might’ve heard the Dwarf wrong. “What is… what do you mean by that, exactly? …Where else would their loyalties reside?” The Jester remains silent at the question, knowing the Page already knows the answer. “You’re saying… you think one of my friends will betray me?”

“What I’m saying is that I think one of your friends isn’t a friend at all.” He clarifies his statement.

“……Who?” The Page inquires as his hands ball into fists.

“Haven’t a clue. That half of the secret hasn’t thawed yet.” The Jester informs. The Page only narrows his eyes, unsure of what’s been said. Seeing the confusion, the Dwarven outcast goes to elaborate. “Secrets are like water. Easy to get caught up in, hard to tell how deep they run. Most importantly, they travel the path of least resistance. They’ll curve like a river in order to stay hidden, winding and falling the more complicated the lies hiding them become. People like me and Uk can disrupt those rivers, snatch up all the things that they’ve got hiding for our own. We call it Phishing.” The Page continues to look on in confusion, unsure where the conversation is leading. “Some secrets, though… secrets known by practically nobody, they’re like Ice. Chilled by the cold nothingness of the Void. They don’t move, you can’t peek past their surface like with others, you might not even realize you’re walking on one until you hear the cracks beneath your feet. And sometimes, they stay hidden for years. We’ve found that those secrets are consistently worth more to sell than ones we simple stumble upon. So we have a process where we focus on their place in the void, melting them from the ice as more and more attention is placed upon it. We call it Thawing. It’s a slow burn, but it gets us to the information within faster than it’d naturally reveal itself. But the secret in question… for some reason we’ve been having a hard time cracking it. It’s like the void around it refuses to separate. Ukulele didn’t want to sell the info because it was only one piece, not enough to justify the price tag she’d want for it. All we could get from the secret is that someone in your circle was not the ally you thought they were. We don’t know who or why, we don’t know what they’ll do. We don’t even know if you’ve met them yet. All we know is that one who serves a different master will find their way onto your team, assuming they haven’t done so already.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” The Page demands to know, becoming overwhelmed by the information.

“You said you knew Finlus. Cared enough to bring news of his death to his kin.” The Jester explains himself. “A gesture like that is not passed over without notice. For this sake, I sought to help you straighten out your network.”

“…” While the Page remains silent before the Jester, beneath his quiet visage, his brain wracks itself with thoughts unhinged by the prospect of an outsider in his inner circle. His mind races, and he’s left unable to filter his speculations through any sort of logic or reason before arriving at his conclusion.

There’s a traitor in your midst? The words on the monitor say. He said he didn’t know who. That’s Bullshit! Who the hell does he think he’s fooling?! Of course he knows! He just wants to bait you into selling your tongue or some other fuckshit for the information! The psychotic bastard… but… but maybe he’s being subtle? Maybe he wants to tell you, but that damn Mage won’t let him! Then who? ……Why did he wait until Creed left to tell you all this? The screen lingers a moment, as if buffering, before the words come sprawling across it once more. …A Mind player as powerful as Creed… would… be able to mask his true intentions to blend in. Mind players tend to scheme more too, hold their cards close to their chest, plan Machiavellishly. Sara brought up a good point before you recruited Creed. She said that he could easily take your group over if he wanted to. With a guy as persuasive as him, it’d be child’s play for him to take the reins from you… And then there’s Sara herself. She’s already on the outskirts of the group, and with her hangups about abandoning Mia, it wouldn’t be far-fetched to think she’s still resenting you for making that call. Whatever Mia told her about your past clearly tainted her image of you, poisoned her against you, so what if… what if leaving Mia behind set something in her mind in motion? Like some mental go-ahead to start working against the group? Against You?! Maybe Creed can-… No! There’s no telling if Creed is the traitor either, you can’t let him know you know about him! He’d make you catatonic with a snap of his fingers!

W-wait, wait, stop it! You’re getting ahead of yourself. You don’t know who the traitor is yet, you can’t go around acting like it’s a sure thing that Creed’s plotting anything… but, if not him, then who? Haugrr certainly wouldn’t be out of the question. Mouthy prick has been spouting off against you since the beginning. He holds all the cards in this situation, though. It would be like taking candy from a baby for him to turn on you. Princes have a tendency to destroy those around them, and with an irresponsible jackass like him behind the wheel of Princely Doom Powers, he’d take you all out like fish in a barrel!

Speaking of going against you from the start, there’s Mary to consider. Waltzing into the group like she owns the place, it’s clear she envies your position as leader here. She wants the title for herself, taking whatever chance she can get to take it. Degrading your powers, upstaging your skills. What if she was the one keeping you bedridden for so long? Nurse Ratchet style! Feeding you poison to keep you from getting better! And if she’s the traitor, does that also mean Frank is too? He’s loyal to her like a dog, but she seems to abhor him. Maybe he isn’t in on it now, but even if he doesn’t have any intention to betray you, you can be sure he’d go along with anything she has to say when she makes her move!

What about Esspin? Sure, she tries to pass off that holier-than-thou persona, but you all know what she’s like underneath. Some snarling psycho clown-troll, waiting at the edge of her seat to break out of her cage! Then there’s the Triplets. God knows bringing them into the fold was a mistake. Three malfunctioning Powerhouses, and you’re toting them around like they’re carry-on luggage! Leah’s a paranoid maniac, Ryder has the temperament of a child but his rage-switch could get flipped at any moment and Ragnaa’s certifiably insane!

And then there’s… Dallra. B-but that’s ridiculous! You were the one who went to go find her and… and she joined you without so much as a second thought… Like she was eager to have a spot on your team, even if it meant getting used like a tool... She was also the one who was supposed to keep an eye on you while you were bedridden, just before you were attacked. And... and she was also never in the same room with the Thief when the others were there, she only showed up after the Thief left. What if… what if she IS the Thief! Blood has heavy thematic connections with the physical body. If the Thief somehow got close enough, what if she was able to steal her literal body, using it as a host to reside in and use for her own means?! What if the Thief stole her body weeks ago, before you even met her and has been waiting to strike ever since?! Jesus Christ, Dallra even drank your blood too!

What is this? What the hell is going on?! Are they all traitors?! Have they all been plotting against you, just stringing you along for their own plans from the start? Fuck… Fuck, Fuck! You’re surrounded on all sides, it’s only a matter of time before they make their move!

As the Page of Time slowly descends down the slippery slope of distrust and paranoia, spiraling more and more into the throws of insanity, the Juju beside him lights up, and appearing before the two young men are their allies once more, returning from their venture within the artifact. Upon their return, the Jester’s barrier keeping you contained within the RV seems to vanish, and you’re flung rather unceremoniously back into the character you last were.

“Sara? Are you alright?” Esspin asks as you glance back at the motorhome, feeling as though someone were trying to grab your attention.

“Y-… yeah.” You tentatively answer, unsure what that feeling was just now. “Sorry. Thought I heard something…”

“Back to the subject at hand, tell us more about this weapon, would you?” Mary asks as you turn back to the group. You’re standing with Ess and the Space girls at the moment. You had been discussing what was revealed to you and the boys in your business meeting with the two alien salespeople when you’d gotten distracted. Most recently, Mary had inquired about the devices Ukulele predicted would kill Jason, curious of the prospects of something capable of, as it was put, ‘complete annihilation’.

“There’s not really all that much to tell. The message Jason’s friend sent just had it’s name and what it would do. Seven… Holy… Heaven Gates or something, I forgot what she called it, but it sounded scary.” You do your best to recollect what you’d learn. Your head was practically spinning when you first exited the vehicle, you ended up forgetting a few of the details of everything you bought from the Mage. You still remember the important bits, at least. “And that… that it’d be used on two people before it’d get used on him.”

“Did they know who it’d get used on first?” Dallra follows up, concerned over the idea that two of your ranks could potentially be unavoidably wiped from this existence.

“Um… noo…” You technically tell the truth. The message only said a Rage and Hope player would be killed first, it didn’t list any names. It’s ridiculous, but you don’t have the heart to say it aloud. You’re terrified that you know who those players spoken about in the message are, and it feels like saying it aloud would be somehow making it unavoidable. As though if they knew themselves, then their fates would be set in stone. You don’t want to put those kind of vibes into the air like that.

“I suppose it’ll be just another factor to stay vigilant of.” Esspin declares, remaining confident in the face of such a fate. “What concerns me is the possibility of this Rival Group after Jason having gained the favor of the water-serpent. From the way you described it, the beast sounds reminiscent of the powerful Lusii sea-dwellers would retain as custodians back on Alternia. The type of damage one of those could do was something to marvel at.”

“Sea monsters aside, the pivotal point of that information is that they have a means of communication and we don’t.” Mary brings up. “Simply being able to keep in touch with one another means they can easily out-coordinate any plans we might make to account for their presence in the Arena.”

“Not necessarily.” Dallra disagrees. “Even if we’ve only got the one palmhusk Jason stole from these people, that puts us at least partially on-par with them in ways of communication. We can only send messages one way with the husk we have, but if we can secure a stronghold for me to bunker down in, I’d be able to focus entirely on overwatch. In that case, mobility would no longer be a hindering factor for us. We could divide up into smaller units, two or three person teams I could direct via one-way transmission. It wouldn’t be perfect, but it’d be leagues better than going everywhere as a whole, elevenfold slow.”

“What of possible intruders finding their way into such a base?” Esspin brings up, concerned of the logistics of this arrangement.

“Security would be a factor to consider, but I’ve always been better at getting myself out of a squeeze alone than with people I have to worry about.” Dallra assures her. “The main obstacle would be-“ Before the Troll can finish her estimation of future endeavors, the door to the RV comes swinging open, catching the attention of everyone outside. Exiting out from the vehicle, Jason steps down out of the cabin, out into the cool air of the Land once more. He seems… jumpy. His eyes bouncing every which way, observing each and every one of you like he’s expecting something from you all. Following after him is Creed, hopping out and strolling up next to your tweaking friend. Appearing in the doorway of the RV comes Ukulele, popping out from the vehicle as she hangs partially out the door.

“Once again, I thank you, loyal customers, for the purchases you’ve made today.” She calls out to you all as the motorhome revs to life. “We know we’re your only option for information on-the-go, but we nonetheless appreciate that you’ve chosen us for your inquiry needs, and we hope to have you again as our client in the future.” Starting to move again, the RV rolls forward, out of the way of your group’s path, and circles to the side, setting off for where you all just came from. Ukulele, still standing in the doorframe, sets her sights on Jason as they go past. “Au Revoir, Faucheuse le cœur brisé.” She says to him before closing the door.

Picking up speed now, the motorhome makes its way through the valley behind you, heading off towards their next business deal, wherever it might be. What a weird duo. You turn back to the boys as they reunite with the team. While Creed seems like his normal formal self, Jason still has that twitchy demeanor to him. You notice that despite the possible combatants being half a mile down the way, driving in the opposite direction of you all, he’s still got his pickaxe out, clutching it to him like his life depends on it. Something’s up with him…

“Hey, you got the other message, right?” You ask the two. “What’d you find out?”

“Nothing. Second message ended up being a bust.” Creed gives you the uneventful scoop. “Apparently all it was was some page out of a book. Didn’t even have a full name for who it was meant for.”

“Aw man, bummer.” You huff, expecting something bigger from all that waiting.

“Yeah, real convenient…” Jason mumbles under his breath, half-glaring at your team’s Heir from the corner of his eye. Creed tries not to make it known that he notices, but the stiff demeanor he puts on reveals to you that he’s at least conscious of it. Undaunted by this, he continues on.

“Our best guess is that it might’ve been a test run by Lucas, sending out a meaningless message to see if the real one would get through to Uk without problem.” He suggests, only to catch Jason’s attention upon his use of the name ‘Uk’, causing him to stare attentively at the guy, eying him up more skeptically now. “Uh… so anyway-“

“We need to get moving.” Jason declares before he can finish. You all watch as he turns and marches, getting back to your course for LOMAM.

“Oh-, um, hey! Up and at ‘em, everybody. We’re heading out now.” You call to the rest of the team still lying out on the earthen floor. Esspin reaches down to Frank and the consorts on the ground, plucking Gretel up and placing her into her hood once more. You do the same, only captchaloguing George instead.

“Man, I just got fucking comfortable!” Ryder bellows back.

“Now!” Jason shouts, catching everyone off guard. Your team exchanges silent glances, all questioning the sudden outburst. Hesitantly, everyone eventually gets back to their feet again, and you all get back to the trail, working your way across the desolate gulch of LOCAL. An uncomfortable air sets upon the team as you go, with Jason stomping a good few paces ahead of the rest of the group, still clutching his pickaxe in his hand, letting its metal top hang down by his side. What did he and that Ginnun guy talk about while you were away?

“This day has been complete bullshit.” Ryder quietly complains from the back of the group, where he, Haugrr, Leah and Ragnaa plunk along. “We’ve been nonstop walking the entire night and haven’t even had lunch! What are we just supposed to march until we die?! And then all we get is a few minutes in the dirt while he gets all comfy in that god damn whatever-it’s-called? Shit was probably air conditioned inside! Bullshit. Right Haug?”

“…” Haugrr remains quiet, appearing not to listen to the boy by his side, instead focusing up to the front of the group, past everyone else, at Jason.

“Iz bullshit…” He repeats again to himself.

“I, for one, have had just about enough of today too, I’d say.” Leah speaks up, seeing that Ryder isn’t getting any answer from the Revenant. “The day was halfway done b'fore we even left Fort Livingston. We must be well into tomorrow by now. Figured we’d call it a quits after that Mage girlie took off… suppose that was just wishful thinking…”

“We should’ve just taken their van and left ‘em stranded.” Ryder decides with a huff. “What were they even doing with it anyway? Selling bullshit info, probably making it up on the spot too. What a fucking waste.”

“They were strange, but Ukulele seemed like an honest businesswoman.” You turn back to tell them. “Or… at least the information she gave us seemed legit.” You tack on, remembering you bribed confidential intel out of her on that last purchase.

“Her name was Ukulele…?” Ragnaa quietly asks, looking up at you.

“Yeah. She introduced herself when she first walked out, don’t you remember?” You remind the Seer of when they first pulled up.

“I hadn’t heard her clearly. I wasn’t sure what she had said.” She says, glancing back on the trail in the direction they’d gone. “The other one you mentioned that was inside. His name was Ginnun, wasn’t it.”

“That’s right, how’d you know?” You turn around fully now, walking backwards to talk to the folks in the rear.

“You didn’t you know those people, did you?” Leah asks, turning to her as well.

“Their names were in the sign-in book at the Grey Palace.” She mutters, as if assuring herself of what she remembers. “We were supposed to find them. I was supposed to find them.”

“What?” Leah looks at her funny. “You feelin’ alright, Rags? You’re talking nonsense again.”

“I’m serious!” Ragnaa insists. “When we were checking in, I saw their names in the ledger! They started moving around and told me; Find Them!”

“And you were… awake… for this?” Leah continues to prod, skeptical of the story. “And sober?”

“Of course I was!” Ragnaa snips at her, offended by the thinly veiled criticism. “That must’ve been what that strange portal was in front of the RV, too! Some sort of sign to seek them out as well…!”

“So there’s a portal now?” Leah continues to pester.

“Yes! And some figure crawled out up to her torso and said… ah, what did she say?” Ragnaa pauses, tapping her thumb against the side of her pointer finger. “Can she do something… Can she… Ah! She asked-

 

 

Can

 

I

 

tell

 

you

 

a

 

Secret

 

?

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

 

__

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.̵̢̡̢̭͔̝͖̥̞͇̫̖̘͚̳͊̔̑͐̅̎̏̃̂̐̄.̵̢͙͈̰̪̲͍̱̘͎̥̳́͛͆̔́̏̓̄̓̿̐̀̕͘͜.̵̛̗̿͜ͅ

.̵̢̡̢̭͔̝͖̥̞͇̫̖̘͚̳͊̔̑͐̅̎̏̃̂̐̄.̵̢͙͈̰̪̲͍̱̘͎̥̳́͛͆̔́̏̓̄̓̿̐̀̕͘͜.̵̛̗̿͜ͅ.̵̢̡̢̭͔̝͖̥̞͇̫̖̘͚̳͊̔̑͐̅̎̏̃̂̐̄.̵̢̡̢̭͔̝͖̥̞͇̫̖̘͚̳͊̔̑͐̅̎̏̃̂̐̄.̵̢͙͈̰̪̲͍̱̘͎̥̳́͛͆̔́̏̓̄̓̿̐̀̕͘͜.̵̛̗̿͜ͅ.̵̢̡̢̭͔̝͖̥̞͇̫̖̘͚̳͊̔̑͐̅̎̏̃̂̐̄.̵̢͙͈̰̪̲͍̱̘͎̥̳́͛͆̔́̏̓̄̓̿̐̀̕͘͜.̵̛̗̿͜ͅ

.̵̢̡̢̭͔̝͖̥̞͇̫̖̘͚̳͊̔̑͐̅̎̏̃̂̐̄.̵̢͙͈̰̪̲͍̱̘͎̥̳́͛͆̔́̏̓̄̓̿̐̀̕͘͜.̵̛̗̿͜ͅ.̵̢̡̢̭͔̝͖̥̞͇̫̖̘͚̳͊̔̑͐̅̎̏̃̂̐̄.̵̢̡̢̭͔̝͖̥̞͇̫̖̘͚̳͊̔̑͐̅̎̏̃̂̐̄.̵̢͙͈̰̪̲͍̱̘͎̥̳́͛͆̔́̏̓̄̓̿̐̀̕͘͜.̵̛̗̿͜ͅ.̵̢̡̢̭͔̝͖̥̞͇̫̖̘͚̳͊̔̑͐̅̎̏̃̂̐̄.̵̢͙͈̰̪̲͍̱̘͎̥̳́͛͆̔́̏̓̄̓̿̐̀̕͘͜.̵̛̗̿͜ͅ

.̵̢̡̢̭͔̝͖̥̞͇̫̖̘͚̳͊̔̑͐̅̎̏̃̂̐̄.̵̢͙͈̰̪̲͍̱̘͎̥̳́͛͆̔́̏̓̄̓̿̐̀̕͘͜.̵̛̗̿͜ͅ.̵̢̡̢̭͔̝͖̥̞͇̫̖̘͚̳͊̔̑͐̅̎̏̃̂̐̄.̵̢͙͈̰̪̲͍̱̘͎̥̳́͛͆̔́̏̓̄̓̿̐̀̕͘͜.̵̛̗̿͜ͅ

 

 

 

“I don’t know, Rags, that seems a little-…” As Leah sets up another skeptical remark, she suddenly pauses, stopping in place where she is on the trail. You’re about to ask what’s wrong when you notice, it’s not just her. Ryder and Ragnaa herself have stopped in place as well. The only one who continued to move is Haugrr, but even he’s slowed to a slinking crawl, as he looks to be trying to move off to the side of the trail to see around the rest of the group, peering towards the front. You back up a few more paces before it registers what’s going on. Twisting back around to see what’s happening on at the front of the group that’s stopped everyone in place, you spot that not just the rear of your group has halted, but the front as well. Esspin stands closest to you, with Frank and Mary in front of her, and Creed and Dallra just beyond. And standing at the spear of your formation is Jason, facing towards the vast and empty world before him, black smoke pouring from his skull as if his head were a house fire. In his hands, the pickaxe he clutched so firmly now has a series of little flaps on the side that’ve opened up, with a tremendous heat radiating from it like a jet engine.

“………What did you just say?” He asks while still facing forward, as if speaking to an invisible threat before him. The rest of your group bounce looks from person to person, questioning what to do with the question. Slowly he turns his head to face all those behind him, the smoke pouring down and hiding him up to his collarbone, giving him the guise of a stranger, as if he wore a great and terrible mask. “What the fuck…. did you just say?” He repeats once more after he receives no answer. Firmly, Leah steps forward towards the center of his attention.

“I was just saying, it seemed a little far fetched-“ She begins to say, trying to draw his aim towards herself.

“Not you.” Jason gestures past the Knight, pointing at the Seer behind her, his weapon fuming with anger. “Her.”

“M-me?” Ragnaa sheepishly asks. “I-I-I didn’t-“

“Don’t Fucking Lie to me!” Jason suddenly shouts, causing the Troll to flinch back with a start. “You said you saw a girl emerge from a portal. Yes or No?”

“Y-y-yea-ah…” She nods her head, scared and confused by the wrathful focus on her. Hearing the answer, Jason slowly raises his chin up, his face muted by his mask.

“Well isn’t that a coincidence… The Mage of Blood had a friend just like that.” He illustrates, twisting his neck to the side, violently trying to work a knot from his neck. “Appearing from a portal just in time to help him escape. Would you like to know how he summoned her?” He asks, stepping forward toward the girl.

“Jason.” You step forward as well, feeling this is escalating at a rapid pace. “Maybe we shooo-“ Before you can suggest you all let cooler heads prevail, you feel the muscles in your body slow, refusing to move as you instruct as if atrophied. Before you, Jason holds his hand up, fingers clutching as a construct clock-hand runs the length of his forearm. He slowed you? Glancing to the others in your team, you find just about all of you have been timely inhibited as well. All but the Knight and her Seer.

“By saying the words; Can I… tell you… a secret?” Jason continues on, moving past you while you’re stuck in slow-mo. “How long have you known?”

“I, I-I don’t-“ Ragnaa tries to deny, causing Jason to tilt his pickaxe to the side, his grip tightening around the armament as it revs like a engine barely held at bay.

“How long have you been keeping their secrets for them?!” He asks, continuing to step closer and closer to the girls. “Since the Palace? Since before you joined?! How long have you been going behind my back?!”

“A-… ah…” She’s at a loss for words, having trouble as Jason’s onslaught of questions and fury continues.

“Answer Me!” He booms, slamming the top of his pickaxe against the ground, the weapon erupting with thunder as it leaves a sizable crater in its wake.

“N-n-no, I-“ She tries to comply, only to be cut off once more.

“You’re with them, aren’t you…? The Rogue. You’re just another one of her lackeys.” Jason declares, the smoke from his skull draping him as if it were a death veil. “Plotting from the very beginning, leading me to my downfall from the moment we met! You treacherous little psych patient! How long?!?!“ He swings his pickaxe off to the side with reckless abandon, beginning to froth like a wild animal now. ”How long have you been sneaking around, looking to put a Knife in my back?!”

“N-… ah…ah…” Tears begin to pour down Ragnaa's face now, as the girl shakes like a leaf, inching back step by step as Jason approaches. Before he can get to her though, Leah blocks his path.

“That’s enough.” She declares, resting her hand on her pistol, threatening to draw it from its place at her hip. This is all going too far, you need to get between them before it can go past the point of no return. Despite the effect Jason’s left on the group, you push forward, cutting through the molasses-laden space that vexes you.

“Get out of my way.” Jason growls through gritting teeth at the Knight.

“That’s not going to happen.” She promises as the Seer continues to shake and cry behind her, overwhelmed by Jason’s unforeseen aggression.

“You would defend her?! After this little bitch has been keeping their secrets?!?!” Upon hearing his comment, Leah cocks the hammer back on her revolver, half a second away from pulling the iron from its holster.

“…” The Knight wordlessly stands against her aggressor.

“You’re about to make a very bad decision.” Jason slowly warns, readying his armament before him.

“Try it.” She warns back. Come on! If you can just reach them, you can sort this all out! You have to! You can’t lose anyone else!!!

“Ja… son…” You call out through a lagging voice. “S…to…p……th…is…” Slowly, you extend your hand out to the boy before you, reaching for the friend you have hidden behind his veil. But before you can grab hold of your target, you hear a voice from a ways away.

“Outlaw’s Aura; Level Four.” They say. Surprised by the unfrozen entity off to your side, your head begins to turn to look, when suddenly a red flash zooms past, arriving before you in the space beside Jason. Your attention snapping to the new entity as fast as your slowed pace will allow, you’re astounded by what you see there.

Standing before you, arms wrapped around an entire Grandfather Clock held by a bearhug in his grasp, is the Prince of Time, mighty and tall. But… how? He should’ve been blown up back at the Forge along with the Thief that husked him, how is he alive?! Not allowing you another moment to question his presence here, the Prince swings the enormous timepiece in his hands like a gargantuan club, slamming into Jason with it and sending him flying away with a heavy and mechanical -crack-!

“Kah!” Jason cries out as he’s knocked away. Upon the hit being delivered, you feel your normal second-per-second time frames return to you, and you lurch forward, finally regaining your entire movement back. The Prince’s attack broke Jason’s concentration? Free now, you glance up at the newly arrived Time player, baffled at where he’s come from.

“Wha…?” You mutter, unsure what to even ask. Looking closer, though, you notice that while the player before you is indeed the Prince of Time, they’re translucent, glowing a crimson red, as if he were a Kernelsprite.

“Phantom Summons; Disruption.” The voice to your side speaks up again. Glancing over much quicker now, you see Haugrr standing there, his hand extended out and cackling with a wicked green energy. Letting his grabber drop, the energy vanishes from him, and suddenly, the visage of the Princely Time player vanishes with it.

“Haugrr?“ Leah questions him as he walks up between you two, still focused entirely on Jason in his spot out in the field, watching as he slowly shakes off the hit from the ghost’s clock.

“Stand down.” He orders, turning to glance at her. “He might actually kill you if you two fight.”

“What are you planning?” You anxiously ask, knowing how easily this all can escalate.

“His Imperial Dickheadness is heading down a dark path.” He tells you, cracking the long deceased joints of Amvinn’s neck. “I’m gonna go knock him back on course.”

“We can help!” Leah declares, drawing her pistol from her holster, flicking the barrel to the side to check her bullet count.

“Absolutely not.” Haugrr declares, advancing forward toward Jason before extending both his hands out, palms up to the sky. Suddenly, summoned upon his head is a ghostly crown, sat before the small orange nubs of Amvinn's horns. “Duchess of Hazard, the Decree is Thus; You are not to interfere with this fight.” As the words leave his lips, a decrepit looking construct of Haugrr’s Doom symbol appears before your face, hovering over your eyes like a masquerade mask. Looking to the others in your group, you find the same to be the case for all of you. Glancing back to Leah, you see as she tries to step forward, but can only go past a certain point before her body strains, unable to push past whatever limitation has been set upon you all. Does Haugrr seriously plan to take Jason on alone? Turning back one last time, the Revenant faces you directly. “I’m gonna borrow this for a little while.” He says, extending out a clutching hand towards you. What is he-

 

***

 

Armed with the perspective now, you let your grabber rest by your side and turn back to face your opponent, walking out to meet him on the field where your strife will be held. You’ve never been one to tell others what they can and can’t do, but live-and-let-live has never been something you’ve afforded to psychotic despots. And you aren’t about to start now. While true you haven’t been the biggest fan of your ‘leader’ since the get-go, even with that withstanding, this prick’s overstepped some serious fucking boundaries here.

“Didn’t ring your bell too badly, did he?” You ask Jason as he stumbles to his feet, whipping around like a bite-craven packfiend as he searches for his attacker. “I guess Princes really pack a punch, don’t we? Seems he really cleaned your clock there. Pun vindictively intended.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” He froths at you, realizing you were the one to stand up to him.

“I’m saving you from yourself, you ungrateful moron.” You tell him, arriving at the boundaries of the strife-grounds. “You wanna whale on someone so badly, try me on for size.”

“She’s with the enemy!" He psychotically points past you, towards Ragnaa's place in the Gala. “She knew of their escape plan, yet she said nothing!”

“Because I told her not to.” You break the news, recalling the advice you had given her that night. Hearing this, the malfunctioning bastard’s focus starts to wobble, bouncing his attention from you to Ragnaa in a 3x double-take, unable to comprehend his assumption that she’s the enemy is wrong somehow, until he finally settles his fixation upon you.

“…You…?” He mutters. “Why would…?”

“What would you have done with the knowledge?” You ask, knowing it’s a pointless endeavor to try and get him to see reason. “A shadowy figure pokes its head out from the void and gives a cryptic riddle, now suddenly you think you can tell the future with it?”

“I could’ve stopped them, had I know…” He mumbles like a pan-rusted invalid. “They wouldn’t have gotten away, had I just known!”

“You knowing would’ve changed nothing!” You yell back, your prongs balling into fists.

“……I get it now…“ He hums to himself. “You’re the traitor. I should’ve fucking guessed.”

“Yeah, that’s right. I’m your traitor.” You nod along to his nonsense, figuring that’d keep his attention focused on you for now. “What are you gonna do about it, tough guy?” Goaded on by you fully now, the mental bulgeshover takes his dig-tool in both hands, ready for the fight.

 

Haugrr, scale the Fins off this Fish.

Chapter 55: > What is a Prince to a Page

The Page makes the first move. Before you appears a glowing red clock face as he attempts to place you within one of his time-traps. The world around you fades to a static grey, as time slams to a standstill from your perspective. However, before the status debuff of the ability can take hold, Outlaw’s Aura negates the freeze effect, allowing you to continue on despite being caught within the trap.

You juke back just as Jason comes swinging in with that excavator of his, aiming straight for where your nugbone would’ve been. Fucker’s going for the kill, it seems. Can’t say you’re surprised. His thinkpan’s rusted all the way through, leaving the floor staring back up at him.

“Wha-“ He exclaims, shocked to see you ignoring the effect the time-trap should’ve placed on you. With him as close to the disregarded limiter, you activate your counter.

“Outlaw’s Detonation.” You proclaim, clamping your grabber closed. Upon activation, the clock face behind him explodes, the intended limit of the ability collapsing under the weight of itself, cascading outward as a wellspring of energy barrels forth. The kinetic blast of the explosion sends the Page flying off to the side. “Obligational Shrug.” The world around you washes away with a static -zap- reorganizing itself to position you in the path Jason was catapulted in. Readying for him to arrive at your doorstep, your steppingpole bursts with a flaming power, and you reel back, kicking upward just as your opponent reaches you. Your broken pole slams into the underside of Jason’s human jaw, the force of which causing a minor air pocket to expand and collapse in a quarter of a second as he’s launched upward, flying high into the sky. “Unlawful Slam; Velocity Negation.” You slowly lower your stepper as the energy dissipates from the limb, watching as Jason limply spirals to the heavens. You have to squint to see him up there. Between the bad eyes of Amvinn’s body and the heavy cloud coverage, you can only just make out the red blur that he is in the sky. Suddenly though, that red blur disappears into the storm. You scan for where he could’ve gone off to but find nothing. It isn’t until you notice something announced in the subtext that you realize what’s happened.

Fate Cries Foul

As the ability registers in your thoughtsponge, there comes a -zap- in the space before you. Bringing your attention back down, you see just in time for that excavator to slam directly into your face, knocking you back. Fuckin’ redo buttons. As you’re staggering, Jason takes an overarching plunge with his weapon, aimed straight for your windtunnel. You manage to catch the spear of his excavator before it can tear into the partially decayed flesh of your body, stopping the thing in its tracks with Amvinn’s corpse strength. With his free grabber though, Jason balls his fist, delivering a punch into the gaping wound in your torso, slamming directly into your tattered bellowsac. The revolting stimulation sends a jolting recoil through your entire corpse, nearly causing you to break possession of your corporeal form. You manage to endure the sensation, but a cough of Am’s olive green blood gets hacked up from the damage done to you. As you’re stunned from the hit, your opponent rips the point of his weapon free from your hand before stabbing it through your shirt, straight through your open wound. Twisting around, he maneuvers his excavator so that its spike is hooked around your torso piercing, and using it as leverage, he tosses you over his shoulder. The pressure upon what remains of your bellowcage is agonizing, and you’re left defenseless as the Page rips you off your steppers, flipping you over with an ungracefully slam upon the ground at his feet.

“Not so smug now…!” Above you, Jason’s done something to his excavator, causing it to open its exhaust vents, activating some kind of explosive effect to charge within. Raising the device up then swiftly swinging it down again, he aims to vaporize your host body’s cranium. Plummeting at you like a spearing arrowhead, you only just manage to catch the Page’s atomizer attack, grabbing hold of the dig-device by both of its prong points.

“Seismic Disruption.” You announce, channeling the exploding power in the weapon out through both of its ends. Shooting out beside you, an enormous kinetic blast shreds the ground at your sides, turning the stone into gravel in an almost confetti-like explosion of sediment flung into the air.

“Huh?” Jason pulls away as he watches the dirt rain back down, confused why his attack split in half the way it did. The space allows you to get up from the ground, flipping off your back and facing back around to your opponent. You go to get to your feet when he stops questioning his last attack and goes in for another, charging you while you’re still down on one knee. “Raaahh!” He bellows, his excavator trailing behind him in tow, ready to send it through your chagrintunnel.

“Phantom Summons,” You reach out through the Final Curtain and snatch a player back for your defense. “Diversion.” Conjured forth a half pace to the left of the Page is the Witch of Light, a pickaxe of her own in-hand as she jukes backwards, cutting him off mid-charge. Jason screeches to a halt at her sudden appearance, the spectral Elf jutting her excavator out into his path as the roulette wheel at the top of her weapon flashes its 0 outcome. Your opponent takes a half-second to observe the Summoned fighter, unsure what their purpose in the Strife is. Before he can figure out its intentions, the Dragon that had killed the Witch comes sweeping down from the sky.

“Ha-!” Is all the Page manages to say before the torrent of black fire comes spewing out from the drake’s maw, raining upon him like a torrential downpour. While he’s busy being roasted like a flavor disc, you take the moment to get back to your broken steppers and collect yourself, reflecting on the data you received when you took the Perspective as you do. According to the records logged by the POV, Sara was able to see something no one else had up until this point. This being that Jason has some kind of constant smoke seeping out from his non-existent hornstems. According to her, it looked as if his entire upper-half was shrouded by it, completely hiding his face behind the smokey veil. It sounds similar to the person the Dragon turned into after killing the Witch. The weird smoke-head dude who wandered off after the strife. Only he was made entirely out of smoke. Jason on the other hand is only producing the stuff from his cranium. Something must be going on up there then. Some kind of subconscious subroutine winding his thinkpan endlessly, burning his thoughsponge out like a malfunctioning engine. Would something like that be within your purview to dismantle? Will you even get the chance to try?

“Still alive?” You call out to the Page, letting the Witch and her vanquisher vanish back to the great beyond, leaving behind only the trail of haze the dragon had regurgitated which obscures your view of your opponent. Suddenly, a hand slashes through the burning mist, tossing the clouds out of its way as if attempting to grab hold of the smoke and physically move it somewhere else. Revealed once more is the Page of Time, his fury riding its way to you by way of his glare, your attack leaving him frazzled and all the more toasted looking.

“Enough of these tricks!” Jason bellows as he marches forward, shaking off the crisp you’d left on him. “What the hell are they?!”

“Oh, still curious under all that crazy, huh?” You chuckle, much to Jason’s furious chagrin. “They’re Phantoms.” You tell him before he can work himself up again. “Replications of the souls of the dead the moment they perished.”

“Morbid bastard.” He mutters before continuing on with his charge. With a spark of crimson in his eye, his speed seems to double, reaching you faster than you anticipated.

“Like you have no room to talk!” You say while dodging out of the way from his attack, taking note that he had aimed for your right sightglobe with his swing. “Throwing everything you’ve got behind every attack. I’d say I was flattered if it wasn’t so platonic.” He follows up with two more swings, one that tries to rake across your chest in an upward slash and the second a downswing in the same path reversed.

“Traitors aren’t meant to be treated with mercy!” He barks through his attacks. “Cheap tricks or not-“ You uppercut him, mid-rave. Unlawful Slam; Excelled Strength.

“My tricks aren’t cheap, bulgemunch.” You boast as the Page recoils, grabbing hold of his face with his free grabber, backing up a step. “You wanna talk about cheap, what about your powers. Crying Fate Whatever.”

“You’ve been going through my ability index?!” He snaps back up, out from the shock of the hit.

“I’ve been poking around everywhere, you ain’t special.” You sneer.

“Gah!” He snarls, getting at you again. Even faster now, he throws swing after swing with his excavator at you, forcing you back as you attempt to keep up with evading the hits. On one swing, he continues on with his followthrough, barreling into your flank and swooping past you like a bullbeast being toyed with by a Domatador. You double back in time to dodge with his next attack, but he continues on with the followthrough again, attempting to confuse you, coming at you from every angle. Again and again, he swoops in and out, his path blurring into a triple-sided lemniscate as he swerves around you like a pestering insect trying to get at guarded food. Though he hasn’t landed a solid strike yet, his attacks have been getting close enough to leave you scraped up, the deepest of which leaving a large gash in your proteinchute, an otherwise lethal hit had you still been counted among ranks of the living. At this rate, it won’t be much longer before Amvinn’s body is too damaged to keep possessing. You’ll have to adjust somehow.

“You didn’t use Crying Fate after ol’ dragon’s breath, so I’m assuming it’s on cool-down.” You comment, trying to account for the Page's rising pace of attacks. Even still, he’s managing to deepen the cuts his prong points are leaving on you. “Which means-“ In a quick deployment of your abilities, your stepperpole is engulfed with power, and you flip around and plant a kick firmly into the Page’s acidtrack just as he swoops in for another swing. Unlawful Slam; Velocity Negation. As the laws of momentum shatter around him, Jason is sent tumbling away, hurled towards the Gala. “You don’t have another one up your sleeve at the moment.”

“Faaaah!” He shouts, passing between Frank and Creed as he goes flying by, continuing on to the other end of the valley your group divides. Looks like the strife-grounds have expanded.

In the time it takes you to make your way to the Gala, you dive into Amvinn’s inventory for something that might be able to better fend off Jason’s attacks long enough for him to come down from his hissy fit. His Strife Deck has deactivated, as per usual for the deceased, funneling all his weapons into a general subspace. How quaint. Alright, thumbing through his inventory listings, you’re able to find one of his Weirdly Blade-shaped Keys he used as weapons. Come to think of it, didn’t the Prince of Time have a really big blade back on the Forge? But when you summoned his Phantom, he was using that large timepiece. Does that mean that enormous hunk of metal he was flinging around was actually just a clock? Do all weapons just… gravitate towards being Blades after enough alchemization? Like how everything turns into crabs? Questions for another time. For now, you summon to your side Locks on the Gated Garden and- oh, right. With the Key being drawn from the Captchalogue Deck itself, his Fetch Modus activates a retrieval prompt. Wh-… What is this, a Summoning Circle? Enter in five sacrifice totems that contain traits of the item you wish to conjure? Fuck, Orrick, where the hell did you get this thing? Yeah, no, you don’t have time for this. You just break the data pack of the modus with your psionic ability and extract the Key directly. Arming yourself with the keyblade, you reach the Gala.

“Haugrr, what the hell is going on?” Dallra asks you from behind her mask. “Why are you and Jason fighting?”

“Don’t know. Gonna go find out.” You tell her as you pass through the group to the side Jason landed on, finding he’s already back to his feet and ready to face you. He’s a durable little fucker, you’ll give him that.

“Be serious, you two could really hurt one another!” She protests. You shrug it off and continue on.

“This isn’t a game, Haugrr.” Sara hurries over to you as you continue on, walking with you as you approach the strife once more. “Something’s wrong with Jason. He’s not himself right now.”

“Hate to disagree with you, human, but I’d say he’s more himself than he ever wanted to show you.” You tell her, familiar with what it looks like when people like this let their mask slip. “It’s just that something is forcing him to.”

“Please, just… try and calm him down before you do anything too rash.” She pleads, stopping at the confines of the Duchess’s Decree. Along with her proposition comes a sudden invigoration behind you, as if the wind itself were trying to carry you in the direction you’re going. Huh. Guess she’s serious about wanting things to settle if she’s backing you of all people.

“Don’t worry, I think we’re close to a breakthrough.” You semi-sarcastically assure the Sylph. “I can feel it.” With that, you leap forward, your form carried by the momentum of the buff Sara had lent you. Charging you himself, Jason barrels forward, his excavator burning red-hot as he powers it up again. The two of you meet in a duel, your respective weapons clashing as you fly into one another. The concussive blast his weapon houses is discharged upon contact, knocking away what remained of your Outlaw’s Aura as you resist the blast unfazed. The ground around you, however, is dented downward, leaving you and him standing on a small plateau raised up in the crater the explosion made. “You ready to calm down yet? Everyone’s real worried about you, after all.”

“Traitors. The lot of them!” He growls as he tries to force past your guard, not getting far against your strength. “Colluding with the likes of you!”

“You’ve got some pretty serious hang-ups, don’t you?” You ask the boy as you push him back the ground he had taken, leaving him at the edge of your little plateau.

“I’ll hang you up!” He snaps, using the curve of his excavator’s top to roll past your flank. Before you can react, you’re face down on the ground, and it feels like your lower back’s been pierced through and torn open. Shit. Looking across the diagonal-facing horizon, you spot the crater you were just stood in several yards away from where you lay now. He must’ve managed to get you in some kind of time-trap while Outlaw was down. You place your grabbers against the ground and push yourself up to get back to the strife. At least, you try to, but before you can, you’re suddenly spiraling ass-over-kettle through the air, a distinct and heavy soreness in the underside of your chin. He got you again, it seems. You expect to land with a thud, but suddenly, like the two times before it, you’re thrusted without warning into an entirely new situation, as if jump-cut from attack to attack, now hurling through the air, knocked off track from your fall with a new deep gash in the lining of your lower acidtracks. He can be pretty vicious with those time exploits of his, you’re coming to find. You touch down into the ground once more, skidding across the rock and graven on your front, eventually scraping to an undignified stop.

“Ah…” You groan as you try to push yourself up onto all fours. Just as you do, you feel a boot kick into your side, tumbling you onto your back. Standing over you is the Page, his weapon swinging up over his shoulder as he readies to bring it down on top of you. You’ve got no idea where he’s aimed for, but regardless, you have no intention of letting it land. “Phantom Summons, Desecration.” Reaching past the Final Curtain once more, you call forth someone familiar this time. Conjured before your opponent is the Seer of Heart, stopping Jason in his tracks. After the split-second it takes to register what it is in front of him, his eyes widen, and he flips around as the tendril that embedded into the Seer’s posturepole springs up from the ground.

“Hn!” He grunts, bringing up his excavator to guard as the tendril plows into him. While he’s turned away, you kick his stepper out from under him, throwing the Page off balance enough for the weight of the tendril crashing into him to fling him to the ground. This close and on the same level as you, you take advantage of the split second of stun Jason’s caught in from the hit, powering up another punch. You push up on one hand and with all your might, deliver a fist into his fangfold as you fall back down, slamming his head into the ground upon contact. Unlawful Slam; Locking Effect. “Gah… AH…!” He gargles as the stun status is artificially prolonged by your hit.

“Alright, now to take a look at what’s going on up top.” You say to yourself as you allow your soul to peel from Amvinn’s body like you’re a wriggler shedding their first exoskeleton.

Back in the land of the dead, you reach back and slam your grabber into Jason’s cranium, a glow of deep green luminescence erupting from his forehead as you try to force your way into his form. You aren’t able to possess the living the way you are the dead, but you can at least take a peek at what’s going on behind the scenes this way. Just as you thought, he’s got an infinite loop lodged within his thinkpan, sending his mind into a spiral. You reach deeper, attempting to get at and destroy this thing, but whoever designed this did a hell of a job ensuring it was made to last. It’s lodged in the squishy part of the human thoughtsponge responsible for motor control, meaning you’d probably end up crippling him if you try to brute-force the program out, and the constant loop it’s going down ensures that you can’t peel it back level-by-level with it producing more and more complicated subsets as it continues on. You contemplate, for a moment, purging his thinkpan of all forms of inhibiting thought to flush the loop out, but you think better at the last second. You’ve seen one too many goldbloods do just such a thing trying to chase a high, only to develop voidrot when their thoughtsponge burns a hole through their pan, releasing preservation-fluids at ungodly rates because it thinks that it’s dying. Mutant brains can hold out for a while after such an event, but there’s no telling what something like that would do to a human’s squishy center. Bastard’s lucky you give enough of a damn not to go scrambling around his insides to cure him the way he deserves. Damn it, it looks like he’s coming to again. You’re out of time. Pulling out from his human skull, you dive back into your friend’s corpse, grabbing hold of the keyblade as you repossess the form. Jason looks around confused, unsure what’s been done to him. You slam your key across his jaw before he can get his bearings.

“Fuckin’!” He curses as he rolls away. You do the same, rolling into a maneuver to get back upright. You’re both halfway up when you see one another, pausing as you wait for the other to make their move first.

The Page does so, leaping the rest of the way to his feet as he lurches forward, weapon swinging for your head. You parry it away with the key, letting it ride against the metal spire as it whizzes by. The momentum of his attack continues on and nearly takes him off his feet with the weight of his weapon throwing him off balance, and he has to forcibly snap back to recompose himself. He’s still moving at what’s probably 5.4x his normal speed, so you don’t get much of an opening before he’s swinging again. This time he’s punching at you, using the top of his excavator like a weighted mace to barrel through your defenses. You just manage to block it, using the side of your blade’s guard as a wide face to absorb the impact, but the weight of it still pushes you back a good ways. It continues this way, with him throwing attack after attack at a speed you’re only just able to keep up with to the point you can block the hits, but you’re allowed no time to counterattack or go on the offensive yourself. How the hell did Am use this damn clunky hunk of scrap with such ease? The thing is all shaft, it’s like trying to fight with a piece of over-extended rebar.

Before you can complain any more about your improvised weaponry, Jason steps back for half a beat, pulling away from his bombardment against you as he levels his excavator down by his side. You’re half expecting him to say something smart during his pause, but all that comes is the hum of his weapon, its internal engines roaring to life as he funnels a river’s worth of power into its system. The exhaust vents on its sides flick open and poured out is the burning excess. He spirals the excavator at a blinding speed, setting its sights on you, showing it off to let you know what’s on its way to you before dashing forward. You take your pose, readying your Key in a single hand to free up your other grabber, prepared to Disrupt the explosion once more. On his approach, he switches his dig-tool to a low-hold, ready to swing it up into your body’s death-wound from the floor. You adjust accordingly as he slides into the space before you.

“…!” You don’t say anything. You don’t even have the time to grunt some unintelligible response to the maneuver. He was too fast. He knew you wouldn’t be able to keep up. Just as he was about to bring the spear of his tool up at you, he slams his grip down, bringing the point of his weapon up in the opposite direction, swinging it over his shoulder instead of up from his side like you had expected. Your reflexes are too rotted away in this form to catch it in time, and the kinetic explosion rings out as he slams his excavator into the ground at your feet. “Kah!” You yelp as you’re blown away, scraping across the hard stone of the ground until tumbling to a stop. Propping yourself up on one arm, you wipe away the blood oozing from your scentreceptacle with the back of your grabber, realizing it was probably broken in the blast. Scanning the area around you, you search for your keyblade, hoping to arm yourself before the Page can get back on you again. You find it, unfortunately just as Jason’s strolled up to its place on the ground.

“Feh.” He scoffs, looking down at the armament with unimpressed bemusement. Extending an open hand aimed out at the weapon’s place on the stone, his palm flashes a crimson red, and a small etherial clock face flashes over the key before it vanishes into thin air. As your weapon blinks out of reality, you notice announced in the subtext;

Time-Capsule Jump

“Time-capsule, huh?” You mumble to yourself, watching as Jason’s focus shifts from the disappeared combat-utensil to you now. “Well, I doubt I’ll be seeing that again…”

“…” The Page, seemingly having no more words for you, talks a deep breath in before exhaling out, calming whatever demented jitters happen to be running through his human mind, and lets his sightglobes close shut, focusing on his next offensive. Seeing the brief opportunity present itself, with him needing a moment to power up, you whisk open the Final Curtain once more and go searching for another Phantom to conjure. Before you can, though, another update appears in the subtext.

Dilation Close Off

Shit, he’s not just buffing his temporal movement with this ability. Fate’s bending towards a focal point, blocking out any sort of paracausal tamperings. And this guy had the gall to complain about cheap tricks. You’ll have to focus entirely on dodging with the Key gone. You might get banged up in the process, but you’ve just about acclimated to his heightened speed blitzes. At least enough not to-

(40 sec. augmented time =1 sec. local time)

Okay, fuck, he might actually dismantle you with this maneuver. Time to deploy some form of safeguard or countermeasure against this. Outlaw’s Aura would only help you ignore the effects of the damage he’ll do for so long. Princess of Havoc then? No. A power up like that won’t do much for you with him going that fast. Before you, the Page’s sightglobes open once again, settling upon your form. His excavator aims out at you, as if to signify a physical promise of vivisection. With that, he bolts forward, his physical body blurring into a crimson stream as he barrels towards you. You’re officially out of time and officially shit out of luck.

“Phantom Summons…” You announce, doubling down on the ability you’d already begun casting. With the Final Curtain already open, you desperately reach beyond and conjure forth… fuck, someone! But who? Who the hell do you summon?! Fuck it, random draw. “Phantom Summons, Devastation!”

“DIE!!!!”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t flinch. Even being dead already, you can’t help but feel an unsettling chill shoot down your disconnected posturepole at such a deranged and manic declaration of murderous intent. Wincing in anticipation of kissing Amvinn’s body goodbye, a little less literally this time, there comes a strange expression from your opponent.

“-!” It was an expression of shock. Of almost terrified surprise.

Looking back to the enemy you so carelessly allowed to advance upon you without so much as a watchful eye, you find the Page of Time frozen in place, his form shimmering and shuttering as the effects of his time enhancements still course through his veins. The stranglehold he held his excavator in now a loose and flimsy grip that only just holds the device within his grabbers. And before him stands the Seer of Space. Arms stretched out as to better block the incoming strike against the one she aimed to protect at her rear. Despite proceeding at a rapid pace for the Page, time seems to hang still for a long, shaky moment. You don’t dare move as the look of befuddled on the Page’s face slowly morphs into a panicking stagprey-in-the-headlights expression, his mouth left ever so slightly agape at what he’s been presented with.

“……” Silently taking in the scene as it unfolds before you with bated breath, two very particular realizations enter into your mind in a rapid succession. The first being that the Seer of Space you know is alive, standing only a paltry few yards away from your place in the valley, along with the others in the Gala. Having first set sights on the Hero you had summoned, your immediate thought was that through some fluke or malfunction of your powers, you’d accidentally conjured forth the visage of a living entity by mistake, and that this was just a replica of your Jadeblood comrade. However, the second thing you realize kills that theory where it stands. This being that the Phantom you’ve summoned doesn’t have horns. She isn’t a Troll. The Seer of Space standing before the Page of Time isn’t Dallra Heimda. Who… Who is that?

“Ha…” Jason exhales out as the effect of his ability runs its course, returning him to nominal time. Even still, you remain practically invisible to the human despite being the conduit of his ire not even but a moment ago. Lost in his own little world, he continues to gawk at the ghost before him, eventually lowering his weapon down to his side, as though it were too heavy a burden for him to bear. As he does, you can’t help but notice the shake in his weapon, rattled ever so slightly by the tremble in the hands that hold them. “Ha…Ha…” Your opponent exhales, his chest starting to rise and fall at an uneven pace, as whatever human organ that regulates airflow spasms in the same tempo as his quaking fingers. Looking closer at the Page, you discover that the wells of his eyes are beginning to mist, causing him to clench his jaw into a pained grimace in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. Is he alright? “Tch-!” He suddenly tisks, before blinking out of existence. You jump when it happens, unsure of what’s even happened to begin with. It’s only after a half-second of thought that you realize to check the subtext to see what’s happened. Lo and behold, sitting in the Action Log is the activation of the ability; Full Time Stop, by user pageTime. Tricky barkgnome still wants to brawl! You scours your surroundings, anticipating the Page’s sneak attack to come at any moment, only to find that you are alone. He’s absconded. You’ve… won?

With the strife over, you allow yourself a sigh to decompress, testing the limbs of your body to ensure it hasn’t been banged up too badly. There’s some startlingly large cuts embedded within the sides of your grabberpoles, and a few broken calciumshafts that you aren’t exactly a fan of.  Not to mention whatever damage that’s been done to your lower back that you’ll have to inspect the next time you’re out of Amvinn’s body. All-in-all, you got pretty fucked up.

“Obligational Shirk.” You declare, charging your corporeal vessel with anti-antilife, ensuring you have no obligation to observe the limitations of such injuries. With the confines of finality that come with having a hole in your windchute gone, some of the more dire injuries stitch themselves back up, no longer needing to physically represent a constraint that’s been deleted from your form. With a bit of vitality back in you now, you take note of the Phantom that got Jason all up in a tizzy. Huh… normally they don’t stick around for this long… Slowly, you shamble over to the ghost’s front, observing the face of the creature that could spark such fear into a pie-dived nut job like the Page. Getting a look at her ethereal visage, you find nothing out of the ordinary. She’s a human. Not much else to note about her.

“Haugrr!” You hear the Gala call to you. A sudden spark jumps through you, as you suddenly remember you still have Duchess over them. As you turn back to your allies, you spot out of the corner of your sightglobes that the Phantom vanishes, as if dismissed by you looking away. Putting the anomaly at the back of your pan, you focus once more on your team. It was Sara who’d called for you, approaching with Creed and the living Seer of Space, Dallra, in tow. You snap your grabberprongs and the masks hanging over their faces disappears into the ether.

“Told you I had it.” You greet the three upon them reaching you. Behind with the rest of the group, Leah kneels by Ragnaa’s side, who’s collapsed into a bawling mess by now, while Ryder awkwardly hovers over them, trying to look tough and as though he were their sentry guard but really just kind of generally staring down at them like a dweeb. Mary discusses some unknown topic with Esspin while the Frank-thing idly stands by next to the grey scalebeast.

“What the hell was that? A-at the end there?” Sara asks, looking around at the scuffed up strife-grounds around you. “Why’d he freeze up like that?”

“How should I know? Crazy is as crazy does.” You shrug, feeling like she’s about to start berating you for knocking some sense into your ‘leader’. “I guess one of my Phantoms scared him off or something.”

“You have Phantoms?” She asks like it’s a bad thing. Like it didn’t just save the whole-ass day just now.

“Yeah I got phantoms, what of it?” You confirm for her, feeling the faintest bit protective of your summoning techniques. “And hold your musclebeasts before you go getting all bent out of whack, they aren’t slaves or anything like with that blueblood Thief. They aren’t even people’s souls, they’re just ghosts.”

“There’s a difference?” Dallra inquires, curious of the distinction.

“Yes, they’re… they’re more like snapshots of a person’s essence right before they die.” You explain before anyone can start clutching their pearls. “The pain they leave behind that haunts their final resting place. If I’ve seen a soul before, I usually can conjure up this moment at my discretion.”

“And this last Phantom you conjured?” Creed asks this time, a distinct light behind his eyes, signifying he’s got something brewing in his thinkpan. “Who were they?”

“That’s the thing… I’ve got no idea.” You say, turning back to glance at the last place that ghost Seer had been, a quiet paranoia that she’d somehow returned there once more passing over you as you look. “Someone I’ve never met before, that’s for sure.”

“Why’s that?” Creed follows up, chasing after a mental lead he’s got.

“Because it was a Seer of Space.” You tell them. “And it wasn’t Heimda here, either. She was human. I think I’d remember if I ended up coming across duplicate Heroes in the Arena. I’d never met them before, so there’s no way I should’ve been able to summon her Phantom…”

“Can you describe them?” Mr-fuckin’-questions continues to pepper you.

“I don’t know, humany?” You shrug, unsure what features might’ve been distinctive to a human. “Summoned entities don’t exactly have a lot of distinguishing characteristics under all that glow. The less I know about them, the less descriptive they become, and seeing as I knew zip about mystery girl, I’ve got nothing.” Creed taps his stepper, the cogs in his dome chugging along as they come to some unseen conclusion. “… I guess her eyes were strange.” You mumble, recapturing his attention. “Blacked out, with little flecks of white floating in them. Kinda like snow globes.”

“You know what a snow globe is?” He condescendingly asks.

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I know what a snow globe is?” You sneer, feeling like the comment was somehow intended as an insult. Before he can respond though, Sara jerks, looking off to the castle nearest you in the valley as if she knows something.

“I need to find him.” She declares, already heading for the structure.

“Do we know where he’s gone off to?” Creed brings up, partially asking in general, partially asking if Sara even knows where she’s going. “We only saw him blip away.”

“I’ve got a beat on him. He’s… well, he’s nearby. In the entranceblock of that highblood hive, in fact.” Dallra answers, turning to watch as Sara hurries off before taking a step towards the place herself. “I’ll come with you.” She calls after her.

“Uh, n-no!” Sara gently declines, turning back to face the Seer, halting her through her gaze. “I… I think you might just confuse him right now, Dallra.”

“Oh… o-okay.” She nods, agreeing yet unsure as to what reason she’s been excluded.

“Hey, you’re welcome, by the way!” You call after the girl as she wanders off without a care. “All things considered, I was pretty gentle with the ungrateful gnome!”

“Ah-“ She takes a breath in, almost like she’s looking to speak before she thinks. “…Thank you.” She says, stopping to look back for the briefest of moments.

“Yea-“ You begin, pausing when you realize she actually did genuinely thank you. “Yeah, well… we’re gonna have a serious talk about all this at some point, too! …Alright? Jason’s been getting more volatile and I’m not gonna sit around and let him pick this group apart!” She doesn’t respond this time, getting smaller and smaller as she ventures off after the loose-screwed Pageboy. “…Damnit……”

“Are you okay?” Dallra asks after a moment of you standing there, watching the Sylph wander off.

“Not really.” You huff, feeling bad for yourself like a schlub. “Doesn’t really matter, though.”

“I don’t like that we’re starting to fight each other.” Creed says from beside you, looking out at Sara as she goes as well.

“What, you saying I should’ve stood by and watched while he put a spike through Ragnaa’s bloodpusher?” You nip at him, standing by your decision to step in. “You saw him. He would’ve tore her windchute out.”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong for what you did.” He clarifies, glancing back at the rest of your group. “I’m just saying that I don’t like that things are going this way.”

“Is Jason… okay?” Dallra asks you.

“He’s got something in his brain.” You tell her, crossing your grabberpoles. “Some kind of virus running amuck in his thinkpan.”

“A virus?” Creed peers over at you. “You think that’s what’s making him act the way he’s been acting?”

“No. I checked the data stamp on the program. He was already headed down this path before it was uploaded.” You sigh, turning and heading to rejoin with the group. “Whatever it is in him is just hurrying the process along.” As you walk, your grabber reaches up into the center of your cranium, and extracted out from your skull is the POV. As you glance down at You, held within the palm of your hand, you ponder how this is all going to end…

“Hey, Haugrr. Just so you know, part of your posturepole is sticking out of your torso.” Dallra mentions. Hearing this, you reach back, feeling the part of your back Jason had torn into, discovering through probing grabber that a columned calciumstack had been partially degloved from your rear torso, leaving you with a short, inverted tail.

“Christ, is that your spine?!” Creed calls after, noticing the injury to your vessel. You let out a disgruntled sigh, letting your sightglobes close. No point in holding onto this anymore.

 

***

 

You had run off in such a hurry before, searching after Jason, you hadn’t thought of what you’d say once you reached him. Initially, you had been angry with Haugrr for being the one to take the first swing, but as the strife dragged on longer and longer, you realized that, just as you do right now, you had no plan to get your friend to calm down. The most you could’ve possibly offered in ways of peacekeeping was to try and remove him from the situation, and you supposed Haugrr did a better job at it than you ever could’ve… But now? You have no idea what sort of thoughts could be spinning through Jason’s head now. What kind of inner machinations are turning, grinding, springing him out of place!

Greg was the same sort of way. Cagy with his feelings, isolating himself for large swaths of time after receiving unfortunate news. You had made it a practice of letting your session mates go off on their own to clear their heads in situations like this, but often times you’d find Greg in particular would return in a much worse state than he’d leave in, which is why you felt it so imperative to track down Jason as soon as you could. You had never aided Greg in his journey, and lately that’s been bugging you a lot. You feel that you have failed in some regard this way. Greg was his own individual, accountable for his own actions, and he himself would’ve felt the sentiment at least on some level insulting to his sense of independence, but you were responsible for him. For all of your session mates, for that matter. They were your friends and you were supposed to have each other’s backs after the end of the world. And what did you do? Sit on the sidelines, too afraid to bog them down with the problems you’d cooked up in your head while they sank to the bottom away. You’re a fucking Sylph for god’s sake! You were supposed to keep them afloat! Made sure they kept kicking no matter what! You were supposed to push them towards the future where you could all just be kids again… where you could all be free… And now they’re dead, because you didn’t act.

You are a failure. You know you’re a failure, that’s why you’ve ended up here. But the repercussions of your shortcomings didn’t end at the property line of your person. They bounced off each and every one of those you kept close to you, bringing them down with you as you crashed and burned, spiraling into some sick finale Twister that you yourself had weaved to come pouring out of the sky. So when you saw which way Jason had gone, you just started walking. He was easy enough to find. That smoke that’s been burning its way out of his skull left a trail behind him after his brief jaunt through time. Haugrr said he summoned a human Seer of Space with his ghost powers, and that she had eyes like snow globes. Mia had told you the same thing about the Seer from her own session. That she had eyes that looked like the stars themselves. She also told you that Jason once had a thing for the Seer, back… back before he killed her. You can’t imagine what seeing a literal ghost from his past might’ve done to his already degrading mind, but you know one thing is without question. Jason isn’t okay to be alone right now. He needs guidance, not solitude. And you refuse to stand by while another of your friends tears himself apart again!

Finding the end of the smoke trail, you reach the steps of the castle, gently leaping up and gliding to the top step. Here, you find the doors to the stronghold have been left faintly ajar, making it clear somebody’s entered recently. You take one last self-assuring breath as you pause before the enormous threshold, eventually stepping forward, quietly pushing the door open enough to peer in. The first thing you see is Jason’s pickaxe buried in the floor off a ways away, nailing the fancy red carpet to the stone beneath it. You notice afterwards that the entire foyer has been wrecked to a significant degree. Large portions of the walls and floor pulverized, art pieces torn from their places on the various mantles about the place and cast aside, and a large mirror spanning the entire right corridor wall has been smashed, scattering glass all about the place. Several of the light fixtures have been destroyed as well, leaving the room in a partial darkness. Entering the structure fully, you begin to hear a distant weeping echo through the castle halls.

Slowly progressing forward, you continue to look around, taking in all the wreckage of the place. You stop by the shattered remains of the mirror, startled to find a significant amount of blood staining the backboard of its former frame as well as the floor beneath it, the unseen bleeder himself continuing on down the corridor, leaving a red trail of ichor behind. You continue on, taking an awkward glance at Jason’s pickaxe as you pass its place in the hallway, disconcerted to find that it still quietly hums with the last revs of a dynamo’s engine, its side flaps still giving off its excess heat from whatever tech is concealed inside. Deciding to hurry along after seeing this, you momentarily pick up your pace, worried as though the weapon itself would come alive and give chase after you, looking to plunge its pointed pike through your pitifully precious life, piercing through into what lies beyond.

After you’ve escaped the reach of living axes and dreadful thoughts, you’re confronted again by the weeping echoes as they clash against the walls. It’s a disturbing cry, one that puts needles on your neck the closer you get to it. A heartbroken sort of cry, shameful of the way it sounds, with deep sobs trying to fight themselves from coming out for the world to hear. Tottering after the red trail, you eventually come to and round the corner of the corridor, as its hall leads to the landing of a staircase and breaks off into a T split. Here you see a doorway left wide open, or rather, torn open, with its door pulled halfway off its hinges and folded to the side, light pouring out into the dim hall from within. And within as well, a figure moves about, casting their shadow out the door each time they pass it.

“Jason…?” You quietly call, fully rounding the corner as you attempt to alert your friend to your arrival so as to not ambush him by mistake. “Jason, a-… are you alright?” Startlingly, that weeping you’d been hearing shifts into a rageful and unintelligible roar, accompanied by several number of things within the room being thrown all at once. You feel yourself flinch away from the sudden outburst, but quickly remember Jason had been on a rampage through the castle, and the most recent of his lashings in fact had not been aimed at you. Onward you continue, until you stand before the open threshold, leering at the light rays it casts out as though they were a blazing barrier keeping you away. You only let it pause your headway, and not outright kill it in its tracks. Crossing that barrier, you stand now in the threshold, finding a small library in the room you’d tracked Jason down to, most of the shelves in the room having been stripped of their contents, tossed all about the place in a fit. At the far right of the room is a fireplace burning with parts of the room’s collection thrown halfway into its flames, immolating the totality of books entirely in its grasp and singeing the bindings of those only close enough to be warmed by its glow. There was a table in the room with an assortment of things that must’ve been on it now tipped on its side, scattering its former burden across the floor. And at the other side of the room is where you find him, facing the stone wall between wooden bookshelves, firmly knocking his head in a rhythmic pattern against the unwavering surface.

“fuck… fuck… fuck…” He mutters with each plunk against the wall, his head making a meaty thumping sound as it hits against its target. Ticking and Tocking like he’s trying to keep time. For some reason, his head has ceased smoking, letting you see him clearly for the first time since he exited Gin and Uk’s RV. “fuck… fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck, Fuck, Fuck, FUCK, FUck, fUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” Again and again he knocks his head, eventually diversifying his hits by punching his fists against the wall in the stead of his crown, the strikes beginning to smack with a wetness as he paints the stone with red splotches, his skin splitting further apart as the hits keep coming and coming and coming. “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!!! FUCK-“ He reels back, his spine threatening to sprain from the weight of his next hit.

“Jason!” You call, taking your first real step into the room, realizing how stunned you were beholding the display. Your call worked as intended, halting the Page in his place, his neck still cocked back, ready to plunge him headfirst into the castle’s masonry. Eventually he does turn, facing you only halfway, peering towards you from the side of a single eye. ”…Jason, what are you-“ You go to walk closer to him when suddenly he snaps around completely at you.

“Hey, you Stay Away from me!” He barks, pointing a crooked finger at you. “You just stay the hell away from me Sara. Don’t think I’m not on to your games!” Facing you now, you’re able to see the large gash across his forehead he’d carved open, banging it all those times, leaving it a wide red mess upon his temple. Blood’s trickled down from the injury, dividing like a river at the bridge of his nose. The left-most of these streams breaking off, conducting into his eye and down a majority of his cheek. He looks like a madman… You also notice that the hand he’s pointed to accuse you with has bits of glass embedded within the knuckles, likely being the one he smashed the mirror in the foyer with.

“W-what games, Jason? I’m not playing any games, I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.” You shake your head to assure the deranged boy, slowly but surely stepping further into the room towards him. His breathing seems to quicken at this. Or maybe it was already like this? Uneven and panicky, like the way you’d get in the extreme colds.

“You’re lying!” He angrily affirms, his pointed hand starting to tremble more and more. “You’ve come here to finish the job! I saw you helping him, that fucking traitor! You’ve been against me since the start, since she got to you first!“

“She? Who’s-“ Before you can finish your question, Jason whips around, flinging a brick from his lowered hand to clatter against the bookcase to his right. A brick he’d somehow pulled out from the wall before him, and a brick you’d somehow missed, clutched there in his hand.

“Mia!” He shouts as the chunk of stone slams against the barren wood coffers, plummeting to the floor as the momentum wears from it. “She found you, filled your head up with lies about what happened! She turned you against me! What did she say?! Huh? That it was my fault?! She’s the monster, not me! Not Me!!!”

“Mia…?” You question, unsure why she’s come up all of a sudden. Starting at him as he paces back and forth at his small space between the bookcases, his breathing growing more frantic as he goes on, you realize what he’s talking about. What happened… “Your session…” You mutter, getting the gist now. He watches you from the corner of his eye still, paranoid you might leap out at him at any second. “Mia didn’t talk all that much about it… She only told me a little of what happened. About the party. About how you lost control, and that all of them were dead when she found them…”

“It wasn’t me… It wasn’t Me! She-! She-!!!” He points out towards the door, as if Mia herself were to appear in its threshold upon his gesture. His chest is jumping up and down like he’s just run a marathon. You think he’s starting to have a panic attack.

“She also told me that she wished she could take back what happened!” You interject before Jason can double over and die from his heart popping like a balloon. “She said her greatest regret was doing what she did to you… That it was the biggest mistake she’d ever made.”

“S-… she did?” He halts his pacing, turning to face you head-on again. “…Why?”

“Because… Because them dying is what landed her in the Arena.” You tell him, recalling your first conversation with Mia after Greg had died. When she told you all her friends were dead as well. Jason’s head does this strange little fidget, as if he’s losing control of where he’s looking, eventually settling with him gazing off at the fire as it gnaws on what remains of the books he’d fed it.

“Is that all she told you…?” He stands, unlooking at you, too ashamed now to meet his eyes with yours.

“…She also told me that the Seer’s name was Lexie, and that you loved her.” You answer him. He grunts, as though he’d just choked on something caught in his throat, and you see his stomach tremble as his diaphragm wobbles under spasming lungs that've ejected all breath from his chest. He slams his eyes shut in one last ditch effort to keep the tears at bay, eventually opening them up to gaze at the fire again when he realizes he can’t bottle them up anymore.

He’s sobbing now, silent save for a slight hiccup as the liquid escaping his sockets wash away partly the blood that’s painted his face. All the while, still looking away from you, trying to pretend he can’t see you there in his peripherals. Reaching up to clutch his head, Jason partially covers his face, embarrassed and leaving the eye with his scar to face the world. Reaching over to clutch his heart, he takes hold of a knot’s worth of his shirt, curling his fingers tightly to his chest as if he were to press the feelings out of him with pressure alone, both of his hands expressing vastly different forms of the pain he’s got wrapped up inside. Finally, the full weight of the panic attack hits him, and your friend drops to his knees, his entire torso looking like it’s mired with spasms trying to keep itself under control. Collapsing to the floor entirely, he plunges his face into the stone, still clutching his heart as he bellows uneven cries against the ground, bearing his soul to the shag of the rug while twitching and convulsing from the involuntary throws of his fit, folding him into a mound-like state. He’s curled into himself, as though he were bowing down before some great effigy of ice and terror. A pilgrim and worshiper of a frozen god. After a moment of hesitation, shocked by what you see, you approach your friend, crossing the eternity that’d separated you in the library.

“hr… hr…” You hear him mumble through short-drawn breaths as you arrive at his sorrowful place of prayer, coming to the side of the Page as he tries to bury himself into the earth below him.

“Breathe. Just breathe…” You tell him, laying a hand upon his back and focusing a zephyr to pass over his spirit. Like a raging sea being tamed into a still drift, the spasming chest of Jason’s softens to only a slight tremble. Kneeling there, down by his side, you notice that Jason's gotten blood on his sleeves, the stains of which nearly vanishing into the red of his god tiers. He must've gotten them dirty after he cut his fist on the mirror. That has to be it... Finally, Jason lets out a deep and gasping breath, able to regulate his panicked lungs again. Yet still he remains there, prostrated and unable to face the world. So you stay there with him, waiting for when he can stand on his own again.

“It was her out there…” He says so quietly you think he’s telling his secrets to the floor. “I saw her eyes… she looked at me and I knew it was her… watching me… asking me why… why did I do it…” He continues, his head raising just to the point where you think he might sit up from his place on the floor, only to thump his head against the stone once more. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Three times, like a tic or a hex ward. “it was her… it was her… it was her…”

As Jason continues to repeat himself, a sputtering toy on its last drop of batteries, you look out through the broken-open doors across the room. You don’t know who you were looking for to be standing there in that threshold, but they hadn’t come regardless. And so you sit there, next to your friend as he flogs himself with words and stone, only wishing you weren’t so fucking pathetic. If you weren’t, maybe you could’ve done something more for him. For all of them. Maybe… maybe you should be someone else for a bit…

 

Sara, be Someone Else.

Chapter 56: > Interlude; A Good Book, a Glass of Wine

Hello. Sorry to intrude like this, but it seemed like someone made the request to be someone else. Which is quite fortunate for you. You just so happen to not be that person in question, and you also just so happen to be an expert on being yourself, too. So you’re the perfect person to be somebody else! Or… you guess you’re alright at being someone else. You’d much rather be yourself. Although being yourself hasn’t always been the breeze you make it sound either. Sometimes it could be a bit of a… up-hill venture, so to say. Anyway, you’re getting off track. Since it didn’t look like anyone else was going to answer this person’s ‘Be Someone Else’ request, you decided to step up. And now you’re here!

Oh, but where are your manners! You haven’t introduced yourself. Your name is Ella Carbonnier and you are the Mage of Life. And for the past eight years, since you came of age at your tenth birthday, you’ve been the handler of your family’s estate, Château de Brosia, as well as chief vintner of your entire production line. You’ve been told by relatives who held no vested interest in the business that it was highly unusual for someone as young as you to be given the role you had received, and that most of your predecessors had only taken the mantle well into their mid-thirties. Inquiring about this, your family would only say that you were incredibly skilled at the position they’d entrusted you to, and that it was a great honor to be fulfilling such a task for the family at your age. For a time, this gave you a sense of pride in yourself, able to take on these responsibilities at such an early stage in life, regardless of the fact that these responsibilities earned you no sway within the business itself. ‘You’re still a child’ they’d say, ‘of course you can’t be making decisions for the company. Leave that for the grownups.’ Never mind that you were also put in charge of all of the estates’ accounting and finances as well, or that they on numerous occasions told you to cook the books for them for years your brand wasn’t selling as well. You had a job to do, and so you ventured to produce a wine you could be proud of when you saw others drink it. For years, you broke your back and put in the work to bring your Family’s Wine to the very top, make it a household name for the upper crust by sheer determination alone. And with it, so too did you turn your family’s relatively obscure cabaret into an entire dynasty that had begun expanding its reach beyond the wine market. And you can say without a doubt that you hated it. Oooh, the apocalypse couldn't have come any sooner! Sure, seeing the vineyard you’d tended to since birth be pulverized like it was nothing more than inutile des ordures was devastating, but at least you could rest your feet for once. Your days no longer defined by a rigorous schedule that’d drain you of every last drop of energy. No more did you have to wake at the crack of dawn to tend the fields, spend your afternoons making sure the house was spotless, and slog deep into the night balancing your business’s checkbook, having to account for all the bits of fraud your family would commit, leaving you to sweep away the countless financial breadcrumbs leading to their ill-gotten fortune. No, you had escaped all that. Whisked away to a far off place where the worries of the world couldn't find you.

It was nice in the Land of Honey and Isles, and it felt like you could’ve lounged there and enjoyed your little garden for an eternity. But, all good things must come to an end though, and your easy days on LOHAI came to an unfortunate halt when your Denizen grew impatient waiting for you to solve the riddles or whatever it was they set up as a quest for you to slink through. They sought you out directly, questioned you why your journey was taking so long. You had told them you’d get to it eventually, and that once you actually started putting effort into it, the quest would be completed, 24 hours or less and… well they took exception to that. Suddenly, those kid-friendly dungeons and puzzles that awaited you on the path ahead were compounded to an unbelievable degree. Challenges you’d come to face were unprecedented, the Land itself now mired in lethal traps and ambushes at every corner, conducted by beasts too daunting to take on without the most deadly of countermeasures. And simply getting past the physical obstacles put you no closer to your goal, either. There were also the runic conundrums you had to solve. Scribed Enigmas that took weeks upon weeks to solve only to be scrambled and reset by minions of the Denizen once you took too long. Problems closer in likeness to mathematical super formulas than any sort of troll-guarded bridge query that had been in their place at the start of your path. It was only by an act of God that you managed to get far enough into the journey to discover your Quest Bed, and you only just discovered it too, being moved to a different location nearly twice a day. With the way things went, it was really only a matter of time before the Land itself devolved into nothing more than a dense knot of problems comparable to an overwound ball of yarn. A Labyrinth, unable to be navigated. A vineyard, overgrown and mutated to grow thorns…

But, all that’s in the past now. At the moment, you’re relaxing in a small cottage on a World filled with Windmills. You’re sat by an open windowsill, letting the breeze run through your hair as you savor the smoky wafts of vanilla of a glass of your family’s Pinot Noir; Le Larmes du Ciel. And one can’t truly enjoy a glass of wine without a pairing, can they? You had found a patch of mushrooms on one of the Blood planets you were passing through, and with a bit of meat you still had on hand, you made a turkey mushroom stroganoff to enjoy the afternoon. You take a sample and rest your eyes on the peaceful villa before you, enjoying the almost picturesque canvas the window captures of the Land outside. You think you’d have liked to have a home like this cottage, had you still had to live on Earth. Although this is a suitable alternative.

“Okay, so the confrontation happens at the house on Neibolt Street, but that’s just what drives It down into the sewers.” You hear from the other side of the room. “The confrontation you’re looking for happens down there. I’d say just follow one of the kids until they go down to find It or find your way there yourself, either way should work.” Glancing over you see your pote, a young man by the name of Caliban Eastman, his hands pressed against the top of the table he’s stood at, peering down at a book that’s been left open at its center. He was the one to act as your server player back when you were still playing Sburb. The one who first took you away from the world. He belongs to, or rather belonged to, a family of American distributors who had given Château de Brosia an in with the US market. You remember the first time you met Caliban, your parents had introduced you in hopes that a friendship between you would ensure a partnership with his family and yours. He was an odd boy at the time, and for all accounts still is, you’d say. You had thought Caliban was a rather strange name, and were originally hesitant to meet him at first, but after getting to know the boy better, you found it was nice to finally have a peer who could understand the pressure of a family business that had taken hold of your personal life. It also helped that he seemed interesting from the get-go, being a curious-explore type. In later years, after entering and progressing through Sburb, he would come to be known as the Seer of Void to his Land. He was a good Seer, you think. Or at the very least, he was the best Seer he could be, given the circumstances. He hadn’t taken the apocalypse as well as you had. While you viewed the end of the world as if it were a retirement, he saw it as the greatest travesty to even befall mankind, a wrong he’d one day figure out how to right. Because of that, he held a lot of resentment towards his quest and his Land itself, seeing it as though it were a direct taunt from the machinations that had destroyed his home, and thought the fancy powers he’d received upon progressing towards God Tier were just a way for the game to get him to forget about the world he’d left behind. Things only got worse after he Ascended. There was a bit of trouble with interdimensional horrors getting him to circumvent and undermine a lot of the Session for their own purposes, and things seemed to fall apart after that. You were worried for Cal during these times, yet simultaneously furious with him for what he’d done. But you suppose it’s nothing you both haven’t moved past at this point. You’re just happy he’s still with you…

“I’m sorry, what is a sewer again? That’s like the human wastechasm, yes?” A response of echoing words comes tumbling out from the pages of the book Caliban’s observed. That would be Ycorax Etebos, a peculiar alien girl you and Cal had stumbled across in your time in the Arena. She’s what her people call a Troll, and more specifically a Teal Blood at that. Apparently, her species display different shades of blood color based on social standing, a revelation that blew your mind when you first heard it. Such an odd concept to base a hierarchy upon, as opposed to humanity’s economic based caste.

“Yeah, it’s like… where the drains lead to. It’ll be full of water, and they lead out to the river in the Barrens so you could probably get in from there if you need.“ Cal says back to the book. The book being Ycorax for all intents and purposes. Not to say that she turned into the book, though. Rather, she had turned herself into pure information and melded into the story itself, letting her enter the book. Bet you’ve never heard of that before, huh? Jumping into a book. Crazy! You see, Ycorax is able to do this because of her Title as the Heir of Light. She’s like, all about Stories and Knowledge and all that. It’s her thing.

She’s a peculiar sort, you think. Very straight-laced yet somehow punchy, a rough-and-tumble type. Although maybe Trolls are just like that? Extreme by nature yet existing in the mundane. Strange creatures. Funny enough, you had come across Ycorax while passing over a bridge. Curious, isn’t it? A troll and a bridge, like straight out of Three Billy Goats Gruff. Only there were just two goats in your rendition of the fairytale, you and Cal. However, after a brief introduction, and a long exchange of personal hardships and tribulations that built a sort of understanding between you all, you and Cal had mutually decided to group up with the Fairy-winged maiden. So in a way, she’s become something of a third Billy Goat for your group herself.

And although not human, Ycorax has actually seemed to adapt to your culture relatively quickly in the time you’ve known her. Adopting most of your terminology and colloquialisms as though she’s used them all her life, even exchanging her Trollian vocabulary completely for a human one, only ever using more alien expressions to clarify her understanding of human concepts. You aren’t sure why she’s done this, but you suppose if she’s interested in your culture, who are you to question it? She’s even taken a liking to human books and movies, or at the very least the ones you’ve got on hand with you in the Arena. That’s actually how all this started. She had asked Cal for a recommendation for her to read, and Caliban being Caliban had gotten in his head an idea. One of those ideas where he goes quiet for a long time, staring off a thousand miles as he thinks it through. After that, he convinced Ycorax to travel inside the book to find some secret power he knew about.

“Remind me again, why have we sent Cory into your book, Caliban?” You ask, glancing over your shoulder at your friend’s ‘operations base’ or however he put it.

“Because, we’re trying to get her the ability to Shine.” He answers, giving you a sassy little look like he’s over trying to clarify his vague and somewhat absurd plans. “With it, she could communicate with us wherever we go and see into the future and a whole bunch of other stuff too!”

“Shouldn’t you have sent her into the book The Shining, then? That’s a copy of It.” You point out, physically pointing to the book on the table before him with your fork still in your hand.

“There isn’t anyone in The Shining who can teach Ycorax to Shine.” He tells you, glancing from the corners of his eyes while still facing his base.

“Yes there is, there’s that man who gave the little boy ice-cream.” You remind him, remembering the one time you’d seen the Nicholson flick.

“Hallorann only explained the Shine to Danny, he didn’t teach it to him. Danny was able to Shine from the beginning.” Cal explains, proving himself the expert on the matter. Makes sense, he’s probably read those books three times over, inside and out.

“I don’t see how sending her into It will get her any closer, though. The kids in that story didn’t have the Shine.” You squint, wondering if looking at the situation harder would help you understand it better.

“Of course the Losers Club had the Shine! Pretty much all King’s protagonists have the Shine, it’s like the uniting thread between all his books.” He straightens up to address your ignorance more formally. “How do you think they defeated Pennywise?”

“Hey, so am I still going to the Barrens?” Ycorax pipes up, calling attention back to the task at hand.

“You can, but whichever way gets you to the tunnel systems under Derry quickest is best.” Cal coaches her through the Maine township.

“Tunnel System? But… aren’t those tunnels filled with grey water?” You hear Ycorax ask from the book.

“Well yeah, it’s a sewer. It’s gonna be a bit foul.” Cal says like it’d be obvious to her.

“Ugh, grooooss!” The book bellows, causing a few of the pages to flourish in the breeze. “Why do I have to be the one going into the Horror novel? I haven’t even seen the monster yet and I’m already mortified.”

“Because you’re the only one who can morph into light and intertwine with literature.” Cal reminds her, gesturing to the book as if she could see his motions.

“That’s just categorically untrue.” She denies him.

“Juju’s don’t count.” Cal crosses his arms, looking down at the book.

“Okay, but like why can’t it be like a vampire novel?” Ycorax asks back, subtly suggesting they abandon their current mission for one more suitable to her tastes.

“There’s vampires in King’s universe!” Cal excitedly brings up, intending to explain Stephen King’s extended universe for the fifth time today. “There’s even psychic vampires who eat the souls of people who can Shine. So cool!”

“I mean romantic vampire novels, not more horror. Like Twilight!” The book chirps, delighted with the idea.

“Ugh, god no.” Cal sneers, repulsed by said idea. “Twilight is lowbrow drivel filled with logging-town angst and love triangles between a moody girl, a wolf and a corpse. It’s ridiculous!”

“No it’s not! It’s a dramatic will-she-won’t-she of a girl caught between two different worlds.” Ycorax defends the young adult series.

“It’s hogwash.” Cal rolls his eyes.

“It’s relatable!” Ycorax’s book argues back.

“Sparkling.” He leans in close. “Vampires.”

“Okay, but… Twilight vampires not burning in sunlight is lore-accurate to original vampires, though.” She brings up. “Dracula was never affected by the sun, he just didn’t go out in daytime all that often, so no one ever questioned it when movies started implementing the sunlight weakness. They just accepted it as cannon because, y’know, creatures of the night and all. So maybe I’m onto something with this Twilight idea. Maybe there’s-”

“The answer is no.” Cal dismisses.

“Aw, common!” The book flips through its entire binding of pages in protest.

“Cory, what the hell are you on about?” Caliban says to the book once it finishes ruffling. “We’re trying to get you psychic abilities, not to consort with monsters. We need the Shine.”

“Didn’t you just say that there are vampires that eat people who Shine?” Ycorax asks after a moment of pause.

“Don’t worry about them, you’ll leave before they have the chance to pick up your scent. Just focus on the task at hand. Psychic powers.” He tries to steer the conversation back on track. “You want psychic powers, don’t you? You said it yourself, your caste didn’t have those, right? This is how you get them. I can lead you to them, just follow my instructions and you’ll be fine.”

“I used to be psychic once.” You muse, giving the wine in your glass a swirl as you gaze thoughtfully out the window.

“…What?” Cal looks over to your spot by the windowsill.

“Yeah. Used to be able to talk to plants.” You tell him, waxing somewhat nostalgic about those years in the vineyard. “I’d encourage the grapes to raise their acidity during harvest. It really showed in the flavor profile when paired with a meat dish. Not so much the aroma, but it still had a strong berry scent.”

“Okay…… and you can’t anymore?” He asks, befuddled by your longing contemplation.

“Nope. The plants stopped talking back.” You sigh, recalling how depressingly silent the gardens on that one Art Museum world were. “Perhaps they’re just shy in the Arena…”

“…” Cal stares at you, eyes narrowing and he makes it apparent he doesn’t know what to do with your side-tangent.

“…So psychic powers?” Ycorax speaks back up.

“Right.” Caliban sighs, turning back to the book. “You’re gonna be looking for the scene where Bill looks into the Deadlights, which throws him into the Macroverse where he meets the Giant Turtle, Maturin.”

“And the turtle will…?” She indicates for him to continue explaining. You gotta admit to, you’re pretty confused where this is going as well.

“He should be able to teach you to Shine. He’s the creator of the Universe the story takes place in, he’s bound to have some sway over events there. You’ll just have to convince him to help, which shouldn’t be a problem for someone as apt at channeling knowledge toward herself as you.”

“I am quite the charmer, I suppose.” The book agrees.

“So their universe has a big turtle, but ours has a big frog.” You hum to yourself, pondering upon the clandestine facets of the narrative, both yours and the book’s. “Hm…”

“If nothing else, Maturin should be able to provide us with an insight about our predicament in the Arena. He’s a very powerful Turtle, after all.” Cal strokes his chin, marveling at the genius of his plan, you’re sure. “Anyway, even if you miss the Deadlights, you’ll still have another chance at getting into the Macroverse. Both fights for the Losers Club happen at the same time in the book, so you should be able to jump in yourself at some point. I’d say if that happens, go for when Bill initiates the Ritual of Chüd against It, so It’ll be too busy with its fight with the Losers to notice you slip in.”

“Sounds simple enough. How do I tell when they do this Chew thing?” Ycorax inquires, seeming to grasp the plan more and more.

“You’ll be able to tell you’re there if Bill psychically bites into giant spider-Its tongue.” Cal answers like he didn’t just say some psycho shit.

“…That’s in the book?” She asks back.

“Hey, so question.” You say, raising your fork to signal for Caliban’s attention. “Are we just having Cory get these powers for the fun of it, or does this venture actually have a purpose?”

“First off, how dare you, I’d kill to trade places with Ycorax right now, second, aside from the tactical advantage the Shine could provide, it’s only stage one of Operation; If you give a Troll a Psyching.” Caliban smirks. “Stage two is progressing her into a Breaker.”

“Do I even want to ask?” You raise an eyebrow at the term.

“Breakers are like living psychic weapons in King’s universe. The Crimson King uses them to try and destroy the Beams that hold up the Dark Tower, the multiverse’s center of creation, so he can rule over primordial chaos there.” He briefly explains. “Some people’ve actually speculated that Carrie was a Breaker, which is just beyond cool with how interconnected his works were. Anyway, I figure being trapped in a cosmic play-pen the way we are, if we have a Breaker on our side, we could bust out of the Arena, no sweat! And then, the universe won’t be able to ignore us anymore… All we have to do is get Cor the training she needs in Mid-World and she’ll be crazy powerful!”

“Um, w-who is the Crimson King, and why does that name make me very uneasy?” Ycorax asks, her pages flipping with hesitation.

“Don’t worry about him, he probably hasn’t even noticed your presence in the story yet.” Cal assures her. As he continues on with enacting his weird fanboy plan, there suddenly comes a thoom from outside, snapping your attention to the window just in time to see a racing blue blur zoom across the sky mid-flight, off what must be several miles south from where you are, breaking the sound barrier as they go.

“I don’t like the ’probably’ in that statement.” Ycorax huffs.

“What in God’s name was that?!” You stand up, sticking your head out the window to get a better look. The blur continues on, soaring through the sky, zipping and diving every which way free as a bird before disappearing over the horizon. You wonder who that was…

“What was what?” Cal glances back at you, confused by your call before turning back to the book. He didn't notice? ...You sit back down as well, figuring you’ve got nothing to worry about with the blur whisking off to somewhere else on the Planet. “Anyway, the Dark Tower is at the center of the Macroverse, so if you can navigate there, you should be able to find your way to Mid-World. You could try asking Maturin to lead you there also, he’s actually one of the twelve guardians of the Beams that hold the Tower up. Don’t go to the other side of his Beam, though. Chances are there’ll be a giant cyborg bear named Shardik there who won’t take too kindly to trespassers."

“Okay I feel like you’re messing with me at this point.” The book skeptically comments. You take a sip from your wine in solidarity.

“It’s all in there.” He nods.

“That all seems like a lot of nonsense. When do I get to meet the spouses of the Losers club?” Ycorax changes the subject back to the book she’s in. “I feel bad for Myra the most. It seems like the book wants you to not like her that much because she’s like the one guy’s mother, but she doesn’t seem like a bad person. And she just gets left by her husband without an explanation. That’s so horrible! Doesn’t Stan end up dying in the end, too?”

“W-… Stan literally dies in the beginning. You should’ve seen that already, it’s like the second or third chapter.” Cal scrunches his face up, baffled how anyone could forget something about his favorite book.

“I’m not going chapter-by-chapter in here, time has been progressing chronologically. That shit doesn’t happen for another 27 years for me.” She informs him, flipping a single page back and forth.

“Wait, you’re going chronologically?” Cal asks, somewhat taken aback by the information.

“Yeah, I’m still in 1958.” Ycorax confirms.

“Well then how the fuck do you know who Myra is? And wait, Myra is Eddie’s wife, not Stan. Stan is married to Patricia!” Cal starts getting touchy over the details.

“Who’s Patricia? I don’t think I’ve met her yet.” The book brushes him off.

“I hope you get lost in the Macroverse.” He mutters to himself, peering daggers at the book in frustration. Le gars takes his literature seriously, you suppose.

“Wait, is she the Jewish Mermaid?” Ycorax inquires.

“How do you know Patricia is the Jewish Mermaid and not know that Stanley dies in the beginning?!” Your vieil ami asks in exacerbation.

“How does a bird know to fly, Caliban?” The book flips back and forth entirely. “How does a ghost know to haunt, or a fear-eater know to shape-shift? It’s instinct!”

“Fuck, okay whatever.” He shakes his head, as though drenched with frustration. “If you’re experiencing things chronologically, you really want to make sure you get into the Macroverse before they end the Ritual because it’ll be nearly three decades before they take another swing at Chüd again. Just know that if you get to the orgy scene, you’ve gone too far and missed your exit.”

“……Orgy scene?” Ycorax asks after a long pause.

“Y-…yeah. It happens after they defeat It the first time, when they’re searching for a way out of the sewers.” Cal mumbles, realizing how strange what he’s talking about sounds out loud.

“…” The book was too stunned to speak.

“You still there?” Cal asks.

“Am I misunderstanding something here? Isn’t 11 still considered juvenile for your species?” She inquires, hoping only that she’s run into a cultural mistranslation, being only 8 sweeps old herself.

“Uh… yeah……” He acknowledges with a biting cringe.

“………” Ycorax stays deafeningly silent for an extended frame of time. “Was this in the Book?!” The pages finally fly.

“I-it’s supposed to represent unity between the Losers! If anything, it should just be looked at like a metaphor.” Cal tries to explain the logic behind the scene, realizing as he goes on that there’s no real defending it. “Look, there was a lot of cocaine during the writing of this book, I’m not saying it’s perfect.”

“You literally said it was the perfect book when I asked you about it!” Ycorax brings up, slamming her bindings open and closed.

“I said it was a perfect depiction of growing up in America, which it is.” He clarifies, embarrassed at the call-out.

“…Fornicating in the sewers was a perfect depiction of your childhood in America?” You ask, glancing back with a palate full of stroganoff.

“Can it from the peanut gallery.” Cal grimaces at you, perturbed by the cheeky comment.

“Peanut Gallery is still a better place to do it than a drainpipe.” You mutter into your glass while taking a sip.

“I meant growing up like palling around in the unused lots around town and building pointless stuff with your buddies when you’ve got nothing better to do. Being a misfit hassled by the bigger kids at school, that sort of stuff. You wouldn’t get it.” Caliban sighs, struggling to express himself in a dignified way.

“Certainly not. Thank God for France.” You sigh with relief, glad that the meteor that took you to Earth landed some place reasonable and civilized.

“Oh whatever. You don’t even sound French.” He rolls his eyes.

“Of course I don’t. I’ve taken great care to speak without my accent.” You note, somewhat proud of your talent to turn your speaking patterns on and off at will. “Ould eu purfur I tok lik zis?”

“Nope, I take it back.” He immediately backtracks, warded off by your accent like a vampire to garlic. You can’t help the giggle that escapes from your chest at it. “My deepest apologies, madam. You’re right, it was foolish of me to tempt fate is such a way.”

“Oh, non?” You continue on, causing a begrudging smile to carve its way onto Caliban’s face, clearly amused and struggling bad to hide it. “Whaz wrong, mon ami? Eu dnt lik ze way I tok?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolls his eyes. “I already said I’m sorry, so y-…” Suddenly, in the midst of your banter, Cal’s face goes pale. The whites of his eyes darken as he stands there frozen, fading away until they’ve left his irises floating in a nothing void. You’ve seen this before, back when he was still communicating with horrors. Back when they’d whisper to him their cankerous secrets. “Ella, summon a weapon.”

“Hu?” You sit up in your chair, setting your fork down to address the situation fully. “Weapon? U-which one?”

“Whichever one is strongest.” He directs you as he closes Ycorax’s book up and walks it over to the corner in the room by a bookshelf.

“Hey, what’s happening up there?” Ycorax calls out, slightly muffled by the shut bindings.

“Cory, stay where you are, don’t come out from the book.” He orders, sliding the novel onto the shelf, blending it in with the other stories that were stored away there. “And keep quiet. Don’t say anything, whatever you hear. Ella, sword, now!” He turns back to you at the tail end of his instructions, causing you to jump into your strife deck without another thought. Summoned to your hand is your trusted Rapier; Thistles of a Christmas Morn.

“Cal, what’s happening? What are you seeing?” You beseech your companion, knowing too well the fearful look in his eye will keep him from saying. Before Caliban can try and fail to answer, there comes a terrible screech. The horrid sound of metal being torn from its place, followed by the distant sound of a great collapse. One of the windmills? Did it fall? You and Cal exchange a glance, worried of the same thing, though you yourself not knowing what. He turns back to the bookshelf.

“Remember. Get into the Macroverse, learn to Shine, go to Mid-World, then you become a Breaker.” He frantically hisses to the book in its place on the shelf. “You can escape this place, Cor. You can bust your way out. I’ve seen it. The sky itself torn asunder, and all that’s left looking back down are the Pieces of the Night, fractured from heaven and pointed like saw blades. Shatter them. Rend them to dust and you shall be free.” Again, there comes the horrid sound of metal ripping, before an earth-shaking boom. Another windmill. Did this one fall too? Or maybe the other clashed into this one, sending it on a crash course? No, it can’t be. The mills here are too spaced apart to knock into one another. Something is tearing them down.

“…” Ycorax remains silent from her place within the pages, yielding to Cal’s dire warning. Suddenly, the world outside your window vanishes, as if the sun had ceased to be, and your cabin is left in a chittering nighttime void.

Turning back from the shelf, Caliban faces you, mouth left agape as though he were to say something, only to breathe in a heavy breath to try and calm his nerves. He looks at you the way one would their friend after hearing the primer click of a landmine. Like he knows something horrific and violent and inescapable lurks only a single instance ahead in your future. It’s a bone-chilling look, one that expresses his fears better than any incoherent explanation he could ever conjure up from panicking lips. He summons to him a Book from his strife deck, the dark tome floating before him, suspended in its place in the air by powers unknown, opening itself up to a page teeming with other-worldly majyyks. Extending a hand out to the spread, he mutters the beginnings of his spells, prepared to cast them at a pin’s drop. And suddenly, you hear it. The one that’d whipped Caliban up into a frenzy, their feet scraping against the gravel path as they approach the cottage. Heavy, laborious steps. Powerful steps. Each once leading the apparition closer and closer to you. Until finally, they’re there, lingering at the step before your door. You hold still, thinking you could somehow trick the thing outside into believing your house was abandoned, empty of all life. Yet still they stay there, so long and so quiet that you for a fleeting few seconds question if they’re still there at all.

“There once was a wolf who prowled the woods, gobbling up prey as a predator should.” Cal mutters to himself, hushed enough you could never be sure if you heard it at all. “Jilted and wrathful of ones lost in the fray, he hunted the rabbit who’d gotten away. The trail he did find was not of the hare, twas that of his brother, who’s speed made chase unfair. And so the wolf starved, eating nothing but twigs. Until he came across the house of three-

“Little pigs, little pigs…” A voice comes piercing through the walls, deep and formless and causing you to jump.

 

 

*SLAM*

 

 

*SLAM*

 

 

*SLAM*

 

Three thunderous knocks come slamming against the door. These knocks carry with them a weight, an authority, that splinters the wood of the barrier more and more with each hit, the last of which leaving a narrow gap between the door and its frame as it bends partially off the hinges, a mist as black as midnight pouring in after it. And suddenly, in this space between frames, a single eye appears, peering in at you from beyond the threshold, frantic and wild. “Let Me In.”

You extend your wrist down, tilting the point of your blade up and setting it aimed at the door, intending to face the intruder head-on. You hadn’t instructed your body to do this. Taking a stance had become an entirely automatic response when presented with danger, conditioned after months of non-stop peril on LOHAI. Had you been the one in charge of your movements, you doubt you would’ve budged an inch, petrified by the gaze of the eye as it watches from behind the door. As though it were a gorgon, a slithering, wrathful beast cementing you in place with dread alone.

With one final cataclysmic knock of its fist, the creature blows the door off its hinges, launching it across the room between you and Caliban, leaving it to slam against the wall, raining down as nothing more than wooden pulp upon gracing the floor. In its place, the door had been usurped by a veil of smoke and nightshade, its vines slithering out like snakes coiling up the walls of the cabin, eager to be given entry to the keep. As the slithering coils worm their way in, you hear it once more. Those rasping whispers you had once begged so desperately to return to you. The plants, the nightshade. They’re speaking. You listen, and your body goes cold when you hear what it is they have to say, the hopes you held to speak with the world as you once had shriveling away like the autumn leaf.

si la mort avait créé une baie

ne feraient-ils pas le plus doux des vins

si la mort avait créé une baie

ne feraient-ils pas le plus doux des vins

si la mort avait créé une baie

ne feraient-ils pas le plus doux des vins

si la mort avait créé une baie

 

ne feraient-ils pas le plus doux des vins

si la mort avait créé une baie

ne feraient-ils pas le plus doux des vins

si la mort avait créé une baie

ne feraient-ils pas le plus doux des vins

si la mort avait créé une baie

ne feraient-ils pas le plus doux des vins

Over and over, they mutter their poison, and you find it harder to breathe. Out from the shadows creeps the creature, taking form and bearing its teeth.

It stands there at the doorway. Waiting, as if it were a vampire, barred from entry without proper invitation. And for a moment so fleeting that it’d be pointless to take note, you feel as if you were safe. It is then that they take their first step in. You finally see now, as it becomes clearer in the view of the room, that the thing bears a coat of arms upon its shirt’s left breast. The Crest of the Carbonizer Family. In a panic, you look to its eyes and find it wears the face of your father, a sight you so desperately tried to forget.

The last thing you ever are to hear is the sound of the glass you had left on the table as it crashes and shatters against the floor.

Chapter 57: > What We’ve Left Behind

You feel a chill run up your posturepole seeing the small hillhive on LOWAC being razed to the ground, the inhabitants within left as nothing more than lifeless corpses amongst the burning rubble. You didn’t know either of the Humans, but regardless of affiliation, the grizzly sight’s left you feeling close to emptying your acidsac.

In the aftermath of the wreckage, the perpetrator of the massacre ambles away from the scene, the masquerade he’d worn during the killings evaporating from his form like embers burning from a funeral pyre. In the wake of the human adult he had just been stands the smoking form of the Heir of Rage, aimlessly continuing down his path, inevitably encroaching on his next victim, whoever the poor soul may be.

Walking along, the Heir sinks his grabber into the side of a zephyrharvester as he goes by it, and with a quick jerk, tears an entire panel from its side, destabilizing the base of the structure enough to trigger a collapse event. You aren’t sure why he’s done this. To vent out a fraction of the fathomless anger he has bubbling inside his bloodtubes, perhaps? The lives of the Arena contestants behind him clearly being nowhere near enough to sate his appetite.

Although it made you sick to watch, you’re thankful to have taken notice of the scene playing out at the hive on LOWAC. You’re thankful because there was a period of time after the Heir had taken on Jason and the Prince of Life that you had lost track of him. Likely having been stained by whatever concealing effect the Prince had laced on his tendrils, excluding him from your view. It seems whatever the substance was that kept him hidden he had burnt off however, allowing you to track him once more. The incident at the hive was the first time since LOFAC that you’d seen him, and the only thing worse than seeing the gruesome works of such a brute is seeing the aftermath of them and not knowing where he’s gotten off to. Like a Shadowdropper prowling about the subgrub in the middle of the day. You’ll be taking care to keep a close tab on him going forward.

You’re Dallra Heimda by the way. Sorry, it’s just been such a long night, you’d forgotten to introduce yourself. At the moment, you’re sat on the floor with your back against the wall, staring at the strange portrait of a purrbeast across from you. You’ve been lingering in the hallway of another highblood hive your group had taken refuge in after tensions boiled over between Jason and Haugrr. It’s been two hours since the strife, and the atmosphere hasn’t changed in the slightest within the team. Unsure where you all stand with one another, doubting of the path that lays before you, and unanimously exhausted from the events of the night. Creed’s downstairs right now, talking things over with everyone and trying to keep things calm. You aren’t sure what’s being said, unable to read his lips accurately enough to decipher what he’s discussing, but you can tell that a restlessness still remains prominent in the room.

You’re on the second floor of the hive right now, outside the block Jason had locked himself inside of after recomposing himself in the aftermath from his strife. You were unsure why Sara had asked you to hang back when she went off to find him, but after explaining the situation when you all regrouped, she reminded you of the fact that Jason had actually known a Seer of Space back in his session. Apparently seeing the apparition Haugrr created of her really messed with Jason’s pan. You were surprised to hear this, as he had only brought up the Seer he knew to you once before, back when you first met. He’d mentioned her so quickly in passing that you didn’t think anything of it, assuming she were merely an associate he was only moderately familiar with, but from the way Sara had described it, he was actually quite close with the girl. You were unsure what to make of the situation. You had wanted to talk with Jason, to see if he was alright and perhaps probe further regarding his feelings for this Seer, but he refused to open the door for anyone but his fosterling Gretel. She’s in there with him now, resting as he sits on the floor, slumped with his back pressing up against a slumberplank in the block. You’ve been meandering nearby in case he discusses something with Gretel, hoping to eavesdrop on the conversation, and perhaps get an idea of what the Human could possibly be thinking right now.

“Is your neck still hurting?” Gretel asks when she notices Jason bring a grabber to his windchute, rubbing the bandaged area lightly. Her voice is partially muffled by the stone of the wall between you, causing the scene you see through your God’s Eye to take on an almost dream-like glamor, as if it were taking place underwater.

“I’m fine, kiddo. It’s a little sore, but I’ll be okay.” He glances back at the consort, giving her a weary smile. He looks tired. Yet you doubt he’d admit to it. “Whatcha reading tonight?” He nods to the book she had lying open on the slumberplank.

“It’s a tome I found in one of the libraries in the castle. It’s about the history of this region of LOCAL.” She tells him as she flips the page.

“Oh yeah?” Jason perks up, glancing back at her on the bed. “Anything noteworthy happen here?”

“Unequivocally. In particular, this valley has been the home to many gruesome and bloody conflicts, leading some religious sects to believe that the ground itself here is cursed, tainted by the bloodshed of rebellion and empire alike, destined to lead those who seek a home within the gulch down the same path as their predecessors.” As the little grey consort continues on with her recounting, Jason seems to close back up again, likely having hoped for a more lighthearted history of the Land. “They call it the Dark Scar, due to the pattern of the valley looking like a slashed open wound carved into the surface of the planet, as well as the grim history of conflicts that’ve taken place here.”

“Is that why there’s no consorts living in this region of Local?” He asks while looking at the floor before him through sullen sightglobes.

“One would think, although no reputable sources would ever admit to such superstitious claims holding a level of sway over the public’s opinion to the point of effecting their habitual conduct.” Gretel explains while dropping down to lay on her stomach to read from the book. “Although if you ask me, the scaredy Cats are really missing out, not establishing a presence here.”

“Oh?” He glances back again. “Why’s that?”

“Because this gulch is the only known location on the planet to have an entrance into the underground caverns on LOCAL.” She tells him, posting the book up on its side to show him the diagram on her page, displaying the cross section of a hive with a subterranean passage leading to the cave system of the planet. “The riches there would practically catapult the planet’s economy into a golden age, if only they’d actually harvest them. I guess it’s just up to the hero who’s destined to appear in this Land to guide their fears properly. Maybe then the people won’t be so scared of this place, or so quick to go to war with each other over it.”

“…” Jason remains quiet, but you notice as his grabbers ball into fists at the comment. He leans his head back to rest on the slumberplank, resting his eyes.

“We’re actually in just such a castle right now. There’s an access chamber in the cellar here.” Gretel continues, resting her chin against the top of Jason’s head as she speaks. “It’s why there’s only two additional levels above the ground floor of this structure, because the rest of the rooms are built below ground, burrowing down until they reach the caves. The inhabitants of the Land call these types of castles Gateways, as in ‘Gateways to Hell’.” She’s right. You’d noticed it when Jason first entered the hive. Vase tunnels and chasms, spanning throughout every level of the planet’s interior. The world down there reminds you a bit of the caverns back on Alternia, turning you a bit hivesick seeing them. Focusing your attention down there for a moment, you notice a few members of your group have broken off to hold up in the blocks on the first few lower levels.

“That’s… that’s great, kiddo.” Jason assures her, seeming somewhat disconcerted by the architectural lesson. Hearing him, Gretel sits up again, looking down at her lusus.

“…Mr Jason?” She says, causing Jason’s sightglobes to flip open again to look at her. “Why do you call me that?”

“What, kiddo?” He asks back, confused by the question.

“Yes. I thought my name was Gretel.” She explains her inquiry.

“I-it is, but… kiddo is just a nickname. Kid, kiddo, it’s like a little expression of affection.” She tilts her head at his explanation, unfamiliar with the concept. “It’s something my dad used to call me, so… I guess it only makes sense that I use it too, sort of like a tradition. Do you not like it?”

“I don’t mind.” She shakes her head. “Do you do a lot of things your dad used to do?”

“I-… I don’t know.” Jason says. “I might, but like, little things. Tiny habits I don’t realize I’d picked up from him. Maybe the way I talk might be similar, or even the way I walk maybe.”

“Do you think about him a lot?” Gretel continues on, scooting closer to Jason on the plank.

“I try not to.” He answers. “He went missing back in the Land I’m from, so thinking about him can be sad sometimes.”

“What was he like?” She asks, leaning over to see his face.

“…He was bulletproof.” Jason proudly states with a smile. “Growing up, I didn’t think there was anything that could phase him. Whatever the challenge was, he’d take it on, head-first, not even blinking. He was like a superhero.” His attention drifts off as he talks more and more about his guardian. “…He was a superhero… He was my hero.”

“…Do you miss him?” Gretel seems to notice the look in his sightglobes. The confused sadness that his irises drift around in.

“Of course I miss him. He was my dad.” He almost chuckles. “But… I guess him being gone isn’t that unusual for me. He’d have to travel a lot for work and so sometimes I… I’d go home and he was gone. No goodbye, sometimes not even a note. The house was just empty…” Jason pauses, a quiet furrow in his brow starting to form. “It wasn’t like he was gone gone. I knew he’d be back sooner or later, so it was fine. I didn’t need to hear him say goodbye, because he wasn’t ever really gone. He just wasn’t there at the moment…” Jason gets up from his place on the floor and sits back down on the plank, next to Gretel. “Even when he was around, he gave me space to figure things out on my own. He was pretty hands-off with actual parenting, so I ended up having a lot of time to myself. So him being gone is… well it’s almost familiar to me.“

“I’m sorry you didn’t get more time with him.” Gretel says, leaning into him.

“A-ah, don’t be, don’t be.” He tries to laugh, attempting to wave off her condolences. “He would’ve dropped whatever he was working on to come hang out with me if I had just asked, I’m sure of it.” He rests his grabber on the top of her head. “Really it’s my fault we didn’t spend more time together, it was-… it was my fault……” You notice then that a tear’s trickled down Jason’s cheek as he speaks. At this point, you practically had your hearducts glued to the door trying to listen in clearly to the conversation, and it’s also at this point that your grabber pressed against the wall propping you upright slips, and you fall the short distance to the floor, burying your face into the woolen walkdampener. While quiet, the slight thump your body makes upon landing is prominent enough to catch Jason’s attention within the block, and this attention instantly snaps to the doorway. “Hello?” He almost orders, causing a quiet ‘eek’ to escape your squawkgaper.

“Uhh… Hi!” You respond back, hurrying up onto your steppers. Hearing your voice, Jason quickly wipes his face, drying the tears that’d formed there before getting up from the slumberplank. “I was just… stopping by to see how you were doing.”

“I’m fine.” He quickly says, a slight crack in his voice.

“Oh… okay.” You nod, your face flushing green. Jason stays there, staring at the door so intently you think for a second that he can see through it just as you can. A long pause overtakes the hall, and after a moment of looking at one another across the barriers between you as if it weren’t even there, you finally speak back up again. “Jason, can… can I come in?” Upon hearing your question, the human jerks back, half expecting you to come barreling through the door regardless of his verdict. Quickly, he looks back and forth across the block, eventually hurrying over to the desk at the side of the room, a confused Gretel watching the entire time.

“It’s unlocked.” He informs you once settled. Looking down at the door handle, you find that, surely enough, the locking mechanism’s been left unbolted when you glance inside. You grab hold of the nob and give it a turn, entering into the respiteblock.

“Hey…” You say from the threshold.

“Y-… You needed something?” He nervously asks, looking partially on-guard at your appearance in the room.

“I was worried if you had any injuries that needed looking-at.” You make up off the cuff, knowing full well he’s perfectly fine. “It looked like you’d gotten banged up a bit in the strife, so…”

“I, uh… I’ve got an ability.” He mumbles. “Damage Turn-Back. I’ve only got a few scrapes left from the fight.”

“Good! Good…” You awkwardly nod, leaving another gap to form in the conversation. “…There was also something else I wanted to talk to you about.” You eventually say. Having only passively looked at you since entering the room, you seem to grab Jason’s attention fully with this, and he looks to you, curious what you might have to say. For some reason you feel…! “I-… I just wanted to tell you that there’s someone who’s been hanging around the gateway temple we’re heading to.” You divert, shying away from the real topic you had wanted to bring up like a total cluckbeast.

“…What?” He sits up, putting on a serious expression to address the news. “Who?”

“I’m not entirely sure.” You tell him. “They aren’t wearing a God Tier, so I can’t tell their Title. He’s a Troll, an Indigo by the looks of it, but his horns are a different shape than the way you described the Knight who’d attacked you.”

“Shit… Shit!” He suddenly shoots up from the desk. “How long have they been there?”

“Going on three hours now.” His face sours at the information. You had been monitoring the individual in question for a short while before Haugrr and Jason went at each other. You would’ve brought it up sooner, but the strife put a pretty big wedge between things with the group, and it had slipped your mind.

“Hmm…” He simmers, turning to face away from you as he thinks. “We need to get moving again.” He declares.

“Again?” You question. “We just got settled in for the day, why would we leave so soon?” He grunts at the notion. “Besides, with this guy romping about the portal shrine, shouldn’t we take our time getting there? Maybe see if he moves on before we arrive?”

“We can’t risk it.” He shakes his head. “They could be the vanguard for the Rogue’s group. If we drag our feet now, even more of them could show up by tomorrow. They could have the entire temple locked down by the time this damn group manages to get there.”

“I don’t think they’re with the Rogue’s group, though.” You mention, not having seen anything suspicious from the guy since he’s arrived at the shrine.

“So you’ve managed to locate the Rogue and her posse, then?” He turns back to face you.

“N-… no.” You glance down to the side, embarrassed of your shortcomings. “I’ve spotted the Knight and Mage you described on Lohan a few times, but my sight is too spotty on that planet to track them for very long. It seems they’ve been using the Land as a base of operations.”

“Then we can’t risk it, not knowing what the exact makeup for their team is.” He asserts. “We leave now. That way we can get to the shrine before anyone else can beat us there. Gretel, start getting packed up. We’re gonna be heading out soon.” He turns to tell the consort. Without another beat, he starts walking, moving past you to exit out into the hallway.

“I don’t think the others have it in them to make the second half of the trip, though.” You follow after him, trying to talk sense into the human before any more arguments can start. You all had just gotten off a sixteen hour hike, something tells you that they won’t be thrilled to hear Jason wants another fifteen before they can even sit down again.

“Sara can keep them going. Her passive abilities alone should get everyone moving long enough to get us there.” He assures you, marching to the stairs and hurriedly descending them.

“Still though, I’m sure we’re all getting tired.” You continue on after him as he reaches the landing, walking out through the partially destroyed entryblock Jason had rampaged through, until reaching the front parlor where several of your group are still gathered. Creed’s the first to spot you as you enter, at first surprised to see Jason out of his room, then confused when you nod several times towards him, signaling something’s up again. Haugrr and Leah are with him at the circular diningslab he’s sat at, with Mary sitting on a loungeplank at the front of the block, working on what looks to be a small transponder on the beverageretainer in the sitting area. Ryder sits in the corner of her area, incredulously watching her work on the device, judging the technique in which she fine-tunes her equipment.

“Uh…” Creed mutters, seeing you’re gesturing to get his help. “Be back in a second.” He tells the others at the diningslab as he stands up. Walking over, he meets you and Jason before you can all get too far into the parlor. “Boss, what’s happening?”

“We’re getting back on the road.” He informs him as you catch up.

“Ah…” Creed eyes at you, figuring out why you’d signaled for him so frantically. “Was there a change we had to account for?”

“There was.” Jason nods, crossing his arms in frustrated worry. “One of the Rogue’s minions found their way to the gateway temple we’re headed for. We need to get there before anymore of them can show up and cut us off.”

“Really?” Creed inquires, giving you a quick glance to see if you can corroborate what he’s saying. You can only shrug in response. “Was it one of the ones who cornered us in the garage on Lohan?”

“No, it’s someone new this time.” Jason informs the Heir. “They discarded their God Tiers in order to keep us from figuring out what sort of powers they’ll have, so we’ll need to think up a strategy to account for any major surprises.”

“But… Dallra saw them with the Rogue, right?” Creed points out, figuring out the problem you were having.

“…It’s too big of a coincidence that a player shows up at our exact destination when we’re only a few hours out from arrival.” Jason huffs, visibly growing annoyed as the questioning goes on.

“We’re headed for a portal area, though, aren’t we? Isn’t there bound to be more player-traffic in those types of locations?” The Heir brings up, causing Jason to narrow his eyes. “It’s possible he could just be passing through and stopped to rest.”

“We’re leaving.” Jason firmly declares.

“Hey, no problems here.” Creed throws his grabbers up, seeing he’s standing firm on this point. “In the meantime, can we talk in private? Dallra, you mind getting everyone together and letting them know the game plan?” He looks to you.

“A-, sure. I’ll let them know.” You agree as he begins walking out to the hallway, looking back to wait for your friend. Jason pauses a moment, glancing between the two of you, before eventually turning to meet with Creed. Turning back to the room before you, Haugrr and Leah both skeptically glance your way, waiting to see what’ll happen, both with their grabberpoles crossed at you. You go over to meet with them at their diningslab.

“And what’s that all about?” Leah motions to the two boys out in the hall with a nod.

“Jason wants to get back on the road.” You quietly tell them, trying not to speak loud enough to catch Jason’s attention.

“What?” Leah exclaims, unbelieving of the news. Haugrr just emphatically rolls his sightglobes. “I can barely get my damn feet outta my boots, they’re so swollen, and he wants to get back on the trail like we haven’t been walking through the night? S’matter with that boy?!”

“Did something in particular set him off this time?” Haugrr asks, looking past you towards where the boys are outside the block.

“I… might’ve mentioned that someone’s been meandering about the gateway we’re going to.” You admit, feeling a bit guilty he’s kicking up such a fuss all of a sudden.

“Damn it, Dallra! Why the hell are you filling him in on anything right now?” Haugrr admonishes with an exhausted scoff. “He’s so far down the hopfiend hole, everything’s gonna look like a conspiracy to him.”

“I’m sorry, I panicked!” You apologize. “I wanted to ask about the other Seer of Space he knew but he was looking at me so intensely that I just blurted out the next thing I could think of!” Thinking back to the moment, you can’t help the blushing green hue filling out your face again.

“Christ’s sake, Doll, put a lid on it.” Leah scolds the embarrassed look.

“Look, I told him that there was someone in the way of our path off-planet.” You explain yourself further. “I thought he’d want to bunker down longer hearing about them, I didn’t think he’d insist we get there even faster!”

“Creed’s trying to talk him out of it, then?” Haugrr figures out for himself.

“In a roundabout way, I’m assuming.” You nod. “Jason seems pretty serious about getting back to it.” You notice that Haugrr’s begun to fixate entirely on Jason once more, glaring at the boy like he’s ready to break out into strife all over again. “Just hang tight, okay? I’m sure Creed can get him to see reason.” You assure the undead Prince.

“…Hm.” He grunts, turning away.

“Keep an eye on him, please.” You ask Leah. Unfortunately, she seems preoccupied with something as well, looking deep in thought over something. With a huff, you continue on, moving to the small hallway at the back of the room, leading you down to a mealblock connected beneath the parlor. As you enter into the room, you notice Frank’s here as well, tinkering with one of the molecule agitators built into the prep-station positioned at the middle of the block. You walk over to the other side of the center galley to see his stepperpoles poking out from inside the cooking device, as if he were a Praisekillings day gobblebeast trying to break free from confinement.

“Hmhmhm…” He hums from within. It looks like he’s extracting the heating coils from the top of the device, partially uninstalling it carefully, partially just ripping it out of its place in the machine.

“Frank?” You call, figuring he hasn’t noticed you yet.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA” He begins to shriek in a high pitched tone, sounding like a wriggler on the day of their Trials. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA” He continues on, just screeching, motionless in his little heat-box. You pull the shelf designed to hold sustenance in place while it cooks down, extracting Frank out of the device to see that it’s just you who’s discovered him and not… whoever it is that would make him scream like this. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA” He continues on regardless, completely stupefied by the apparently traumatizing event of being found in an oven. You place your grabber over his ignoranceshaft, partially muffling the screams. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA” He’s certainly got a set of bellowsacs on him… “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA” Are you sure he’s not actually a Hero of Breath in disguise? The air capacity he’s got is ridiculous. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaahhhhh……”

“Are you done?” You ask him, grabber still placed over the noisevomiter on his face. He nods his head beneath your grasp. You let him lose at the assurance he’ll be quiet.

“……Ah…” He squeaks one last time before seeming to settle entirely. “Hi, Miss Heimda.”

“Hello, Frank.” You greet him properly. “What are you doing in this thing?”

“J-j-just gathering parts for Miss Mary’s next academic venture, is all.” He explains as though he thinks he’s in trouble. As if you personally guard the sanctity of all culinary utensils and machinery. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you were up to your polehinges in a device designed to cook nutritionbeasts.” You tell him, figuring your interest in his affairs would be obvious.

“Oh, haha, right.” He gets up from the shelf, coils in-hand. “How about you, Miss Heimda. What are you doing down here?” He asks while dusting off the back of his outfit.

“Jason’s wanting to get the group back on the road, so I… guess I’m letting everyone know.” You explain, not entirely sure yourself. You think Creed should be able to convince Jason to rest up for the day, but with how unusual your friend’s been acting lately, there’s not guaranteeing anything at the moment.

“We’re leaving already?” Frank asks, sounding a mix of disappointed and worried.

“That’s what Jason wants, at least.” You tell him as you turn to head down the zigzags at the other side of the mealblock leading down to the subterranean levels. “Although I’m not entirely sure all of us will be up for the journey just yet.”

“Hm.” Frank hums quietly to himself as he trots after you. You didn’t expressly ask him to stick with you, but you guess it’s fine if he follows.

“What’s your opinion on all this?” You ask the sewn-up human.

“I-… I think we should… stay put for a while…” He hesitantly answers, sounding like he doesn’t really want to say it. Frank is rather fond of Jason, after all. It might be that he just doesn’t want to go against his verdict directly, but even he seems exhausted at this point.

“At the very least for a day.” You agree with a sigh.

“…” He stays quiet after this, trailing behind you like a shadow down the incline you’re descending. He’s quite the stealthful individual, you must say. Moving through his environment quietly enough that it’s like he isn’t even there at all. The only reason you even know he’s still partied-up with you is because you can keep track of him with your God’s Eye ability. Beyond that, it’s like the boy’s a ghost.

Examining him closer now that you have a moment, you notice that the strange stitch-work segmenting the different chunks of Frank’s body appear almost to be dividers between entirely unrelated portions of flesh. Each piece of his body looks to be younger or older than their neighbor across the sutured-fence, with some pieces being separated by as little as a few weeks or as much as several months in age. Overall, you’d estimate each part of him appears to be around six-and-a-half sweeps old since their creation. A strange enough characteristic on its own, but as you look further into Frank’s unusual biology, you notice that the cells in his nugbone appear older than his entire body as a whole. Judging by the condition his neurons are in, you’d estimate that they’re a little over eleven sweeps old. That’s a very generous guess, however. You aren’t familiar enough with human gerontology to accurately estimate an exact age as is, but Frank also seems to have an abnormal brain by most sentient standards. A great big mishmash of glands and globes all stuck and woven together. Reminds you a bit of undercooked grubloaf.

 

♫♪♫♪Hot patootie, bless my soul.♪♫♪♫

 

As you descend further down the set of zigzags, and inevitably closer to the rest of your group, you begin to hear the faint sounds of music bouncing off the walls of the passage, echoing as it travels throughout the castle. While catchy, it’s certainly not any kind of music you’ve heard before. Human music, you’d deduce if someone were to ask you.

 

♫♪♫♪I really love that rock and roll.♪♫♪♫

 

“I don’t know, i-… it just feel like I’m the issue, right?” Getting closer, you begin to hear voices piercing through the music. “Like I’m the one not doing enough. I’m the one who’s watching while everything falls apart, I’m the one standing by while I let everything crumble. Like today, there were so many things I could’ve done, but I didn’t do anything! It’s like I was barely even there, gawking as it all played out. Now everything’s just about blown up, and it all feels like it’s because I didn’t do anything.” It’s Sara and Esspin. You had been watching the girls for a little while now, since around when you first left the parlor area to walk down here. Currently, the two are relaxing on Sara’s human loungeplank, with Esspin sitting at one end of the piece of furniture while Sara lays on her back, stretched out on the rest of the sitting-device, head snuggly rested in the Orchid’s lap. They’re in a small recreationblock at the base of the incline, with a device set up on a miniature arena stickball performanceslab that’s playing the music currently haunting the halls at the moment.

“Just because we be feelin’ one way don’t mean that’s how it actually be, sister.” Esspin consoles the human as she sips from a hydration cylinder. Huh… is that Faygo? Where the heck did she get something like that? You had thought she was out of the stuff… “Sometimes our pans be brewin’ up a bad broth all up in out nugbones, tryin’ a tell us we ain’t shit, but it’z not like there’s some arbitrary doing-enough-o-meter that lets us know when we’z finished our quota of helpin’ out. Ya do yo best, an’ pray fo the rest, ya dig? You’ve been bustin’ your azz tryin’ to keep everything straight, and that’s all any motherfucker could ever ask. You’s enough, my wicked sister. You’s is enough.”

“I guess…” Sara hums, putting her lips to her own hydration cylinder, though not drinking from it.

“…You still got somethin’ sloshin’ in yo pan, girl?” Esspin asks, glancing down at her, causing the human to shrink into herself. “It’s about your ♦moral♦, isn’t it?”

“It’s not just him…” Sara glumly answers, setting her drink aside. “It feels like everywhere I turn, my failures are staring me in the face. Jason’s going down the same route Greg did, locking himself away, resigning himself to a single fate he thinks is becoming unavoidable, Haugrr’s a literal walking reminder of Amvinn and the Prince. Even the triplets are a reminder!”

“Triplets?” Esspin tilts her head.

“Leah, Ryder and Ragnaa. Mementos from the day I went out to find my friend and failed. Consolation prizes for the teammate we left behind….” Sara explains before the sad and frustrated look on her face gradually fades into just sad. “They’re amazing people and I’m glad they’re on the team, but…”

“But there’s no replacing her…” Esspin finishes for her.

“…” Sara doesn’t respond. Instead she brings her Faygo to her nutrientchute once more, this time taking several deep swigs of the elixir, downing around half of it in one go.

“Can I tell you a story?” Esspin asks of her, bearing an earnest-though-toothy smile. “There’s a web that some of the older jokespeakers in the Faith liked to weave that’s always stuck with me, even after I left. It goes; there was once a clown who had such a righteous faith in the Mirthful Messiahs, so much so that he feared no death, for he knew that the one above would protect him. But one day, there came a great storm. His brothers came to his hive in a scuttlebuggy and said ‘come on, ya lumpchucker, a flood’s coming’ and he said ‘nah, blood, I be kickin’ it with the Messiahs. They be keeping me chillin’. And so his brothers left. Then, when the waters came, he had to go to the second level of his hive. Later, a floatervessel sailed up to his ganderprecipice and said ‘hop on, Highblood, we’ll get you out of here’ and he said ‘don’t sweat it, the Messiahs will make sure I’m safe’ and so they left. Then when the waters rose again, he got on the roof of his hive. Seeing a highblood in need, a Drone came by and told him he’d fly him away, and the clown said ‘chill, my bucket-bringer, I’ve got my faith in the Messiahs, and they’ll save me from this wicked water world.’ and the Drone left. And then that clown was kickin’ it with the Sea Dwellers… and when the Mirthful Messiahs came to take that fool to the Dark Carnival, he asked ‘what’s the deal, my brothers? I thought you had my back? Why didn’t you send a miracle to save me?’ and the Messiahs said ‘Motherfucker, we sent you a scuttlebuggy, a floatervessel and a Drone, how many horns does a clown gotta have until he honks?’ ”

“Esspin, it’s really cute when you talk about carnivals and all, but I have literally no idea what you are trying to tell me right now.” Sara breaks it to her lightly.

“I’m trying to tell you that its the little miracles that save you.” She says, tenderly laying a grabber on top of her cranium, slowly petting her golden locks. “You’s all up in your pan thinking you should’ve rode in on musclebeast-back, all gallantly n’ shiz, like some sort of knight in cod-polished armor to help your friends, and because of that, you’re not seeing that you’s been helping in your own ways from the beginning. Keepin’ us all easy-breezy when the world’s doin’ nothing but trying to get us down, making sure none of us have to sweat the heavy stuff, makin’ our proverbial loads that much less of a burden to carry. It might seem small at just a glance, but… most miracles are. They’re small, easy not to notice sometimes, but they show up right where they need to be. Finding their way into our lives to make sure we keep to the straight and narrow, helpin’ us all towards our greater destiny.” Pausing, Esspin places her drink down and lightly caresses Sara’s chin to look at her. “Bad shit is gonna happen. Ain’t nobody denyin’ that. But all those little miracles you be pullin’ out from up yo sleeves, they start to add up. And one day, they’re gonna make a world of difference. They have for me.” Sara smiles back at the Orchid, gently laying her grabber against the one on her cheek. It’s at this point that you reach the bottom of the zigzags, entering into recreationblock at its landing. Your two teammates are right beside you now, a few paces over at the other end of the room. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t slowed the rate of your descent to hear more of the girl’s conversation. It’s not like you were eavesdropping or anything. Not your fault that the acoustics in this place are phenomenal. Although you do feel a tad guilty now, having just arrived at what’s likely a tender, or at the very least private, moment for them.

“Ahem.” You try to announce your untimely arrival as politely as possible. Both of the girl’s focus zeros in directly on you, Sara accidentally crushing her hydration cylinder in surprise at your sudden appearance.

“A-, D-dallra! To what do we owe this surprise?” Esspin quickly asks, attempting to drop her more clownish cadence upon seeing you, still having a bit of whimsy in her voice.

“Jason wants us to get moving again and sent me to let everyone know.” You explain to the as you walk over to the stickball slab, still not entirely sure if this plan is going through or not. Hearing the news, Sara sits upright to face you.

“He’s still set on that?” She asks with a concerned voice.

“He was actually thinking you’d be able to keep everyone going long enough for us to get off-world.” You inform her of his plans. “We were only able to get around halfway to the temple before hitting this little pit stop. Not sure what your timeline on something like that would be.”

“Even if I wanted to get us there asap, at most, I’d only be able to squeeze a few more hours out of everyone with the way we’re all looking.” Sara explains, dismissive of the idea yet guilty she can’t deliver. “Seven, maybe eight if we’re lucky, nowhere near how long he’s looking for.”

“I figured as much.” You nod in agreement of the tall order’s undeliverable nature. “I assume Creed’s currently trying to talk him out of it, but judging by the look of their conversation, he isn’t getting very far.”

“Maybe he’d understand if I explained it to him…” Sara supposes as she gets up from the loungeplank. Getting up as well, Esspin allows the human to re-captchalogue the furnishing.

“If you’re going up, do you mind walking Frank back with you?” You ask Sara as she walks over to meet you at the stickball slab, taking the music device as well.

“Frank is here?” She asks, puzzled by your seemingly strange request.

“Hello.” Frank says from right beside her.

“Gah-!” She jumps, having not realized he’d gotten so close. “Don’t do that, Franklin!”

“Do what…?” He looks at her quizzically.

“That, the thing, with the…” She tries to point out the object of her exacerbation. “Never mind. Wanna go see Mary?”

“Yay!” Frank celebrates, trotting up ahead. Sara follows after, huffing under her breath. Whether it’s due to having the boy passed off on her or having a conversation with Jason looming in the near-future, you’re unsure. Esspin trails after the two with a particular sway in her steps, slouching even moreso than she usually does.

“Ess.” You call to her, causing the highblood to whip around with a kind of elasticity to her movement, her body uncontrolling of the powerful weight behind it. She looks at you with a goofy mellowed-out smile, like she couldn’t have a care in the world, waiting for you to get on with the reason you’d stopped her for. “…Where did you get the Faygo?”

“Ooooh, lookin’ to snaps some necks, my lowblood?” She asks, her smile widening to a fanged grin. For some reason, you can’t help but feel a chill run through your body at this. Some genetic fear-instinct telling you to be weary to such a visage. It’s a ridiculous feeling, you know you have nothing to fear around Esspin, but still… there’s something about that smile that triggers a prey-response in you. “Partake of the fizz, mayhaps?”

“Uh, n-no, I was just curious, I thought you had run out a while ago.” You clarify, rejecting the cylinder she’s retrieved from her hood pocket for you to take.

“Truer words, lady. My well was completely tapped not and hour ago, but motherfucking miracles seem to show up right when you need them.” She points to the ceiling with a single lazy claw. “Pack was straight chillin’ up in the thermal hull in the mealblock. Snagged up that shit like a barkbeast with a calciumrod.”

“A pack of Faygo was just… sitting there? In the hull?” You ask, wondering what the odds of something like that would be. An abandoned royal hive keeping fresh stock of softdrinks?

“Yep.” She nods her entire torso. “Grape and Raspberry-blueberry, a match made in heaven.”

“I see…” You mutter, a little unsteady around the idea.

“What’s got you in a twist, sis?” She chuckles, reigniting that same fear response in you.

“It’s just… you seem a little more… mirthful than usual.” You try to put it delicately, unsure if she’d take offense to it. You aren’t sure how involved Esspin is with Highblood culture. You had assumed she left most of it behind, as she’d stopped wearing her makeup before you even joined the group, a sight not often seen, but you’ve got no idea her personal feelings on the matter. It’s possible she still has some lingering loyalties for their practices, even after leaving her cult.

“Mirthful? I wouldn’t-… I…” She begins to laugh, only to cut short when she realizes what you’re actually saying. “Ah-… I guess I do get a little swill-silly when I’m kickin’ the wicked elixir.” She says, glancing down at the cylinder in her grabber as if it were some grave artifact. “But it’s no harm. Really. O-one every once in a while shouldn’t hurt… Right? One or two? Three maybe?”

“…” You aren’t sure what to say to the question, it being obvious that it wasn’t really directed towards you. “You know yourself better than anyone. If you think one or two is fine…” You passively suggest, figuring she’s responsible enough to come to her own decision.

For the most part, Esspin seems like she’s got a good lump on her shoulders, especially for an Orchid as powerful as her. Save for the few wrigglers of the caste you’d looked after, you hadn’t had the opportunity to interact with any Purple Bloods on Alternia, but the stories you’d hear about the circus-folk made you grateful for that fact. And typically, the more powerful the Purple in question, the more brutal and unreasonable those stories about them got. Lowbloods and Lusii alike taken in the unwinding hours before sunrise, entire subgrubs razed or subjugglated in mere days after the carnival came to town, these campaigns led by single powerful leaders in their hierarchy, a position you think Esspin would’ve ended up in had she stayed within their ranks. She hasn’t told you much about her past, but from what you’ve gathered on your own, you can tell it’s left her with more than a few scars, and not just the ones you count on your hide either. It shows mostly in the way she carries herself. All that muscle and she can’t bring herself to use it, like she’s afraid what might happen if she lets loose. Or perhaps she’s simply forgotten how powerful she really is? Sweeps as a vagabond keeping her head down might do that to you. The Ego is a fragile thing, after all, so easily able to forget what it once was after a thorough enough blow. You’d noticed earlier when Esspin performed her prayer ritual to ward away the rain, it wasn’t just the storm overhead that was banished. For miles around you, a hole was carved into the whirlwind, straight up through to the incipisphere, leaving a Hope-wings shaped stamp on the planet’s cloud line. A single prayer, a simple converging of her grabbers, and it was gone. Nearly two hundred million tons of water, vanished in an instant. She had faintly realized what she’d done, of course, thinking her act had only merely held off the rain and nothing else. There were still clouds, of course, but the roof they created over you was only a few yards thick, as opposed to the near-miles of storm that hangs over the rest of the planet. What she could do if only she understood the true extent of her reach. Yet here she stands, looking down at a single hydration cylinder as if it held the power to shatter her empire with a single gulp. And maybe it can, if she lets it. If she lets it be something more than just a drink.

“We already had a few from the pack… it shouldn’t hurt to finish off the rest…” You hear Esspin mutter to herself. “Finish off the rest and that’ll be the end of it…” At this point, Sara and Frank have gotten a good few strides up the zigzags ahead of you both, and Esspin turns to scale the inclines after them. As you watch the Orchid ascend, you can feel something bad on the horizon she’s begun to approach.

“Addiction is a powerful thing, Esspin.” You call up to her, grabbing her attention. She glances back, blinking at you peculiarly. “It can sneak up on you, might never even see it coming. But relapsing… relapsing is the real killer.” She turns around fully now, letting her long grabberpoles hand down by her side, the Faygo still clutched in her paw. “It takes a lot to break addiction. To walk away from what you’ve come to know, maybe even come to cherish. You go through hell to claw your way out of that pit, just to find that you’re only at ground zero when you escape, and you have an even longer road ahead of you still. To go through all that struggle, then to relapse afterward, slip back all the way to the bottom of that pit again, to undo all the progress that you had made… And the worst part is that anyone can get addicted by accident, but you have to choose to relapse. Choose to go back to that endless pit, that place you spent so much time it feels like a second hive. I’ve gone through that cycle too many times to count. I’ve clawed my way out of that pit just to jump back in again, knowing each climb is harder than the last. I-… I don’t want that to happen to you.” Esspin jolts back slightly, as if struck in her center torso. “So a word of advice… don’t take the plunge again. Don’t make yourself climb for the rest of your life.”

“……” She stares at you, appearing hypnotized by the words you’ve incoherently spewed into the air. Finally, though, she bends over, placing the Faygo down on the zigzag she’s on. “Y’know, you’re a wicked chill hellhound, my sister.” She says with a smile once upright, turning back around and continuing onward up the incline. You glance down at the drink she’s left behind with a smile. Hopefully she won’t need it anymore.

Turning back to your task at hand, you still have one more person to retrieve. Ragnaa. She’s only a few doors down in the respiteblocks of this subterranean wing. She’s kept herself pretty isolated after everything’s gone down. Not that you blame her, with how Jason started snapping. Still though, she’s rather out of the way from everyone. Making haste, you arrive at the block and give it a knock, waiting for a response. Ragnaa looks up from the small chess piece she’s got clutched in her paw, surprised someone’s come to find her, but eventually looks back down again, intending not to answer. You give the oak slab another solid knocking anyway.

“Hey, it’s… it’s Dallra.” You say, figuring you should be up front that she can’t pretend the block is empty. “There’s some talk about leaving going on in the loungeblock. So everyone’s getting together just in case.” Inside you see as the girl’s shoulders slump down, and she walks defeatedly to the door. Grabbing hold of the handle, she pauses for a brief moment before opening up to peek out, her nugbone extending like a blooming flower from the void behind her. Face-to-face now, she studies your expression, perceiving something beyond you that she sees, and for a split-second, you catch as she glances down to your chest, sightglobes transfixed on your bloodpusher as if it were the unshielded core of a starcruiser, leaving nothing but radiation and death for a mile around you.

“…ok.” She says, fully emerging from the block to join you. The two of you linger a moment, both simply observing the other in an instance of unanticipated curiosity. You blink first, taking a step away to lead your duo back to the group, and the Bronze soon follows.

“…Not many of us are keen on leaving so soon.” You say as your walk continues, feeling the need to fill the awkward silence in the hall. “In fact, it just seems like Jason is the only one who wants to make the trek this late into the day. It seems he’s dead-set on getting there in as little time as possible.”

“Mm…” She grumbles, glancing away at the comment.

“How are you feeling, by the way?” You ask, trying to keep the conversation going as you reach the bottom of the very long flight of zigzags you’d originally taken down, knowing the ascent is too extensive to be made silently with another person. “Jason… really snapped at you, didn’t he… I-I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it, he’s just been so off since waking up. I don’t know what’s got him so provoked.”

“I know why…” Ragnaa mutters as you both step past the container of Faygo Esspin had left behind. “Did you know that Pages have imaginary friends?” She asks out of the blue, catching you off guard.

“Uh, no. I was unfamiliar with that fact…” You quizzically answer her question, unsure if she’s working her way to a roundabout point or if she’s simply abandoned her last statement completely.

“Sometimes these imaginary friends turn out to be actual people, or sometimes they’re made real by serendipitous circumstance. Either way, it’s a rather common tendency for these fictitious figures to exist in some regard.” She continues to explain her side tangent. “It’s one of those funny coincidences that reliably shows up among most Pages, as if it were some immutable trait of the class. Similar to how Seers have their Mentors who help them figure out their sight. Who was your Mentor, Dallra?”

“…uh…” You stammer at the sudden overly-close examination, feeling more seen than you’re comfortable with. Why does she want to know about your Mentor?

“I think mine were the other Heroes of Doom within the Arena.” She continues on without missing a beat after seeing your lack of a response. “I’m rather certain I had met with just about all of them before the killings began. Through them, I began to finally understand my Aspect. To interpret the lessons it had to teach. Yet if my Mentors were always doomed to be trapped in the Arena, what does that say about the sanctity of my fate? Is this place where I truly belong? Wandering the cursed lands of abyssal damnation, a branded sacrifice lain at an altar of an unknown primeval? Was this all that was ever meant for me…?”

“um…” You hum again, wildly confused what the poor girl is talking about. “It’s easy to get lost in your own thoughts when you’re alone, isn’t it? I get the same feeling when I’m stuck in my lump about something.” She looks at you from the corner of her sightglobe, likely judging whether or not to respond to the remark.

“Jason was talking about a traitor before…” She pivots from the subject entirely. “He even mentioned it when facing off against Haugrr. Has anyone figured out what he was referring to?”

“Nobody thinks you’re a traitor, Ragnaa.” You assure her, realizing the reason for her detour in the conversation as you recall how long it took to calm the girl down after the strife. Maybe that’s why she’s separated herself so far from the group, afraid everyone was going to start pointing their grabberprongs at her in accusation. “Jason’s just a little paranoid right now. I’m sorry it upset you so much.” Ragnaa’s sightglobes harden as she gazes at the zigzags before her, her thinkpan burdened with heavy thought as she ascends.

“…I wasn’t crying because he called me a traitor.” She mutters to herself. You’re about to ask what it was that got her so worked up then when something enters into your awareness. In an instant, the blood in your veins runs cold as ice, and your head snaps upwards, honed in on the direct path towards the entity. “Dallra?” Ragnaa asks, your change in demeanor overt enough to catch her attention.

“No…” The word escapes from you, fluttering out into the ether like a butterfly dying in the cold. Without another word, you burst forward, tearing up the stairs at max velocity in an attempt to race the entity to the others. This is bad. This is very, very bad. None of you are in any condition to fight, too worn out from the night to be able to put up any substantial resistance. You need to get to them, to get them away! Rounding a corner in the staircase, you spot Esspin and Sara as they travel up the stairs, having finally caught up with them. You’re halfway to their place on the stairway when they notice you following up after them.

“Hey, what’s the haps, Da-“ Esspin begins to greet. You can’t stop. You can’t stop.

“Boost!” You call out to Sara.

“Huh?” She stammers, seeing you approach so fast.

“BOOST!” You emphatically repeat, holding the palm of your mechanical-arm out for her to hit as you reach her. Reflectively, she does so, slapping her hand against yours, and you feel a hurricane channeled throughout you. Pressing on, you Boom forward, flying up the steps faster than ever. You reach the intermediate landing of the staircase in an instant, the velocity of your ascent nearly flinging you straight into the wall there. Flipping over, you land horizontally and use it as a surface to spring off of, launching yourself up the next flight of stairs. It’s approaching. Another Blindspot is approaching!

 

***

 

“You’re not listening, Creed. We don’t have time to be laying around, doing nothing!” Boss reiterates himself yet again, still set on his plan of powering through to the temple. You’re out in the foyer of the castle still, doing your best to dissuade Boss away from his current trajectory, and by all accounts, the two of you have been talking in circles the entire time.

“I know our schedule’s gotten tight, Boss, but we’re tapped for the day.” You continue to try and get him to see reason. “Say it really is one of the Rogue’s men watching the portal. Why would she only send one? Why not a team like she’d sent last time? Because they’re probably strong enough to safeguard the place on their own.”

“And you think that’s reason enough to abandon the temple to their possession?” He asks, missing your point.

“I think it’s reason enough to not take this person on when we’re all exhausted.” You explain yourself better. “Even if some of the Rogue’s group gather at the portal to block it off, we at least know that they can only deduce the route we’re taking, but not where we are on it. Otherwise they’d have tracked us here. If they can’t figure out where we are, we don’t have to rush this just yet.”

“Hm…” He huffs, shaking his head as he glances away, frustrated you aren’t seeing things his way. Under normal circumstances, you’re sure you could’ve convinced Boss out of this course of action by now, however that cycle he’s got up in his head has his mind in a fog, making his thoughts too dense to sway with any finesse. Even from where you’re standing, you can practically feel the migraine piercing through his mind, radiating off him like a distorted song, tunneling through his brain the way a subterranean drill bores through the earth. How he can even still think straight with something that debilitating in his brain is beyond you.

“Look, Boss, I’m sure if you had a clear head to think with, you’d-“ You begin to bring up a more introspective examination again.

“No.” Boss quickly dismisses. You’d been trying to convince him to let you take a look at the state of his mindscape since the beginning of the conversation, but he’s remained stern against the idea for some reason. Cagy about you getting a look at what’s going on up in there.

“I won’t go rooting around anything personal, I-I won’t even merge with your mind like I did last time.” You continue trying to persuade him to the checkup. Extending an open hand, you reach out to him as a gesture of good faith. “I just want to take a look at this virus that's been-“

“You’re not getting inside my Fucking Head!” He snaps, knocking your hand away. You hear off behind you as one of the chairs back in the lounge is scuffed against the floor, jutted as someone’s risen from their seat. You can just see out of the corner of your eye the maroon robes of the individual, Haugrr now approaching after Boss’s sudden outburst. You also notice the shape of Ryder perking up in response to this activity too, quickly jumping to his feet himself to follow Haugrr, tagging along after him like a kid with his big brother.

[Traitors… They’re all traitors…]

You hear in your head, clear as day. The thought had come coiling out of the Boss’s mind, an impulse thrown into thoughtspace as the tapestry of his cognition continues to unwind further and further. You glance back to watch the two members of your group draw near, and a strange feeling overcomes you, sending your sixth sense into a confused plummet, as though it’s unsure if you should be afraid or not, yet sounding the alarms anyway. You feel it in your joints, like a storm is approaching.

“Boss…” You try to bring his attention to the matter.

“And what the fuck do you want?!” Boss barks at Hagurr as he arrives to your discussion.

“For starters, how about you to stop being such a prick!” Haugrr growls back.

“And who’s gonna make me?” Boss goads him.

“If you’re asking for round-two, I’m ready when you are.” Haugrr sneers, tilting his chin up. “Who knows, maybe I’ll invite that Seer girl back for a chat.” Lurching forward in a surprising move, Boss snatches Haugrr up by the collar of his shirt, nearly taking him off his feet as he’s pulled forward. In his free hand, Boss summons his pickaxe to his side.

“I don’t care if you’re the only thing that can get us out of the Arena.” He slowly hisses through clenched teeth. “If you ever bring her up again, I’ll fucking kill you. I won’t stop until every last trace of you is scraped from existence. Eviscerated.“

“Is that a fact?” Haugrr snarls, his hands tightening to fists and crackling with energy. Before the two can go at each other again, and before you can decide if getting in between them would be the best course of action for you at this junction, there comes a sudden commotion from the other side of the lounge. Launching up from the kitchen downstairs is Dallra, slamming into the ceiling of the small hall corridor, looking out across the room between you and her. Squatted against the upside-down surface, the troll springs off and out of the hall, into the parlor area, landing crouched on all fours atop a table in the room.

“Jason!” She calls to the Boss, catching everyone’s confused attention. Pointing off to the side, you at first think she’s gesturing towards somewhere in the lounge, but quickly realize she’s aimed through the walls, outside to the front of the castle’s doors. “Someone’s coming!”

Before anyone can react, before the Boss can even let go of Haugrr’s tunic, the sound of the castle’s oversized doors being pressed in echoes through the room. Everyone’s focus falls to the entryway like gravity, any petty squabbles silenced by the shock of an outsider materializing in your camp. Swinging open, the threshold reveals a figure wrapped in shadow, masked behind the dimly lit room of the partially destroyed foyer. That sensation in your joints feels as though it exploded, your sixth sense practically screaming at you to back off. Without pause, the figure strolls into the castle, their long cloak flowing out behind them, boldly trespassing into your layer, not an ounce of hesitation in them. Following behind the intruder is a thick mist, pouring into the castle as though it were a river breaking free past a dam. Ryder is the first to react, stepping forward while you all remain gob-struck by the intruder’s presence.

“Hey, castle’s ocupado at the moment, jackass. Get the fuck out!” He verbosely orders, puffing out his chest for emphasis. The intruder doesn’t give his directions any mind, doesn’t even really acknowledge him in the first place. They just keep on walking. “Gr!” Ryder growls, jogging towards them, casted arm reeled back for a punch. “You’re dead, prick!” Just as the two meet, the intruder, almost as easily as waving their hand away from them, flips Ryder over himself, tossing him onto the floor off to their side.

“Step off, floozy.” They scoff as Ryder lands on his back, knocking the wind out of him. Continuing on, the figure makes their way to the rest of you, eventually stopping just a few feet away. Watching you from beneath their cloak, the person reaches up and lets down their hood, revealing themselves to be a young girl, her head of black hair and set of green eyes greeting you all now. Though a stranger to you, you can’t help but find her familiar. You’ve seen her somewhere before, haven’t you? “Hey, Jay.” She says, her attention resting on the Boss like a blade to his throat. “We need to talk.” You glance over as well, trying to gauge his reaction to the girl, and before you can, another thought rings out from the Boss’s mind, hitting you like a tidal wave.

[One of your friends isn’t a friend at all.]

"Mia..." He mutters, too quiet for you to hear.

 

Creed, find out what’s Happening.

Chapter 58: > Fear Eater

The room is dead silent, save for the clinking and clattering of plates and silverware. An ensemble from the table Dallra had landed on as she attempts to carefully get off, wobbling the hell out of the inventory there. It’s about the time the strange mist following the familiar stranger completely covers Ryder’s place on the floor that anyone says anything.

“You mind telling Goldilocks to take the piece off me?” The mystery girl requests, her head tilting to the side, off towards the lounge. When your eyes inevitably drift towards the direction of her gesture, you notice Leah is there, using the wall by the entrance into the room as cover, revolver out and aimed at the intruder. Just when the hell did she get there?

“…” Boss doesn’t say anything back, completely fixated on the girl before him like a deer in headlights. You even notice as his hands begin to tremble slightly, only kept subdued by the tension in his fist.

“Leah, it’s fine. We know this one.” Haugrr speaks up when he realizes Boss isn’t going to say anything, glancing over his shoulder towards the Knight. Hearing his instruction, the mystery girl gets a funny look on her face.

“Do I know you?” She looks at him, trying and seemingly failing to recall who he is to her.

“I-… No, but you should?” He turns back at her, a stunned look on his face, both confused and offended at being forgotten. “You’ve met Amvinn before, you were with him for like a week, how do you not remember this face?” Ignoring his grievances, the girl glances down, noticing the Boss still has a grip on Haugrr’s shirt, pickaxe in-hand as well.

“……Am I interrupting something here?” She asks in unimpressed bemusement, eyebrow raised in judgmental indifference.

“Not at all.” Haugrr says, jerking Boss’s hand off his collar and walking away, back into the lounge.

“You sure about this one?” Leah asks as Hagurr passes by.

“By all means, take the shot if you feel differently.” He sarcastically snips at her. Puzzled, Leah cautiously holsters her gun again, stepping out from her half-cover behind the wall.

“Ryder, y’alright over there?” She calls into the mist.

“Did anyone get the number of that bitch?” He calls back from beyond the fog.

“You gonna actually say something, Greene, or are you just going to keep gawking at me?” The girl crosses her arms, still ignoring everything transpiring around her to focus on the Boss.

“Mia, you’re… back…” Boss manages to mumble out.

“…Did he hit his head recently or something?” She asks, directing her question towards you.

“Where have you been?” Boss asks in a much firmer tone this time.

“Wow, what a warm welcome, Jason. How about; welcome back, Mia. Sorry we fuckin’ lost you in the middle of a death battle.” She reprimands his response.

“Mia……” You repeat the name, realizing where you’d seen the girl. It was only for a moment, in the brief seconds before the Prince of Life attacked back on the pyramids of LOFAC, she was there, glued to Esspin’s hip during the fight. “The missing girl…” You look at the two as they stare each other down. “She’s Mia? I thought she wore white?” You try to ask Boss, though not even showing up on his radar.

“Hey, I thought you said she was your friend too when we met.” Leah looks over to you from within the mist now, searching the floor for her pageboy.

“That was a lie, Leah. That’s what you do when a crazy person puts a gun in your face.” You answer back, figuring they’re too involved in the group now to care about how you actually recruited them.

“You were supposed to wait nearby!” Boss suddenly bursts, prompting you to flinch back slightly, surprised by his ravings. “We spent an entire day searching half the fucking planet for you!”

“Oh, gee, one whole day? Don’t I feel special.” She sarcastically rolls her eyes. “Don’t go rolling out the red carpets on my account, it’s not like just I crossed half a fucking solar system to get back to you all.”

“Hi, uh, excuse me. Mia?” Dallra pokes partially into the hallway to speak, catching the girl’s attention. “You’ve got blue on you.” She taps her cheek to show off where on her face sits the stain in question. “About there.”

“……” Mia stares the troll down, perturbed at her interjection, or perhaps uneasy with some aspect of her person. Silently, she takes a thumb and scrapes it across her cheek, wiping away the blue splotch under her eye.

“Ah! Thank you!” Dallra says, cheerful to have finally cleared the blindspot from her vision. Completely ignoring her thanks, Mia begins to walk towards you and Boss, causing him to nearly juke back upon her approach.

“Come on.” She stops next to Boss to speak to him quietly. “You and I need to have a chat, somewhere a little more private.” She continues on, not waiting for him to respond, strolling down the hall towards the library that had been mysteriously thrashed before your arrival in the castle. Boss gives you all a look, as if trying to see if anyone might protest the maidens decree on his behalf. None of you do, too unsure of the situation to raise any quarrels, and silently he follows after her. If he had a tail, you’d say it would be tucked between his legs right about now. All within the hallway watch as they go, eventually hearing the -creek- of the broken door as they shut it close. Hearing this, you and Dallra exchange glances, simultaneously agreeing this conversation is too intriguing to not spy on. You aren’t one for gossip, usually, but come on, after what just happened, how can you resist?

“You got eyes in the room?” You ask Dallra as the two of you both rush to the end of the hall they went down, arriving just close enough to hear the muffled voices echoing from a distance. You peak around the corner, double-checking to see if they’ve really gone in, finding the corridors empty.

“It’s a little fuzzy, but I can see most of what’s going on.” She informs you, taking a glance as well. “Some effects of the Blindspot must still be lingering.”

“Well? Go on, describe what’s happening.” You prompt her to fill you in.

“She’s sitting down and he’s looking at her and they’re… talking.” She unskillfully explains, illuminating nothing of what’s taking place in the room.

“Think you can paint a better picture, D? Come on, what else? Are things hostile? Is she aggravated? What does it look like Boss is thinking?” You press her for details.

“Jason’s still standing so I think he’s staying formal. And she’s… confident looking?” She struggles still.

“Is that seriously the best you got?” You look at her, unsure if she’s just giving you the runaround. “You’ve got front row seats to everything happening in that room, you mind being a little more descriptive?”

“Excuse you, this is difficult, y’know! I’m not familiar enough with human facial cues to say for certain what they’re feeling.” She prattles off her excuses. “Feel free to consult the other all-seeing oracle you know for a more in-depth play-by-play, oh wait, I’m the only one there is!”

“If you’re the only one there is, then maybe you should be able to describe things better than standing and not standing.” You prattle back.

“Aren’t you supposed to be quiet when you’re trying to eavesdrop on people?” Haugrr says, appearing beside you and D.

“I thought you were walking away.” You say, suggesting that he do just that.

“Yeah. I come in and out of the story as much as I want. Get used to it.” He sneers at the suggestion, refusing your prompt. “What are you two doing?”

“Trying to listen in on what’s happening with Jason and Mia, but Creed won’t can it for more than five seconds for me to hear.” Dallra elbows you for emphasis, evoking a small ‘oof’ to escape your throat.

“Learn to recount what you see better and I won’t have to keep asking for details.” You say while rubbing the joint-bashed ribs she hit.

“And you two can’t figure out any other way to collaborate better than asking and answering questions?” Haugrr asks, unimpressed with your strategy as he swingings his attention back and forth between the two of you.

“…What do you propose?” You hesitantly inquire, dubious of what he might suggest. He just lets out a groan with a half-roll of his eyes in response.

“Disorderly Action.” He announces, reaching up to your forehead and extracting from it a thin green line, before jabbing it into the side of Dallra’s crown.

“Ah!” D quietly yelps as he thumps her. Suddenly, your mind’s eye is flooded with a feed of images, focusing in on what seems to be two young individuals as they meet within a desecrated archive.

“Is this… I’m seeing what Dallra sees?” You ask him, struggling to adjust to such a clear image being projected directly into your brain. It’s almost as if the information you’re receiving from this is being overlaid over information gathered through your optic nerves, yet somehow only exists at the edge of your perception, where you have to really strain to focus in on it. Is this what Dallra sees all the time?

“Congratulations on the breakthrough.” He unenthusiastically commends. “Maybe try taking a look at your Ability Index every now and again so I won’t have to set up your Neural Link for you every time you want to connect minds.” He explains while walking away.

“Jesus, this is trippy.” You say, waving your hands in front of your face a few times, trying to calibrate your visual response to the new arrangement. “D, you live like this?”

“Shh!” She shushes you. “They’re actually starting to speak!” Informed of this, you focus entirely on the library now. As Dallra had mentioned, Boss’s standing while Mia sits. What she had failed to mention is that Boss is posted up in the corner of the room closest to the door leading out, looking as if he expects his conversation partner to pounce on him at any moment. He still has with him his pickaxe, kept down by his side, and still, the hand on his weapon trembles slightly under his grip. It damn near looks like’s about to come apart by the seams. Mia on the other hand looks at him with a cold indifference, sat on the small loveseat by the fireplace, arms stretched out over its top. Extending out a hand, she -snaps- her fingers, seeming to reignite the long extinguished embers of the fireplace into a roaring burn. Listening in, you’re only just able to hear their voices echo down the hall, soft and distant.

“You said w-we needed to talk?” Boss manages to say, mustering up his courage to speak. It seems this girl’s really got him shaken up, even moreso than he’s been recently. With everyone else, he’s been keeping a watchful eye out, untrusting and suspicious of you all for one reason or another, but with her, it’s like he’s certain something is to happen, bracing himself for the eventuality. Is this what that thought you had heard from him was about? ‘One of your friends isn’t a friend at all’…

“You’ve been making enemies, Greene.” She tells him, causing Boss to swallow hard.

“Y-yeah? And what would you know about that?” He looks at her, his breath deepening with each intake.

“Folks going around the Arena are asking about you.” She tilts her head to the side, paying close attention to the Boss’s reaction to her words. “Looking for players who might wanna team up and hunt you down. Some real nasty whispers circling the back channels.”

“Yeah?” Boss sways back and forth, like he’s trying to decide if he should run or not.

“Whoever these people are must have some way of digging up secrets. Just so happens that one of them tracked me down and offered me a spot in their little group. Knew me by name, and knew about my history with you, too. Asked me to help them with their plan to put you in the dirt.” Roaring to life, Jason swings his pickaxe forward, pointing its weighted top at the Maid as the exhaust vents on its sides rev with an unyielding power of a dynamo.

“I knew it… it was only a matter of time!!” Boss bursts, teeth clenched to keep from chattering.

“Calm down, jackass. I didn’t take them up on the offer.” Mia rolls her eyes, taking the flashing of an armament as a mere melodramatic outburst.

“Liar! You expect me to buy that bullshit?!” He snaps, keeping his weapon raised. “You’re m.i.a. for days, then you come back right when we’re being hunted, knowing exactly who it is who’s hunting us? What a fucking coincidence!”

“Lower your damn voice, you moron. If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t need the help of some clandestine syndicate of pussies too afraid to take you on face-to-face, I would just. Kill you.” She enunciates the last part with a particular venom, leaning in for emphasis. “So simmer the hell down.” Hearing Mia’s words, the Boss’s eyes frantically zip around, scanning every inch of the girl, desperate to find any fault in her facade that might give away the lies he suspects her of telling.

“……How do I know?” He eventually asks, starting to recompose his panicked self.

“Excuse me?” She asks back, sounding bored.

“How do I know you aren’t one of them?!” He jitters back again.

“……” Mia’s face darkens, her glare at Boss narrowing, a clear offense taken by his comment. Silently, she activates her fetch modus, summoning to her hand a glowing construct in the shape of a wooden board. With the ease one would have pulling apart a cheap pair of chopsticks, she snaps the thing in two with the tension in her thumbs. Dropped from the confines of the construct is…

“The hell is that?!” Boss recoils back as the Maid tosses the object to the floor in between them. There on the ground of the chamber now lies a strange lump of leafy green flesh, a kind of mound of alien biomass formed in the vague approximation of a claw clutching in anguish, cut off from its main body, leaving it’s internal fluids to ooze out the stump at its bottom.

“A severed hand.” Mia nonchalantly informs the Boss.

“Of what…?” He looks to the alien body part with disgust. Judging by how far the arm extends past the wrist of the hand, you’d say it was cut off rather close to the elbow, maybe taking 2/3rds of the forearm with it from where it was detached.

“I think it was an elf?” Mia shrugs, relaxing back into her seat. “Don’t know, didn’t really care enough to ask her.”

“Her?” Boss looks back up.

“The girl who tracked me down.” She clarifies. “She said she was part of a band of merry men or some other dumb whimsical title, and that her leader wanted to recruit others to ‘ensure your demise’.”

“The Rogue…” Boss mutters, too quietly for you to hear, only able to read his lips to see what he had said.

“Already familiar?” Mia asks.

“I am. Strangely enough, things kept moving while you’ve been away. These psychos took a crack at me before, in a garage back on Gretel’s planet.” Boss recaps for her.

“Who the hell’s Gretel.” She gruffly asks, crossing a leg onto her knee.

“Gretel…? My daughter?” He questioningly answers. Hearing this, Mia gets a strange look on her face, incredulously scrunching her nose in response.

“Your what?” She looks at him, baffled.

“My daughter.” He emphatically repeats.

“Quit fuckin’ with me.” She says with a chuckle.

“I’m not.” Boss shrugs, failing to see a reason for such a charade.

“I was not gone that long.” She firmly declares.

“She was around before you left, what the hell are you talking about?” Boss looks at her like she’s crazy. “Gretel? She’s a three foot tall grey gecko? You don’t remember her?”

“…The Consort?” She looks at him like he’s insane, which… fair enough.

“Yes!” Boss emphatically bursts. “You’ve looked after her before, you don’t remember her name?”

“My memories after the Forge explosion are spotty, coming back in flashes here and there.” She explains, rising up from her seat on the couch to pace the room. For a split second you tense up, thinking she’s headed for the door, realizing that you and Dallra have been creeping closer and closer to the Library’s entrance to get a better listen-in on the conversation. “I vaguely remember your ‘daughter’ coming to find me and Esspin on our approach to the volcano. Everything else is moot. With how familiar she seemed with me, I’m guessing I met the ghost in the black hood out there, but I haven’t the faintest clue who the chick is. Same goes for the thing pretending not to be a corpse. I certainly don’t remember the ginger dork in a thong. The fuck’s that about, Jason? I’m gone not two weeks and you try to replace me with that? If you’re gonna fill my spot on the team, the least you can do is get someone halfway decent.”

“Ryder actually… showed up… the day you left.” Boss admits, refusing to make eye contact when Mia stops in her tracks to look at him, disappointed.

“Twenty-four hour turnover rate, huh? I see how it is.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, it wasn’t until I got my groove back that my head cleared up.”

“Your rage… I tried to kick it back into gear once, but it didn’t take. How’d you do it?” He questions, seeming to finally relax around his acquaintance, at least to the point of not trembling with anticipation of a fight around her, storing his pickaxe back in his strife deck.

“Uh… about that.” She awkwardly pauses, facing away from the Boss, tapping a finger against the table she’d wandered over to. “I might’ve ran into Medeas on my way back to everybody.”

“Medeas…” Boss repeats the name, seemingly unfamiliar with it. After a brief moment of thought, a grim expression crosses his face. “Wait, Medeas like the Thief Medeas? The one who damn near caved in my fucking skull, Medeas? The one who gave me this?!” He points to his scarred eye.

“I was wondering about that.” Mia says, glancing back at the Boss while wagging her finger at his scar.

“So you’ve just been colluding with enemies left and right, then.” Boss grunts, exhaling a puff of air at her nonchalant attitude.

“Calm down, drama queen, I didn’t collude with her. She returned what she took from me and we traveled together, long enough for her to upgrade her bodyguard. That’s it.” She rolls her eyes at Boss’s suspicions. “…That was all she wanted.”

“All she-, what are you, upset she didn’t wanna be best buddies or something?” Boss scoffs, sneering at the prospect of this girl. You hear in Dallra’s head something about ♠black solicitations♠, causing you to try and ignore that facet of the neural link you’re connected to. “Mia, she’s a psychopath who tried to kill the both of us.”

“I know that! I’m just pissed she got one over on me, that’s all.” Mia huffs, shooting Boss a dirty look from over her shoulder. “Anyways, she’s not even planning on killing you. I’m pretty sure she has some weird alien hate-boner for you now or something.” Even while trying to ignore it, you hear those ♠black solicitation♠ thoughts go barreling about Dallra’s mind like rolling thunder, causing the troll’s bioluminescence trait to activate, flash-banging your senses.

“Is this what you wanted to talk to me about? Alien hate-boners?” Boss asks the girl as you cover your sightglobes in agony, silently cursing the glow-troll as you try to keep composed, tamping a few light stomps into the floor with your heel.

“No, actually. It’s just that you derailed the conversation over some schizo nonsense like an asshole.” She says, picking up one of the half-charred books by the fireplace, curiously inspecting it before tossing it carelessly behind her. “What I wanted to talk with you about, aside from charitably informing you of the group currently hunting you down, is about that person I asked you to find.”

“Person? What person?” Boss asks, slowly rotating sides of the room as she grows closer.

“The healer. The one for Greg.” She elaborates, receiving a blank look back from Boss, still unsure of what she’s talking about. “Sara’s friend, the dead mage…? Please tell me you didn’t forget that I asked you to look into this.”

“…uh.” He mutters.

“God-… Damn it, Jason! What the hell?!” She chides him, exacerbated over the slight. “It’s been what, nearly a month since I asked you to do this? And you haven’t even looked into it?”

“Look, Mia, things have been hectic since you’ve been away. I haven’t so much as had a moment to breathe, let alone look for a resurrector.” Boss defends himself, his feathers starting to ruffle at the scolding. “With the way things are right now, I’m not even sure we can bring anyone back at all! Souls of the dead go all absent-minded now, wandering aimlessly in the afterlife. Even if we could reanimate the body, there’s no telling if anything would crawl back into the shell!”

“Oh, well isn’t that convenient. A perfect excuse to bail out on a promise.” Mia crosses her arms, skeptical of his explanation.

“I don’t get what you’re so up in arms for.” Boss starts to growl, growing frustrated the more criticisms are levied against him. “Sara understands the situation. Some things take priority over others, which means sometimes personal relationships have to be set aside to get the job done! Figuring out how to raise her friend from the dead isn’t gonna get us out of here, so for the time being, it’ll have to wait. It sucks, but she’s dealing with it. In fact, it seems she’s coping rather well with the situation, all things considered.” He dismisses the concern with a sour tone.

“It doesn’t matter if she’s coping well, dickhead. I asked you to help me with this, you said you would. And you haven’t so much as thought about it!” She retorts back. “This is just like you, never true to your word. Only concerned with whatever can hold your insect-sized attention span for more than a minute.” She shakes her head.

“Gaaaaahhh...!” He simmers, pressing both palms into his eyes. “You make me fucking angry…!” With the pause in the conversation extending a moment, Mia gets a strange expression on her face, looking at Boss like she’s noticed something new about him.

“The hell’s wrong with your voice?” She asks, taking note of how gravelly it’s gotten in recent days.

“The hell is wrong with your outfit?” He snaps at the girl, attacking the first thing he notices about her. The insult doesn’t seem to land with much effect, judging by the indifferent reaction Mia gives back. “Things… things have gotten a little more complicated since you had your little get away. I’m a little stressed.” He explains, closing his eyes and clasping both hands to rub the upper bridge of his nose, right where it meets his brow, forming a partial cover over the center of his face.

“Get away? Is that what it was? Because from where I’m standing, you left me behind.” Hearing the comment, Boss’s eyes open slightly, glaring an icy look at her from behind his hands in response. “Well, whatever. It’s not like I could ever rely on you for anything before. Don’t know why I thought this time would be any different…”

“Are we done here?” Boss asks, turning away to avoid seeing her.

“Yeah, we’re done.” She sarcastically answers, sneering at his back.

“Good. We were just about to get moving again when you arrived. Say your hellos with everyone and get ready to be back on the road soon. We have a schedule to keep.” Boss orders, gesturing her to the door at his side.

“Hmm… nah.” Mia nonchalantly refuses.

“…What?” He glances back, seeing as she leans against the table in the room.

“Nah.” She repeats for him. “I’ve been walking pretty much non-stop for the past two days, so I’m gonna crash for the night. We can set out tomorrow morning.”

“Oh we can, can we?” Boss says with a laugh, turning to face her completely again and stepping a few paces in her direction. “You don’t set the fucking schedule here, Mia. I’m in charge, not you. And I’m not gonna let some ignorant bitch slow us down because she’s too inconsiderate to get off her ass, so either get in line or fuck off.” Mulling over his statement, Mia adjusts her jaw from one side to the other, as though shifting his words around beneath her teeth. Then, slowly, rising up from her place at the table, she crosses the room.

“Watch your fucking tone, Greene. Remember who it is you’re talking to here.” Mia says, meeting him at the carpet before the fireplace.

“And who exactly would that be, Mia…? The scared little girl from down the road, crying because she got left behind?” He condescendingly asks with a mockingly weepy tone.

“No, her pissed-off ghost who’s finally caught up to you.” She snarls, hands balled into fists so tight, it could shatter diamonds. Seemingly realizing what he’s done, you notice as Boss pulls back slightly, regaining that caution he first had when entering the room.

“……Whatever.” He huffs, turning and walking away from her. At this point, you’d been so enthralled with the conversation, you failed to realize Boss was heading for the door until he was practically touching it’s broken handle. You and Dallra nearly trip over each other during the retreat.

Booking it double time to the front hallway, you’re just out of sight by the time you hear the broken door of the library swing open with a janky creak. Making it just in time, you let out a sigh of relief, your heart beating just a faint bit faster than you’d expected it to. Strange… You don’t usually get so flustered from things like this. Before you can question the sensation any further, it seems Dallra’s changed her focus from the library’s interior to what’s going on in the lounge with the others. The inertia you experience from viewing the change of perspective gives you an instant case of vertigo, and you nearly puke from the sensation right then and there. Dallra gives you a funny look as you double over, stumbling off to the side and posting your hand against the wall to keep yourself from collapsing. What the hell was that?!

“You okay?” She asks you, curiously observing your stupor. You wave away her attempts to help you upright.

“Fine! Fine.” You assure her, reaching up and ripping out the neural link from your skulls, severing you from her mind’s eye. All she did was look from one room to the other, but it felt like you just got blasted with the g-force of a rocket launch. “Jesus…” In the midst of your infirmity, just before you sever the tie with Dallra, you notice through her sight that Esspin and Sara had appeared in the lounge, speaking with Mary about something. You can vaguely hear the tail-ends of their voices, dampening into mere whispers by the time they reach you from across the room. Mary had said something about a stranger showing up at the front door.

“What’s wrong with you?” You hear as Boss walks up behind you both.

“Nothing, just… migraine. Don’t worry about me.” You huff, recollecting yourself. “How’d your conversation go?”

“Illuminating, as always.” Mia answers for him, coming up the rear. “Isn’t that right, Jay?” She slaps Boss on the back a bit harder than you’d think is socially acceptable, the cavity of his torso snaring like a drum from the hit. A slight grunt escapes from him in the process.

“…Mia’s feeling quite useless after her journey back, so we’ll be camping out here for now.” Boss growls through a grimace, fuming at the likely perceived indignity.

“Ah, name’s Creed Lederman. I don’t believe we’ve actually met.” You say, hoping to take the girl’s focus off Boss for the moment. Leaning forward, you offer up a hand to shake. She goes to do the same.

“A pleasure, Creed. Call me Mi-UHF!!!” Before you have the chance to grasp hands, a sudden blur zooms by in front of you, spinning you partly to the side, threatening to knock you off your feet entirely.

“MIAAAAAAA!” A voice bellows from in front of you. Glancing up, you see Sara, her entire torso practically wrapped around the Maid in a firm embrace. “I’M SORRYYY-HE-HE” She cries, tears streaming down her face, a slight hiccup interrupting her speech.

“Sorry?” Mia rasps beneath the tight grip of the Sylph, surprised at her level of strength.

“W-w-we couldn’t find you, and-and we h-had to leave you be-behiiind!” She manages to string together through weeps, burying her face into the girl’s cloak to stain it with tears. “And I’m… I’m sorryyyyy!”

“It’s… fine, Sara, it wasn’t your fault.” Mia explains, while trying to wriggle an arm free from the Sylph’s stranglehold around her. “I got lost on my own, you don’t have to feel respons-UUH!!!” Before she can finish her assurances to the girl, the Maid’s tackled yet again, this time by a much more powerful player in the game of reunions.

“AHAHAHAHAHA! My ♦Moirail♦!” Esspin roars with laughter, barreling into the two girls, wrapping them in her grasp as she tumbles into a roll, landing on her back as she clutches the both of them close to her in a hug. “You are Back! I knew it would only be a matter of time! It’z been a bitch without you, sister!”

“What?” Mia asks as she’s tossed from side to side like a rag-doll in the troll’s arms.

“Yous was missin’ so Loooooong! Tell me all about it, chica, every motherfucking word!” Esspin gleefully continues, flipping up and over into a criss-cross sitting position. Upon seeing the troll envelop the two girls in her grasp almost completely, it dawns on you just how big Esspin is, effortlessly overshadowing both of them in size, to the point where she could probably hold them easily with only half her total wingspan.

“There’s… not that much… to tell!” Mia tells her, forcing her arm off her neck, taking a deep gasp once free. “Jeez, Ess, take it easy!”

“I have missed you, my friend.” Esspin warmly smiles, gazing upon her human companion as though she were a miracle from heaven.

“…I missed you guys, too.” She begrudgingly smiles back, lightly patting Sara’s head as she cries into her shoulder.

Glancing into the lounge, you see that everyone’s congregated in the same area, having gathered for the Boss's departure, now here to witness this little reunion, all eyes on the display taking place within the hall. As the girls catch up on all they’ve gone through since their untimely separation, a kind of relief washes over the atmosphere in the room. Up until this point, it felt like you all were headed for a cliff in your near future, the team itself coming apart at its edges, but now… it’s like a wave of reinvigoration’s been swept through the castle, allowing everyone to breathe a little easier. You think, for a moment, that Sara might’ve had something to do with it. Inadvertently stifling the cohesion of the group, running herself ragged worrying about her friend, but… for some reason, that doesn’t feel right. Things weren’t clicking into place with the group, like the foundation itself would’ve come apart had things kept going the way they were going. You wonder why that is.

Looking across the jovial faces of the castle, you can’t help but feel the faintest bit happier yourself, as inexplicable as that might sound. Though not as exuberant as Esspin and Sara are, the presence of the duo’s delighted dispositions has without a doubt spread to the others. Mary and Leah stand by each other, watching on with quiet happiness for their teammates while Haugrr and Ryder quietly whisper jokes to one another, giggling like children at what the other had said. Even the more gloomy display Ragnaa’s been wearing lately has softened.

…But then there’s the Boss. Looking on at the display with a sullen expression. You had initially taken the look as contempt, but it seems deeper than that. He’s angry, there’s no mistaking the feeling behind his eyes, but it’s not anger with what he’s seeing. Rather, it’s that anger you’d feel when thinking of something deep in thought, reflecting on something you’d learned that’s upset you, recalling an unpleasant memory that you had tried to forget, thinking of something you’d wish you would have said had you been just a little braver. Quietly, though, that anger behind his eyes quells, like a flame dying out to embers, shifting into a soft sadness. Without a word to the team, Boss turns, heading for the stairway back to his room upstairs. Amidst her reunion with the others, Mia notices as he goes, watching with a firm stillness.

 

***

 

As the night carries on, conversations swaying from stories exchanged while others were away to general chit-chat, it feels like the first time in days since everyone’s managed to relax together. Mary was the first one to break off from the group, citing that she’d had some affairs to attend to before bed, and Frank followed not long after. At least… you think he did. You never actually saw him today. Wonder where he’s gotten off to.

“So wait, you weren’t their goddess, you simply happened to resemble her greatly enough that they believed you were?” Esspin asks Mia as they and Sara relax in a sitting area at the corner of the room. For the first hour or so you all were chatting with one another, Esspin was using a rather peculiar vernacular to speak, implementing a much more colorful diction to express herself than you’d been used to hearing out of the girl. Although after some time talking, she seemed to slowly phased it out, once again returning to her usual put-together speech pattern.

“That’s about the long and short of it.” Mia confirms with a nonchalant shrug. “Most of them were too freaked out to try and stop me from taking the thing. One of them did, name was Gregorio, but a light caning put him in his place.”

“Whoa…” Esspin hums in awe of the divine punishment she’s heard recounted.

“What are the odds of something like that?” Sara asks, munching on a handful of popcorn they’d scavenged from the kitchen downstairs.

“Odds?” Mia glances at her.

“Cuz you were on a completely random planet, and you ran into a consort from an entirely different planet who just so happened to worship the person you looked like?” Sara explains her question. “Like… what’s the statistical possibility of something like that even happening?"

“Probability.” Mia corrects, tossing a thing of popcorn into her mouth herself. “And who cares? Statistics are bullshit. You twist ‘em one way, they say x, you twist ‘em another way, they say y. They’re all just a bunch of meaningless numbers that morons use to make it seem like what they’re spouting is based on facts and not just them saying ‘I don’t like this’ and ‘I don’t like that’, blah blah fucking blah. It’s all just a bunch of noise, really.”

“Um… is it?” Sara asks, confused by her tirade. “I thought statistics were supposed to be like facts or something?”

“I mean sure, there is an objective fact, but it’s so hard to deduce half the time that pretty much anyone can make whatever claim they want and people will believe it with minimal proof.” Mia continues, waving away the misdoubt of her claim. “The Academic community is in crisis, Sara. Experiments are almost never able to be replicated with congruent results, and yet the jackoffs still publish their original findings as if they were tried and true facts for the general masses to digest and regurgitate like it were their own personnel mantra. It’s dishonest, and done either solely to stroke the researcher’s own ego, letting them pretend to ‘confirm’ their hypothesis through one experiment or it’s done to push an agenda. Both are equally abhorrent, morally speaking.”

“In crisis? Mia, the Academic community blew up with the rest of Earth.” Sara points out, lost in the rant. “What are you talking about?”

“Look, the point is statistics don’t matter unless you can verify them, and when the average civilian has no feasible way of reviewing large scale data of every pseudo-scientific statement they come across, then more often than not, the random Joe-shmoe will trust the people in power to tell them what to believe, and the people in power have no moral perplexities telling the average joe-shmoe horse shit if it means it helps them stay in power.” She explains in detail.

“Jeez, you’re getting a little read in the face, Mia…” Sara comments upon the conclusion of the girl’s ravings.

“Sorry, it’s just… I really hate nerds, is all.” She huffs, backing off from the topic. “Nerds and politicians...”

“Well?” You hear Haugrr say, calling your attention back to in front of you. You’re at the table just beside the girl’s area with him, Ryder and Dallra. “You gonna call?” He asks Ryder. You three had struck up a game of Texas Hold Em in your downtime, with you explaining the basics of the card sport to the two uninitiated. Dallra was kind enough to act as your dealer for a few rounds since a rotating-dealer seemed too complicated for the newbies. You had offered her a spot to play as well, but the whole seeing everyone’s hand thing would’ve made bluffing a bit tough.

“Um… Go fish?” Ryder states, still not quite grasping the concept of the game. You glance down at your own hand. ♥Three of Hearts♥, ♠Seven of Spades♠. Shit.

“Just fold already, ya damn gnome.” Haugrr mutters as he derides the boy.

“Fuck you, you fold!” He barks back, throwing down his cards, revealing an ♠Ace of Spades♠ and ♦Queen of Diamonds♦. Okay, so he really isn’t getting the game.

“Creed?” Dallra turns to you, prompting for your action.

“…Raise.” You say, tossing in your chips. Three green and five blue.

“……” Haugrr narrows his eyes at you, trying to deduce the nature of your move. Is it just a bluff, or do you legitimately have something to be confident about? You’re without a doubt bluffing, but judging by the poorly concealed panic starting to form on Haugrr’s face, he’s got no idea how to read you. “Damn it, fold.” He finally says, tossing down a ♥Jack of Hearts♥ and ♣Queen of Clubs♣.

“Ha!” Ryder maliciously laughs at the maneuver, satisfied at his loss.

“Thaaank you.” You say, reaching to the center of the table to collect your chips.

“Hang on now, what was your hand?” Haugrr asks, crossing his arms in frustration. With a faint but smug grin, you toss your cards down for all to see. “Fuckin’ humans…” He sulks upon seeing the reality of the situation.

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” You shrug, satisfied with your more than sufficient poker face.

“I can easily do both.” He mumbles to himself. Shifting into another round, Dallra snatches the cards up, placing them back within the deck and shuffling them all with a surprisingly effortless dexterity, on par with the most seasoned casino dealer veterans.

While you continue on with your game, off a ways by the grand fireplace in the room, Leah and Ragnaa quietly sit listening to the flames. Originally, Leah had joined you for a few games of Hold Em, which she was suspiciously good at, but had stepped away when noticing Ragnaa off on her own. You think she originally went over to talk with the Troll, but you haven’t heard a peep out of them since. Taking a gander over there, you see as your Knight friend awkwardly sits across from Ragnaa in the fancy chairs by the fire, sneaking a glance her way every so often. You also see Ragnaa working on some strange carved trinket made of what you would say was onyx maybe? It’s a rather large piece, maybe the size of her forearm, styled to be a replica of one of the ram-like horns that hang down by her ears. Chipping off one final piece of the thing, Ragnaa holds the horn before her with a ceremonial reverence, scrutinizing its every inch for any flaws in her design. It would seem she’s found none, captchaloguing the artifact to her sylladex and packing away her tools.

“I think I’ll retire for the evening now…” She politely informs Leah, rising from her seat and going to step away. Watching her go, Leah looks as if she wants to say something, but slowly slumps back down when she can’t find the courage to speak up. Hmm.

It’s always the words unsaid that you regret the most…

“……Rags!” Shooting up from her place by the fire, Leah accidentally pushes her seat back, scraping its legs against the floor and catching the entire room’s attention, not just the intended Seer. Though speaking directly to her, it seems Leah still hasn’t mustered the courage to face the girl dead-on, only glancing at her from the side of her eye as she speaks. “I just… I want you to know that you are someone who is very special to me.” Perking up slightly from the warm confession, Ragnaa turns back to see the Knight, curious of what else she’ll say. “When we first met, and you had found Ryder trapped in that barrel-“

“Wait, they found you fucking where?” Haugrr laughs, looking over at the boy.

“Shut up!” Ryder barks back as the Prince continues to chuckle at him.

“You reached out to me.” Leah continues, ignoring the background chatter. “You risked so much asking for help from another contestant, and for someone you didn’t even know, let alone had a responsibility to. I knew right then and there that you were someone worth protecting.” Ragnaa's lips curl to a weak smile hearing her friend’s proclamation. “But protecting people special to me is something I’ve never been good at.” Leah continues on. “I was foolish with it in the past. Went chasin’ fairytales not thinking about what would happen if I bit off more for us than we could chew. And it ended up getting them all killed… Meeting you and realizing I had someone in my life I had to protect again, I guess I started being afraid that the same thing would happen all over. And I ended up overstepped in a lot of places because of it. I wanted you to know that I am sorry. I’m sorry because the truth is that I fail those I cared about because my faith wavered. Seeing me fold against the tide how I did, it shattered us. And those hungering maws made their way in to finish the job.” Turning, the Knight faces the Seer directly now. “Seeing Jason out there today, snappin' at anything that moved, I realized I was doing the same thing he was. Doing the same thing I had done all over again. I was doubting. I didn’t know what to trust, er what to believe in, but… I do now. I believe in you, Rags. I just wanted you to know that. In case things don’t end too pretty for us. I wanted you to know that you’re my friend.”

“…You’re my ♦friend♦, too.” Ragnaa’s smile reaffirms itself. Leah smiles back.

“You too, Doll.” She turns back to the rest of your group, facing Dallra specifically. The Jade Troll straightens up, seeing she’s been addressed. “I’m sorry I’ve been a horse’s ass the past couple of days. As long as you’re puttin' in work, you’re fine by me. And you, big gal.” Leah looks to Esspin. “You might be a bit bubbly, but… you’re alright, too.” You look back and see as Esspin lays her hands over her heart, cherishing the compliment. “…Not you, Haugrr, I still don’t like you.”

“Feeling is mutual, Sis.” Haugrr says, not looking away from his cards. With her amends made, Leah walks over to her Seer, nudging into her as she takes the girl by the arm, locking it around her’s and walking away for the evening.

“…What happened with Jason?” You hear Mia inquire behind you, asking Sara about what Leah mentioned. You don’t pay the conversation much mind, turning your attention down to your freshly dealt cards. ♣Two of Clubs♣, ♦Seven of Diamonds♦. Fuck.

 

***

 

“Do we have intercept?” You hear chatter from your palmhusk, catching your attention.

“Negative. Asset broke concealment before making direct contact with target.” You report back, finding it difficult to concentrate on the surrounding Metasphere through the interference from the device.

“Sub-targets detected?” He follows up.

“Sub-target Wolfhart confirmed contact. None else.” You report back.

“Good enough.” He sighs, fidgeting with something on the other side of the line. “Target Party still on course?”

“As far as I can tell.” You shrug, direction not exactly being your forte. “However, there seems to be a secondary destination hidden somewhere within one of their member’s private plans. Unable to determine at this time, though. Too known of an arrangement to be considered a secret.”

“Copy that.” He says before the line goes quiet.

“…How’s Aellocy doing?” You ask to break the silence.

“Stable, but she’ll be out of commission for a while.” He reports. “Your Asset really did a number on her. Robin was able to stop the rot, but she’s still working on replacing her missing bits.”

“Understood.” You say with a shutter, recalling the state the Thief was in when you found her. “Going radio silent. Will check in tomorrow.”

“Expected check in at O-Eight Hundred. Do not forget.” He instructs.

“Got it. Talk to you then, LJ.” You confirm.

“Till then. Over and Out.” He says as he ends the call. You glance out the window at the storm raging on outside and smile. What a dork, you’re only supposed to say ‘over and out’ on the radio.

 

***

 

Your jaw stretches and threatens to cramp as you yawn, still shaking off the morning grogginess of last night’s rest. You aren’t usually such a deep sleeper, but you guess for the past week or so you haven’t had much time to unwind. You’re Mia again, by the way. How’s it going. Been a minute since you were last you. Currently you’re scaling the enormous god damn staircase that leads down to the sleeping quarters in this castle, making your way back up to the surface. You’re on your own at the moment, with Sara back in the room you stayed in, tending after Esspin who’d come down with something overnight. She’s been shivering and threw up a few times, and seemed overly sensitive to sound. What she got in her system, you’ve got no idea, but if you had to make a diagnosis, you’d say she was hungover.

Reaching the top of the stairs, you enter into the kitchen area, making your way up to the front room next to the castle’s foyer. As you go, you notice a glass of oj sitting on a nearby counter. You snatch it up and down the thing, placing it back in the same motion.

“Wha- Hey!” Someone yips from somewhere in the kitchen. It’s that Ryder boy, protesting from behind the fridge door. “The fuck?! That was the last of the juice!”

“Snooze ya lose, loser.” You shrug, continuing on.

“God damn it! We only have fucking bootleg soda left!” He cries to himself as he slams the fridge shut. “And who broke the fucking Stove!?” You hear him yell from down below as you reach the ground floor.

Entering into the front room, you notice the living corpse and that girl with the gun lingering about the place at different ends of the room. That Creed guy is sitting at a table with the space player with the glowing eyes and her weird homunculus pet as well. You give him a nod as you walk. He nods back.

Crossing the room, you enter into the front hall of the fortress, immediately noticing something off to your side. It’s Jason, standing at the threshold of the castle’s entrance, gazing at the storm outside past the bastille doors he’s left propped open like a psycho. The others had told you about how he’s been recently. Snippy at the best of times, breaking into strife at the worst, making threats and raving about traitors. You had thought he was just being a fuckhead towards you for old time’s sake, but evidently he’s been having a go at everyone around him since rousing from the most recent installments in the long line of head traumas he’s suffered from. A pattern of behavior all too familiar to you, much to your embitterment. That girl, the Space Seer is beside him as well, watching to storm with him, engaging in a conversation too tedious for you to bother eavesdropping on. What you do bother noticing is how close those two are. Despite the crabby demeanor Jason’s been parading around with, he actually seems to have warped his lips into a smile listening to the girl speak. Despicable. And the girl, with not an ounce of shame in that Trillion body of her's, is beaming at the boy like a schoolgirl with a crush. Turns your stomach, really. You had noticed something with her last night. After the welcome-wagon welcoming you back packed up for the evening and everyone started slinking off to their rooms to crash, all your teammates had walked down to the chambers in the underground levels of the castle. All except for her. She went the same way Jason had gone when he left, towards the upstairs room. Seems she likes to stick close with old Jay-bone there. Just what the hell did you come back to…

“Maybe wanna come inside for a while, sniper-bait?” You call, walking up to the two. You notice that dumb smile on Jason’s face die down hearing your approach. “For a guy worried about assassins coming after him, you sure seem comfortable sticking your head out for anyone in a mile radius to see. Might as well go for a sunday cruise through the grassy knoll.”

“What do you want, Mia.” He addresses you with a moany tone.

“Ha, first time hearing that.” You scoff, meeting them at the entrance. “And a good morning to you too.”

“If you just came over here to be snarky, then beat it. We’ve still got some planning left to do for the route on our journey.” He quickly dismisses, adjusting his stance to lean slightly towards the Seer by his side.

“Yeah I bet…” You mutter, eyeing the troll who’s begun to turn a deep green. “About the journey, though. It looks like we’re gonna be getting a late start today.”

“What…” He growls. You notice down by his side as his hands turn to fists. Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of bed.

“It’s Esspin. She has the shakes and isn’t keeping anything down.” You explain, not seeming to calm his spas-out in the slightest. “She thinks she’ll be good to leave some time today, but it’s looking like we won’t get out till the afternoon.”

“Un-believable.” He says, storming off past you.

“The hell are you going?” You turn to watch as he stomps away.

“To get our good-for-nothing teammates so we can finally get back on the fucking road.” He bores, marching his way into the front room.

“Hey, it’s not like she’s just lounging around.” You follow after him, hearing his plan. “She’s sick.”

“Yeah? I’m sick too!” He yells, snapping back to face you and grabbing the entire room’s attention as he does. “Sick of you people finding every reason under the sun to plant your fucking feet into the ground and refuse to go anywhere!” He’s addressing the room now, looking out at all the faces present, both shocked and unsurprised by his ravings. “Look around you. The room we’re in Right Now, it’s the same exact layout as our last base. The same one before that too, I’d bet. It’s like we haven’t even gone anywhere! No progress whatsoever. It’s been nearly a week we’ve been on the same god Damn PLANET and we’ve gotten NOWHERE! It’s been even LONGER since we recruited anyone for the fucking mission, and the last one we did recruit was our fucking Navigator! A tinkerer with an aversion to Tricks!“ He looks over to who you assume he’s referring to, the girl with the glowing eyes. She raises an eyebrow at the ill-intended attention. “We aren’t even sure if our ticket’s been punched yet, if our god damn escape is guaranteed, and we have someone to drive the fucking ship! Players are dropping like Flies, people. Players we need, players we won’t be able to bring back. And what are you all doing? Bullshitting around like our lives aren’t on the line. Our Lives! I am trying to save your god damn lives! And all you keep doing is fighting me ever fucking step of the way! What don’t you all get about this?! There is a set amount of time we have left! And then we’re dead! No second chances, no do-overs. We either figure shit out or we die.” He turns back to you now. “An entire day. We’re an entire Fucking Day behind schedule and you want to delay it further?! For what? So the people trying to stop us can catch up? Can box us in on all four sides?” He whips back around agin, spinning circles like flanked prey trying to keep their eyes on the surrounding predators. “We are Dead… DEAD! And I am trying to turn back the clock for us but you all just keep grinding the gears to a stop. Is that what you want…? Is that what You Want?! To Be Dead?! Torn apart by the enemy, you Want your Blood to Stain My Sleeves like All my Other Friends?!?!” Okay. That’s enough.

“Come on.” Walking up behind Jason, you snatch him up with an arm hooked around his neck, grabbing him and dragging him out of the room.

“The hell?!” He snarls like a scared dog. “What are you doing?!”

“I said; Come On.” You repeat, jerking him along as he attempts to squirm free. Marching him away, the two of you return back to the dismantled library you spoke in last time. It’s around here that Jason starts to try and really break free from your grapple.

“Ah, Mia! Stop it, I can walk on my goddamn own!” He whines, trying to slip out from your grasp.

“Sit.” You slam him down into a chair by the fireplace.

“Jesus…! What?!” He glares up at you from his sat position.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You demand, crossing your arms as you stand before him.

“With me? What the fuck is with you?!” He tries to puff his chest out to look tough from his seat. “I’ve got enough to deal with already, I don’t need one of my subordinates pulling a power move on me in front of the entire Fucking group!”

“Subordinate?” You echo in a way that asks if he’d like to try that again.

“Uh-…” He goes quiet, his next words lingering at the precipice of his lips, held back by what little remains of his common sense. “You know what I mean…” He finally grumbles, leaning back in his chair, mushing the side of his face against his fist while he glares off to the side.

“No, I don’t. You’re acting like a dickhead, Jason.” You admonish with a tilt of your head to mirror his own. “And not the normal dickhead you usually are. What the hell is with this Macho-Leader bullshit you’re putting on? Screaming your fucking head off at everybody for no reason? Have you lost it?”

“Oh, excuse fuckin’ me for thinking a group this large needs some Leadership.” He rolls his eyes with a nasty sneer. “It was pretty clear that no one else was gonna step up.”

“Really.” You unbelievingly ask, rapidly growing tired of the Page’s bullshit. “Because to me, and correct me if I’m wrong here, but to me, you made it pretty clear you wanted to be the leader.”

“How!?!? How did I make that clear?!” He shoots up from the chair, trying to get in your face. You press your fingertips into his chest, forcing him to remain at bay with a firm jab.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you were the one who came up with the plan? You were the one who was telling us where to go and who to find? You were the one providing all around guidance, trying to lead us?”

“Those were Suggestions! Not an invitation to follow me to the ends of the fuckin’ earth! I didn’t want to lead everyone, I’m practically winging it at this point! And everyone just… does what I tell them to do! No one’s ever done what I tell them to do before! I barely even do what I tell myself to do! But no one else was stepping up to take the reins, and I’m not just gonna let everything fall apart after getting this far, so fuck it! I’m the leader, I guess!” He throws his hands up in the air before turning around and scowling at the floor. “Not like I’ve got a choice in the matter, par for the fucking course. Only now, they think they can push back on what I tell them. Like I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about? They act like I’m some kind of nutcase. Like trying with every fiber in your being to survive is unreasonable? Like having to make concessions in order to make it out alive on the other side is crazy? They pretend like they don’t know the fucking score, and suddenly; I’M the Bad Guy! I’M the one who’s done something wrong! Is that how it fucking is?! BULLSHIT!”

“Oh boo-fucking-hoo for you, Jason.” You scoff at the self-pitying act you’re seeing before you. “How hard it must be for you, you’re such a martyr.” You can see even from behind him as Jason’s jaw clamps down like a hydraulic press, the muscles of his muzzle bulging in anger at your comment.

“Shut up.” He mutters through his teeth.

“How about you stop feeling bad for yourself for once in your god-damn life and take a look in the mirror.” You tell him, undaunted by his anger as it begins to boil over. “You’re a jealous, self-centered bastard, Jason. You’re vindictive and spiteful and cruel, and you pretend like you don’t even notice that you are! Pretend like you didn’t have a direct hand in how all this ended up!”

“I said Shut Up!” He barks at you now, trembling with rage.

“You aren’t some tragic hero, and you damn sure aren’t a victim. You’re just a fucking Monster, too ignorant to realize that it destroys everything it touches!”

“Tch-… Fk…! GRAAAAAAAH!… AAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!“ He screams between heavy breaths, pounding a fist against his chest like a tantruming gorilla. “YOU! YOOOU…!!! MAKE MEEE…. SO.. FUCKING ANGRY!!!!” Suddenly, Jason whips around, driving his fist into the mortared stone of the fireplace, causing a cringe-inducing -crack- to splinter from his knuckles. He stands there a moment, his likely broken fist still pressed against the hard surface, unmoved by his efforts. After a few heavy breaths, he reels back and slams his against the stone once more, pausing for a second but much shorter time. Again he reels back, and again he drills his fist against the fireplace, and again and again and again, each time evoking a more distorted crunch and splatting sound as he destroys his hand. “FUAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!” He cries out in rage as his punches accelerate, now starting to do damage to the structure of the masonry. Onward, he pulverizes both the wall and himself, until suddenly he stops, the stone now cracked and pushed in on itself beneath his first. And he stays stopped, huffing and puffing from the exertion, just staring at the damage he’s caused with a confused indifference, as if he wasn’t sure what he was looking at or what he had done.

“…You’re using it wrong.” You tell him once it seems he’s calmed down enough to understand that he’s being spoken to.

“Ha… Ha… What?” He says between breaths, sneering at you as if you said something stupid.

“The anger. You’re using it wrong.” You clarify. “You’re letting it consume you. Control you. You’re like a puppet to it, getting your strings all caught up. It's a tool, not a master. You don't face it inward, towards yourself or your allies. You face it outward, front toward the enemy.”

“Yeah? And what the hell would you know?” He asks with venom behind his voice.

“Considering it’s my direct field of expertise, a fuck-site more than you.” You remind him of the badge on your hip. Whatever protest against you he might’ve spat your way seems to vanish from his mind, and that glaring expression he’s looking at you with dissipates into an almost sober realization that he’s spiraling. Suddenly now, Jason’s gritting his teeth, looking like he’s trying to choke back tears from bursting out his tired eyes in shrivelingly embarrassing fashion. He looks away in what you would say must be shame, as though he can’t stand being the focus of another’s attention, dreadful of the thought of being perceived. What the hell’s happened to him? “Jason… What’s wrong?” You implore him to answer, realizing just how bad he’s gotten.

“……I’m afraid.” He almost whispers, unable to meet your gaze still. “I’m afraid we won’t make it in time… I’m afraid the people hunting me will catch up and ruin my plans. I’m afraid I’m going to get the only people left in my life killed because I didn’t make the right decisions. I’m afraid Everything we’ve been fighting so hard for is just going to vanish into smoke, like it didn’t even matter at all! I’m afraid that if I’m not the man everyone needs me to be, then we’ll run out of time and be stuck here forever! I’m afraid-! I’m afraid… I’m afraid……” Drooping forward, Jason plunks his head against the fireplace, pressing his crown against the stone there as he blankly stares down at the floor. “…I’m afraid to die.” He admits with a painful look of guilt scrunching his eyes. “I could’ve gone back… Gone back in time to stop the Alpha from splintering. If I did, the offshoot on the timeline we came from would’ve disappeared, and we wouldn’t be here right now. I told myself the reason I didn’t get rid of our offshoot was because it would cause more damage than it would fix, but the truth is… I didn’t go back because I was afraid to die… Every version of me could give up their life without a second thought. All the Jasons from Doomed offshoots came back to help me, they knew what would happen when they did, and yet they still came… but me?” His shoulders slump as he can’t seem to find the words. “Even the version of me that your-…”

“……My…?” You prompt him to continue.

“Nothing… It’s nothing…” He quietly refuses, shaking his head against the stone. “I don’t think I have what it takes to make things right again. I don’t think I can save us.” His eyes flutter at his comment, looking as though they’re threatening to fall asleep. “I just don’t want any more blood on my sleeves…” You watch him a moment, letting a silent miasma pass over the room as you study your former friend.

“You don’t wanna be leader, then.” You surmise from all of this. The muscles in his back and shoulders tense up at the question, trembling slightly at the contents of your statement.

“Hah… guess so.” He says, letting himself go limp again. “I can’t remember how many times I asked the guys for more responsibility back in our session. To help with the frog, or spy on the Derse Royals… something! There wasn’t anything I wanted more than to take my future into my own hands… but whenever I did, everything would start falling apart… It happened then, and it’s happening now… it’s pathetic.”

“I don’t think it is.” You say, disagreeing with the statement when any other day you would’ve found it factual. Jason lingers a moment staring at the ground, processing what it is you just said to him, before his attention snaps to you, looking to see if he heard you right. “This whole ordeal has been a shitstorm… And hell, leadership can be a big responsibility. It’s fine if you’re feeling stressed out about being in charge of so many lives. In fact, it’d… be kinda weird if you weren’t. But what makes you think it’d be any less stressful for you if someone else was leading the pack? It’s life and death. It’s gonna be a little strenuous regardless who’s in charge. You can’t just skip out on the pressure by stepping down.”

“Y-… You don’t think there’s someone else better suited to lead us than me?” He inquires, dubious of your positivity towards him. You shrug at him to answer. “Someone who won’t accidentally lead his group dick-first into oblivion?”

“Don’t be a drama queen.” You roll your eyes at the insecurity.

“I-I’m serious!” He reaffirms his doubts. “What… Wh-what if I fuck things up worse than I can fix them? What if we all die before anyone can ever escape?”

“Well… we’re not dead yet. Gotta be some merit in that, hasn’t there?” You suggest to him as he finally stands up straight again. “Maybe you’re not the picture-perfect leader you think you should be. So what? Who gives a shit if there’s someone better at it than you? You’re here, aren’t you?” A breeze flows about the library, entering in through the chimney and flipping the pages of the discarded books left lying about the place, lightening the burning pressure that’d been building in the room for a while now. You notice as well that, for the first time since you’ve reunited with your team, Jason has started resembling a human again.

“What if-“ He begins again.

“Being a hard-ass doesn’t make you a good leader, Jason.” You cut him off before he can work himself into another conniption. “No one here joined you because you can yell the loudest. They joined because you gave them something to believe in. They joined because when you found your ship, buried out in the sand, you didn’t sail away with it. You reached out a hand to bring them aboard.” As you explain the reality of his situation to him, the glints of wrathful ire infecting Jason’s eye begin to fade away, deflating him the way a wave of exhaustion deflates a man finally giving into his limits. Slowly he slinks across the room and takes a seat back in his chair, letting himself breath through the moment.

“…” Silently, he looks down at the charred tomes scattered on the floor before him.

“What’s up.” You nod to him as he gazes down. “You’ve got that stupid look on your face you always get when something’s wrong.

“Nothing’s wrong… I-I’m okay. I’m just…… thinking.” He assures you, distracted with the books yet somehow seeming more attentive than he’s been since you’ve been back.

“About?” You inquire.

“About the last thing my Dad said to me.” He answers, looking up again. “He told me that the road ahead was going to be a long one, and that I’d have to do a lot of growing up if I didn’t want to see the end of it too soon.”

“That’s kind of fucked up to tell a kid.” You say, taken off guard by the sentiment of the statement. Mr Greene said that? Laid back, go-with-the-flow, Mr Greene?

“I don’t think he ever really saw me as a kid. More like a roommate that he took care of.” He explains with a soft smile curving onto his lips. “He would always say that ‘You’re only as old as you act, Jason’. I always thought it was his excuse to act like a child whenever he wanted, but looking back now… it’s almost like he wanted me to grow up free, without losing that youthful side of me. Like he didn’t want me to get consumed by all the adult world bullshit and just… be me, you know?” As Jason talks, you notice how a strange light has appeared in his eyes now, twinkling like he’s got an idea. The way it shines through him, the way he looks at you with it, this strange little light, it… it feels so familiar. “That or he was just some man-child that paradox space dumped me with.” He shrugs with a glum exacerbation. “I guess it’s a little late to be asking these question, though…”

“Are you… good, now?” You awkwardly ask, unfamiliar with the complexities of emotionally supporting another person. You can just leave him, right? And he won’t blow up, or something? Upon hearing your question, Jason looks at you, a thought undoubtedly lingering around in his head, debating with himself of whether he should manifest it into the world through his words.

“Y-… yeah. I’m good…” He passively nods, glancing away.

“Ah, don’t give me a pussy answer like that. What is it?” You demand that he spill.

“It’s nothing…” He doubles down without hesitating.

“Christ, Jay, can you not just say you wanna talk?!” You irritatedly ask, already familiar with this song-and-dance. “Why do I always have to be the one who has to pry? I don’t even care in the first place, just say it already!”

“Well if you don’t care, then why are you asking?” He asks back like a smartass.

“Because if I don’t ask, you’re gonna be all mopey like you’re on your fucking period all day. Now come on, out with it!” You clap for a chop-chop kind of emphasis.

“It’s just… Do you ever miss her?” Jason asks, biting the underside of his inner cheek. “Your Mom?”

“Fuck no. My mother was a bitch.” You promptly answer, crossing your arms.

“Seems a bit harsh.” He murmurs at your curtness.

“No one said the truth was pleasant.” You shrug, unbothered by the criticism.

“Come on, she couldn’t have been that bad.” He suggests, purely ignorant on the matter.

“Come tell me that after you spend thirteen years sheltered under the watchful eye of a sociopathic she-devil who uses borderline brainwashing thought-control to hold a total monopoly on your emotional real estate while taking meticulous care that you don’t receive any major stimuli because god forbid you have a shred of fucking autonomy in your life, that would mean that the succubus would have a harder time manipulating you.” You say all in one breath, your tuft ruffled by the memories. “We’ll see if you’re still singing that same tune then.”

“uh… s-sorry I brought it up.” Jason mutters, partially retreating into his shell at your rant.

“No. It’s fine. She’s dead now, so who cares.” You blow off his apology, looking off to the side in a huff.

“Weeell…” He says, his head tilting off to the side as he squints his eyes. “Dead is kinda subjective, no?”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Ah-… never mind, it-it doesn’t really matter.” He backtracks while rubbing the back of his head.

“Okay. Weirdo.” You half-sneer at the comment. What’s he asking about your mother for anyway? He only met her like once back on earth when you were kids. “Look, I’m gonna go check on Esspin. See how her recovery’s going or if she needs anything. Maybe talk with some of those schmucks out in the parlor in the meantime. Seemed like some of them were pissed with you going off on them before.”

“Yeah… that’s probably a good idea.” He nods in agreement, looking down at his feet, guilt-struck by the reminder. As you turn to go out the door, you hear Jason speak up from behind you again. “Do you really think your mom did what she did to control you?” You glance back.

“Of course I do. I literally just told you.” You remind him.

“I don’t know, Mia, I-, it’s easy to gloss over the things they did for us when you weigh it against all their missteps, but they were our guardians. It was their job to watch over us until we were ready for… this!” He motions towards nothing in general. “I’m sure there’s more to it than what you think. I’m not trying to poke holes in your grief, but what could she really get out of doing something like that?”

“Satisfaction, if I were to put a word to it.” You answer with a sigh.

“I don’t think you’re giving her enough credit.” He passively tries to convince you. “Yeah, they might not’ve known what they were doing all of the time, and maybe they weren’t exactly the best candidates to raise a kid, but they made us the people we were supposed to be. What if… what if there was some sort of lesson she was trying to teach? What if she knew the road you’d travel down? Knew you’d need an unwavering conviction to survive. Rebellion breeds the strongest wills, so maybe… maybe she was giving you something to rebel against.” As he goes on with his little speech, you notice how halfway through, it seems like he’s stopped talking to you directly, and has begun speaking more to himself, like he’s bouncing the idea off his own thought process. You blink at him a few times, unsure if he’s being serious or not.

“…Crazy is as crazy does, Jason.” You inform the Page. “And if there was one thing that woman was, it was crazy. You got the Man-child, I got the Psycho-bitch, nothing more, nothing less. It isn’t that deep.” He remains silent upon hearing your decree. With that, you exit the room and head for the subterranean passage, hearing a suspicious scuffle down the hall as some unseen eavesdropper scampers away. Hm. Wonder who it was.

 

Mia, find your way through the Gates of Hell.

Chapter 59: > A Return to Norms

Gates of Hell? Is that what this place is called? Well anyway, don’t go getting too familiar there, buddy. Mia isn’t planning on chauffeuring you around the damn place like some kind of psychic taxi service. Maybe if she’s doing something interesting you can be her again, but figuring out how to mop up a highblood’s upchuck without busting out a bucket doesn’t qualify under that designation. For now, go bug someone else. Someone like Jason. Eeh? Doesn’t that sound nice? It’s been like forever since you’ve been that jerk. Yes, you think that’s a splendid idea. You are now Jason Green, and boy does it feel good to be back!

…Actually, it feels pretty shitty. Although the relief in your head is exactly that, relief, it still feels like you just yanked your head out of a vice grip. Between that and the fact that you’ve basically been doing nothing but yelling at your friends for the past three days, you aren’t feeling all that good about being yourself right now. What the hell’s been with you lately? You’re like a tiger with a thorn in its paw, just kind of batting at anything that gets a little too close. Maybe the stress really has been getting to you. Or perhaps it’s something else entirely. All you know is you really need a vacation from all this.

Welp, no point in putting it off any longer, you really screwed things up with your team. Here’s hoping fences aren’t too busted to mend. No harm in trying, though. You should really get out there and start building back those bridges with them, before the feelings you’ve been kicking up set to fester. Composing yourself to your best of ability, you accidentally make yourself feel a little too self-conscious of how you’re looking, prompting you to adjust your shirt and make sure your cape isn’t ruffled before leaving the library. Once you’re out in the halls though, you march on with confidence, at least until you reach the actual lounge where everyone’s sitting. There that confidence shrivels out and dies as everyone turns and looks as you enter. Well this is soul-cringingly embarrassing.

“Um…Hey…” You awkwardly greet the silent crowd, raising up a hand to throw out a passive wave. Seeing that no response is coming, you eventually let your arm rest down by your side again. Suddenly, though, Mary sits up in her place at the table she’s at, a perturbed expression on her face. Rising up, she storms over to where you are, snatching up your hand to examine it closer, evoking a sharp pain when she grabs it.

“What in god’s name did you do?” She asks, baffled by your appendage. Confused what she’s referring to, you’re about to try and pull free from her grasp when you notice that your knuckles are torn to shreds.

“Ah… right.” You mumble, examining your hand alongside her, just as clueless to the injury as your Mage. “I… guess I… slipped…”

“On what, a deli grinder?” She cringes at the injury with a confused grimace, glancing at you for confirmation. “You have major fractures all over your proximal bones and a dislocation at your third and second mcp joint. Which-“ Applying a swift pressure, Mary squeezes your hand together, channeling a pain that strips you of your voice and nearly takes you to your knees.

“……ah…” You rasp, screaming in silence at the stimulus.

“Should be back in place now.” Mary finishes her previously started statement. “Here. Come sit, I’ll bandage this up for you.” She says, leading you over to the table she and Creed were staying at.

“T-… Thanks.” You say as she sets you down. Deploying her bag on the tabletop, she begins sifting through the contents of her supplies, leaving you to awkwardly sit with your torn up hand outstretched in front of her with Creed passively watching the situation play out. “So, uh… Esspin’s feeling a little under the weather… it seems...” You say to him.

“…” He remains silent, looking you up and down with a scrutinizing gaze.

“Sooo… probably gonna wait… until she’s back in shape before we get back on the road.” You continue, glancing up at the ceiling to try and lessen the cringe creeping up on your soul.

“…Glad to have you back, Boss.” He says, clasping you by the shoulder and giving you a gentle shake as he gets up, wandering over towards the front of the room where Dallra’s been hanging out. Aw man, come on, why’d he have to leave you alone with Mary…

“This might sting a little.” The Mage tells you as she pours a liquid over your knuckles, evoking a stinging sensation to overtake your hand as the substance fizzles.

“Ah… what is that!?” You struggle to keep your hand still, wincing as the substance eats at you.

“Hydrogen peroxide, don’t be a baby.” She tells you while drying the skin of your knuckles. Dipping into her bag again, she sets down a roll of bandages before searching for something more in the carrier. “…You know I have antipsychotics in here, if you need them. Psychiatry is a bit out of my scope of practice, so I’m not exactly qualified to write a prescription for them, but me and the General Medical Council never saw eye to eye, regardless.”

“I-I think I’m alright.” You sigh as she retrieves a pair of those scissors with the angle at the end of them.

“You sure? There’s no shame in seeking help, Jason.” She informs you as she begins to wrap up your hand. “Mental health isn’t the taboo it used to be.”

“Thank you, but I think I’ll be okay. I appreciate the offer, though.” You assure her as she tucks the bandage in on itself, snipping the rest of the roll off with those L-shaped scissors. “I’ve just been a little bit stressed lately...”

“A young man’s mind is just as important as his body.” She hums while putting her supplies away. “You should probably ice this for a while to keep the swelling down. I believe there’s a deep freeze in the kitchen downstairs.”

“I’ll see what I can find.” You nod, surprised yet grateful for the prompt treatment. “…Mary, I think an apology is in order.” You tell her, catching the girl’s attention, her eyes chirping and chiming as they scan you a moment.

“…Sorry, but I hadn’t realized I had done anything to offend you.” She says after a brief moment of thought.

“Wha- oh, n-no, I don’t… Me. I’m… apologizing.” You clarify through your stammering.

“For?” She asks while setting her bag down on the ground by her side.

“W-well… I’ve been a bit… cold to you. And it’s because… I guess… I’m a bit… jealous of you.” You admit with a fair deal of embarrassment.

“Jealous.” She repeats, blinking at you with a mechanical shift. “Do you mind if I ask you why?”

“I-I don’t know.” You mumble, rubbing the back of your head while glance away from the girl. “You’re competent. You can walk into a room and take control of a situation. You could do with a syringe and a bit of powder what I couldn’t with a set of ancient time powers.” You rest a hand over the fresh bandages on your other. “I thought I was finally figuring out how to be a leader when you showed up. Next thing I know, you waltz in and solve our problems with a snap of your fingers, have everyone fawning over you, and you knock my magic for good measure. It was… a little intimidating”

“Hm. While I can see how my demeanor might come off as domineering, I can assure you, Jason, that I had no intention of belittling you in front of your peers. By trade, I’m a woman of science. If I see a problem, I can’t help but want to solve it, regardless of the context surrounding the scenario I'm in at the time.” She explains her side of things. “However, in regards to your ability of Time manipulation, it isn’t so much that I find your magic in particular superfluous, simply all magic in general. I find it to be an untrustworthy field of study. There isn’t any consistency to it, it doesn’t follow any set of laws. It simply… doesn’t… compute for me. My mind just can't grasp the fundamentals of it, and as a result, it's become a craft I can't get behind. Though just because I personally haven’t invested in magic doesn’t mean I intend to deride your decision to do so. For what it’s worth, you seem rather capable in the practice.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I think I actually kind of suck at it, if I’m being honest.” You say with a laugh, trying to mask the pain. For as knowledgable as your Future Selves were when you trained under them, at the end of the day, it was like the blind leading the blind whenever you learned about your powers.

“Well, you know what they say." She says with an emphatic shrug. "No one at the top ever got there on talent alone, hard work is what separates the lucky from the great.”

“Who said that?” You ask as you stand up from the table.

“Not important. What is important is that you not bend your hand too much, you might pop the joints out of place again.” She instructs, sending a shiver down your spine at the idea.

“Uh… got it.” You agree, turning to continue on with your errand. “And again, thanks.” You add on, showing off her handiwork on your hand.

“Mhm.” She hums, already tinkering with some kind of circuitboard thing. She's quite the multitasker, you suppose. Looking around for your next bridge to fix, you inevitably set your sights on Haugrr, leaned back on the windowsill of a large stained-glass window. You figure you owe him an apology as well for that whole… severing his spine thing. Might as well pay the piper already. Taking a step towards him, you seem to grab Haugrr’s attention immediately, as he turns to look at you.

“Hey-“

-zap-

…Before you can get any close, the Prince disappears in a blink of static. Huh… Guess he’s still a little sore over everything. You suppose that’s fair. Though a lighthearted bout between friends and guardians is a relatively normal occurrence for a child growing up, throwing down the gauntlet with every intention of a serious strife is a pretty clear message of where two people stand with one another. Not exactly something one should take lightly. You’ll just have to figure out another way to make it up to him somehow. That or he’ll die angry, you guess, you don’t know how long trolls can keep a grudge for. Anyway, that’s a future problems for Future Jason. For now, see if you can smooth things over with Leah? What could go wrong?

You make your way over to the Knight of your team, finding her preoccupied with cleaning the pieces of her gun she’s left apart on the table of a small booth area. Lexie used to have a similar practice with looking after her handgun. You don’t really know why you’re supposed to do that, though? It’s made of metal, right? Can’t you just dunk it in water and it’ll be fine? You’ve never had to clean any of your pickaxes before and some of them are metal, too. Regardless of the cleaning process, you’ve approached the gunslinger during her time of meditation.

“Jason.” She acknowledges your arrival in her space. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Speaking in a monotone voice, she’s kept her attention on the weapon pieces before her, eyes on the metal pipe-cleaner she’s running through the barrel of her gun.

“I wanted to say… sorry for making a scene earlier, and well… everything else I’ve been doing lately.” You stumble your way through the apology. “I’m not usually such a dick all the time and anything I said the past couple days that might’ve come off as bitter, I-I really didn’t mean it.”

“Well that is mighty kind of you to say.” She says with a huff, sounding unconvinced of your amends, only barely glancing at you as she speaks, continuing on with her task at hand.

“…I-… Is there something specific I did that upset you?” You continue on, figuring a general ‘I’m sorry’ won’t cut it. “I’ve just been in a bit of a funk lately, so if I ended up yelling at you without a reason, I-”

“Jason, you can yell yourself blue in the face all you want at me.” She cuts you off before you can get any further. “No skin off my back, personally. But you made my friend cry. As far as I’m concerned, we’ve nothing to talk about so long as that little transgression remains standin’. Make things right with her first, then I might consider accepting your apology. Right now, though, you’re blocking my light.”

“A-, uh… right…” You mutter, noticing that your shadow was cast over the table she's working at. With nothing else to really say to the Knight, you decided to leave her to her devices for now. You feel if you badger her any more on the subject, you might end up on the wrong end of a hand cannon.

Stepping away from the booth area, you set out on the Side Quest Leah had just given you, fully intending to clear it from your queue in record time. Where the hell is Ragnaa then… This place has a basement, right? You guess you’ll head down to the kitchen everyone’s been going in and out of. Traversing the corridor, which descends into a downward incline, leading you into the culinary arena of the castle. Surrounded by the various cooking utensils of the cook-cave, you notice a distinct smell of burning hanging heavy in the air, accompanied by the quiet clanging of pots and pans. Inspecting the place, you notice Ryder is here, shooting around the kitchen with an assortment of bowls and ingredients in his grasp. It looks like he’s rigged the stovetop with some kind of makeshift campfire, built out of a stack of burning spaghetti bundles, lit aflame where the stove’s burner grate should be, had it not been discarded into the kitchen sink. Your fellow Page occupies himself with a task of whisking a weird yellow batter in the bowl under his arm, adding in fist-fulls of an unidentified white powder to the concoction at both random increments and intervals, almost turning the thing into a roux. The hell is he doing?

“What kind of pantry only has two damn bags of sugar…?” He mumbles to himself with a pissed attitude, trying to forcefully merge the white substance in with the pudding mixture. “Only powdered sugar too, what kind of shit hole is this place?!” You can’t help but stop to watch the scene unfold before you from beside the kitchen. The boy’s caked in powder, with strange colored staining his God Tiers, and the kitchen he’s in is in a similar state, with discarded pans and colanders sullied with a slurry of greases and oils and sludges all about the place. It’s an absolute wreck in here.

“…What the hell are you doing?” You finally ask, catching Ryder’s attention.

“Breakfast. Fuck it look like?” He scoffs as if his idea of ‘breakfast’ wasn’t beginning to resemble a warcrime. “Hey what was all that fucking yelling going on up there a few minutes ago?” He points to the roof with his whisk, flicking a hefty glob of his meal goop off the thing, slopping to the floor.

“Nothing. It… it was nothing.” You sigh as he slams a pan down on the burning spaghetti, pouring the entire bowl’s contents into it as the flames reach up from below the metal lip of the cookware. “What’re you making?”

“Uh, a pancake?” He explains condescendingly, a look on his face that would say he thinks you’re dull. You look at the sludge he’s made as it seems to boil, the contents of the substance only barely kept within the confines of the pan’s edges. Does he think a pancake is supposed to be the volume of an actual pan? “Tf, dumbass.”

“Riight…” You hum, feeling his progress is too botched at this point to correct with any kind of advice. And the worst part about that thought is you aren’t even sure if it was directed towards the breakfast or Ryder himself. You’ll have to find someone for that at some point. Someone who can fix all of Ryder's... that. “Hey, have you seen Ragnaa around lately? I needed to talk with her about something.”

“Rag? How the fuck should I know?” He grunts at you while stirring a large wooden spoon through his pancake. “Try downstairs, maybe she’s still in her damn room.” He nods back, towards a small passage at the other end of the room. You’d say thank you, but… you’re not gonna.

Crossing the path between the kitchen and the pantry area, you approach the large stone threshold leading to another staircase. With the caution of a god-fearing Sburb Player, you descend the stairs with a hefty degree of vigilance, understanding that a flight of stairs this long and steep would probably put you in another coma if you were to slip down them. It takes a little while until you get down to a landing between staircases, but you get there safely, and as you turn the corner to the next set of stairs, you just so happen to bump into just the troll you were looking for. Ragnaa, ascending the steps herself, accidentally running into you as she makes her way up to the stairway you just reached the bottom of.

“Ah!” She quietly yelps, surprised to meet someone here. “Um… hm…” Though looking like she wants to say something, the Seer only mumbles a greeting too quiet for you to hear under her breath, her face blushing a slight bronze as she pulls at her sleeve.

“Uh. Hi, Ragnaa.” You greet her, the last interaction you had with the girl leaving a heavy awkwardness over the current one.

“Sorry!” She exclaims before scurrying around you, trying to hurry up the stairs before you can say anything else.

“H-hey! Hold on a sec.” You reach out, grabbing hold of the side of her hand and stopping her while she’s only a few steps up, positioning her slightly higher above you on the stairs, making her appear just a little taller than you where you are. Almost freezing at your touch, Ragnaa tenses herself motionless within the stairwell, save for her elegant butterfly wings which flutter with an anxious quickness as she tries to decide what to do. “I was wondering if we could talk for a moment. I-if you didn’t mind, that is.”

“…Okay.” She agrees as her hand trembles softly, prompting you to release her from your grasp. Ever the statue, Ragnaa remains still where she is, refusing to turn around to look at you. Pausing a moment to figure out what to do, you transfer yourself beside her, sitting down next to the troll on the stoop she’s stood on. Look up at her, you notice her face is blazing with an almost glowing orange hue, prompting her to put up her hood when she sees you looking.

“About what happened yesterday… I was way out of line with what I did.” You tell her, facing your attention forward seeing she doesn’t want to be looked at right now. “I had no right claiming the things I did. I know you’re not a traitor, and it wasn’t right for me to go throwing that claim around without a real reason. I’m sorry, is what I’m trying to say.” Even from behind her hood, you can see out of the corner of your eye as the girl processes what you had said, the cogs in her head turning from beyond that green veil hiding her. After a lingering moment, she slowly turns around while facing the wall as to avoid having to face you still, and sits down on the stoop beside you.

“What… was the reason?” She finally asks, facing more the stone beside her than yourself. “Why did you…” She peters off, tapping her finger against the step you’re sitting on.

“I’m not really sure, if I’m being honest.” You admit, struggling to remember even a fraction of what’s happened the past few days. “Knowing there’s people out there, looking for me, it’s a little nerve-wracking to think about. It’s had me feeling paranoid of just about everything lately, and when I heard you say those words, the same thing I heard the Rogue’s ally say… I don’t know, it was like all the alarm bells in my mind were going off. This crazy narrative I had built up in my head suddenly made sense, like it clicked into place with you at the center of it all. And out of nowhere, all that paranoia had a place to funnel to.”

“And you succumbed to your instincts…” She almost whispers, sniffling quietly as she’s apparently grown teary eyed.

“I-… I’m sorry, Ragnaa.” You reiterate before you can make things worse between you and her. “I can’t apologize enough for the way I scream at you. I was being a loud dick and I don’t expect you to forgive me, but… I regret making you cry, as useless as that sentiment may be.”

“It wasn’t you.” She says after a moment of contemplation, turning slightly in your direction.

“What?” You glance over at her as she partially reemerges from her seclusion.

“It wasn’t you who made me cry.” She says, looking down at the steps between you and her, showing her face to you again. With a composed dignity, Ragnaa reaches up and dries her eyes of the muddy tears that’d formed there. “I’ve been yelled at most my life, Jason. Bronzeblood doesn’t get you very far where I’m from, so things like that didn’t really bother me anymore. I guess I’ve just grown used to it at this point.”

“But… then why…?” You try to account for this new information.

“At the time, I wasn’t crying because you were yelling at me.” She begins to elaborate. “I was crying because I saw them…”

“You… saw them?” You repeat, unsure what she could mean. Suddenly, the troll turns, looking you right in your eye with a stare that pierces a thousand miles through you, and you swear that the world around you begins to warp and slow, as if spaghettified by a blackhole twice the size of existence roaring at your back. And what she says next rattles you to your core.

“The Ghosts in your Head.” The words seem to float through the air towards you, pushing you past the event horizon, leaving you to plummet into the gravity well. “I saw them… standing there behind you. They wanted to stay close, or maybe they had to. Maybe they were stuck there, shackled by fate or damnation. I heard them cry out, chants of agony through pale, unmoving faces, forever suspended with hopeless expressions. They looked tired. They looked Haunted. I saw them there, lingering in the dark beyond. I saw how their phantoms weighed on you, and it… it made me so very, very sad.” Tears have formed in her eyes again, streaking through the expression of pity she looks at you with.

“…You saw…” In the words of the psychotically great; We have just lost cabin pressure.

“I saw them, Jason.” She repeats, taking you by the hand. “I saw them.”

 

***

 

Somewhere, off in the folded reaches of the Great Stage, housed upon a castle in the sky sits a figure atop a mighty throne, enjoying the gentle breeze as it passes in through the windows. This man, a King in his own right, rests a palm against his cheek, his elbow leaned against the arm of his chair as he waxes tranquil, satisfied with the strings he’s pulled to get where he is.

Extending out a hand, the man takes hold of a Knight, shifting it beside one of his Queens and her Rook, repositioning them to where they are best utilized on his board. Long ago, this man had ventured to play a game, so long that he had sworn he'd forgotten the rules. Forgotten the sting and humiliation of all that he lost. But that was a lie. He remembers every last scar from the days of his youth. And he aims to get even. Settle the score, so to say.

The name of the game is Retribution, and its board spans the entire world. Thousands of moving pieces, and only one static among the sea of chaos the man seeks to harness. And so he tends to his rooks and his bishops, a dutiful diligence guiding his hand as he shifts his pieces about the board, rotating them from corner to corner, all around a single, unmoving enemy. The Final Rung, Lord of the Night, Alpha and Omega, the Unmaker of All Things. The Black King. Nestled in his stronghold in the middle of everything, right at the center of the board, atop his insurmountable tower. Again and again, the man moves his pieces, circling about the black and white borders of the King’s tower, testing its fortifications for a way in, their ivory bases tapping as he moves them from place to place. The man must be clever about this. He must be, for he'll only have one shot at the King. One shot, and the game will be over. Checkmate, but for who, only fate can tell. And so the man bides his time. He bides, because he’s missing something. Something vital, something that will tear down the Devil’s Tower where it stands. But what?

From behind his mask, the man’s eyes shift to his first Pawn, observing the piece with a silent contemplation. Perhaps him? Slowly, the man reaches for the piece, thinking of where he might place it afterwards. Then suddenly, and without warning, the pawn he had first reached for cracks, split right down its middle. And out from the fissure pours a dark blood, midnight ichor made manifest upon the piece’s pale visage.

“Hm. Is that right.” The man says to himself, turning his attention out towards the chessboard world beyond his castle. “All the same, then. A setback so small won’t stop me.” Rising up from his throne, the man walks away from his game, the heel of his shoes tapping like the pieces on his board. “I won’t let you win this time. No irons shall chain me ever again.” The man exits, yet the Tower remains. Watching. Waiting. Both a vigilant Lighthouse, and the Storm that consumes it.

 

***

 

As the morning drags on into afternoon, your team has just about reconvened, all gathering in the main lounge hall, save for Frank. Oh, wait. There he is… right in front of you… You guess that’s everyone then. It seems you’re all making final preparations for the journey ahead, anticipating finally getting back on the road after a few bumps along the way. Esspin, for as many times as she flipped her stomach inside out this morning, seems nearly fully recovered from last night’s regrets. She still has a wary look on her face, but she isn’t chained to a toilet throwing her guts up anymore, so you have to imagine she’s doing at least a little better.

Regardless of her state, she’s assured you all that she can keep pace and doesn’t want to delay the group any longer. More than likely she’s toughing through the final stages of her hangover, which you can appreciate the resolve. She’s a tough dame, after all.

“Creed.” Someone calls you. Glancing over, you see Haugrr’s taken a seat at the table you’re at. “Are you sure he’s okay?” He nods over to the entry hallway to the castle. Following his gesture, you spot Boss over there, quietly lingering with Dallra in the foyer.

“His mind has quieted since this morning.” You assure him as you watch Boss just kind of drift around where he is. You had been worried for a while again. He came back up from downstairs a couple hours ago with this look on his face. It was like he had just seen a ghost. He went and sat alone for a long while after that, and for a second there, you thought he was gonna go psycho again. Thankfully, he seemed to shake out of that funk, almost like he'd forgotten it entirely. “I don’t think we’ve gotta worry about him flipping his lid again. At least for now.”

“Hm…” Haugrr huffs, peering over at the boy with a skeptical glare. “I can’t sense the code in his head anymore…”

“There you go. Nothing to worry about.” You tell him, taking a sip from a tea Sara had brewed. You think it was only supposed to be for Esspin, but you managed to sneak a cup for yourself. Good stuff.

“That’s an asinine assumption.” He tells you back. “Just because I can’t find it doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Code not running doesn’t mean it’s been deleted. It could just be dormant.”

“Alright, well…” You sigh, setting your cup down. “I’ll see if I can take a look around his noggin, then. How’s that?”

“Hasn’t he been rejecting those offers?” He asks, taking your cup and drinking from it. Oh yeah, yeah that’s okay. That’s fine, you were totally done drinking that. Fuckin’…

“…That was when he was off his rocker.” You grimace as you stare down at the sullied liquid when he returns it to where you put it on the table. “Something tells me he’ll be much more open to the idea of making sure he’s fine.” You explain while taking the cup and dumping the rest of it in the plant behind you. “I’ll broach the subject softly, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Not really, but nothing ever does.” Haugrr says, getting up as Boss walks into the lounge from the hallway. You get up as well.

“Hey, uh, excuse me, everybody?” Boss calls, looking around the room at your team. “Dallra’s been keeping an eye on the path we’re taking and says the way is clear right now. Is everyone ready to leave?” A quiet murmur crosses the room, a general affirmative to the question forming as a consensus. “Esspin?” He narrows the ask down.

“Right as rain, friend.” She says with a phoned-in gusto.

“Understood…” Boss nods as everyone coagulates towards the entrance, finally setting out. “Before we go, I just wanted to say,” Boss speaks up again before you can fully gather, stopping you all where you are in the room. “I’ve talked with some of you directly about this, but I figure all of you deserve an apology for how I’ve been acting. I don’t know what exactly has been up with me, but… I’ve been feeling a little out of my mind lately. I’ve been snappy, I’ve been a jerk, and I’ve said some things that I really regret looking back on them. And I wanted to tell you all that… I’m sorry. Maybe the stress of everything has been getting to me a little too much, but I wanted to let you know that I’m not going to let it control me the way it has been anymore. You’re my team, and I’ve been selfish with what that means to me. I thought that meant I could tell you what to do without any question. I thought I was the only one taking any risk getting our mission off the ground, but I’m not. I know how much you’re all risking by being here, and that it isn’t just me with a target on his back now. We’re all in this together, and I appreciate that you’ve taken a chance to give my plan a shot. I won’t let your faith in me go to waste.” Taking a small survey of the room, you notice that while not moved to tears by his words, the Boss seems to have broken through the icy and jaded looks some of the more stubborn members of the team still harboring hard feelings for him. Esspin, on the other hand, actually was moved to tears, silently wiping them from her cheek as Sara frantically tends to her, thinking something more physical is wrong with the Troll. Beside the two ladies sits Mia, though watching on at the Boss’s apology with an initial disinterest, lets a faint smile appear on her lips as his speech goes on. You aren’t sure what to make of it. “I won’t sugarcoat it, the road ahead is going to be a long one. I don’t know who else is after us, or what sort of obstacles might block our way. We might have to make some serious adjustments for what the world throws at us, and we might end up having to make some sacrifices along the way as well, but those will be the things we decide on as a team. I won’t promise that the journey ahead will be an easy one, but I promise that I will try my damnedest to make sure we don’t see the end of it before we’re out of this place. So if you’re still willing to put your trust in me, I-“ As Boss begins to bring his speech to a close, a shadow, seemingly breaking off from the dark of the rafters above you, lands with a tremendous force upon his shoulders. Reeling back, this shadow reveals two sharp, shiny fangs within its form, as it opens its hellish maw with lethal intent. Slamming down upon the Boss’s neck, the thing bites into him with an insatiable thirst, and sucks gulp after gulp of lifeblood from his veins. “AAAAHH! What the HELL?!” Without missing a beat, Leah pulls her revolver from its holster, firing into the creature leeching off Boss. Winged by her shot, the figure spirals back, landing out in the entry hall where the improper light reveals it to be yet again the Thief of Blood, still jonesing for a little more of the Boss’s ichor supply. Injured, and seeing it’s garnered the entire room’s attention, the Thief bolds out the door, off into the storm.

“Yeah you better run!” Leah yells after the beast as she hurries to the exit after it, making sure it’s gone.

“Oh my GOD! How is it still Here!?!” Boss roars, covering up his neck in wincing pain, barely keeping himself from collapsing to the floor.

“Hahahahaha.” Mia bursts out, grabbing her sides as she tucks into herself, overcome with laughter at the situation.

“You want I should go after it?” Leah asks as she looks down at Boss’s crouched form.

“No! No… Forget about them.” Boss waves away her offer. “Let’s just… Damn it, let’s just get moving.” He says with a defeated huff while forcing himself upright again. Regaining his composure, Boss faces the group, a somewhat relieved look finally being able to get back on the road again soured slightly by the sudden feeding he’s just been put through. Nevertheless, though, he steels himself, ready to face the world and all its vampires together. It seems things are finally returning to normal.

 

Creed, venture out with your Team.

Chapter 60: > Rulers of Everything

There’s a bit of a drizzle out today. The only reason you notice is because you can’t feel your fucking legs, so the added stimulus of the chilled rain hitting your face is giving an extra layer of suckiness to the tail end of the day. You’re Creed Lederman and you and your group have been walking for the past nine hours and whatever-change minutes through the valley of death, and you’ve just about had it. The endless fucking hike you’ve been on is the god damn worst, only compounded by the leisurely night you had the day prior. It’s like when you’d get a few days off back in the neighborhood, not having to make your rounds for a weekend or so. It always made getting back to work that much worse, having just had a taste of freedom to compare the loan-shark slog to.

No matter, though. You’ve been closing in on your destination for the past half hour now, and having that goal right before you has been the deciding factor keeping you going at this point. Dallra had been saying that you were getting close for a while now, but it wasn’t until you’d physically seen the temple that you gave her assurances any credence. Not to knock Dallra’s competence at gauging distance, but being told something and seeing it are two entirely different things. Seeing is believing, after all. And see it you did, a massive monument carved into two separate cliffsides, each half of the gulch angling inward, forming a small pass through the valley in which the temple resides over, almost like the Gates of Argonath, with the temple itself bridging the two sides sitting at the zenith of the pass like a crown jewel. You think Esspin might be onto something with her thoughts about architecture, with yourself feeling inspired to keep going ever since laying eyes on this monument.

Boss had been checking in with D pretty frequently regarding the squatter that’d been lingering around this place. According to her, although the guy is still meandering about the temple, he’s moved to a more secluded wing of the structure. She seemed pretty confident that you’d be able to sneak past them without much issue. You don’t think she’s giving enough credit to how uncoordinated this group can actually be, but hey, no one’s asking you for an infiltration strategy, so what’s that say?

“Are the pantries going to be as bullshit on this new planet as they were in this shithold?” Ryder bores as your venture has just about come to a close, fantasizing about future accommodations for him to wreak havoc on.

“The consorts there bake wheat loaves, so…” Dallra answers, much to the sulking grump of Ryder’s attitude hearing the news.

“Why can’t we go to one of the culinary worlds?” Ryder whines, throwing his head back as he walks along. “Somewhere a guy can get a damn burger!”

“Yeah, good luck with that.” Mia scoffs from the center of the pack, only half-glancing back to address the boy. “Let me know when you come across the Land of Grease and Fries.” She rolls her eyes.

“You know something I don’t?” Ryder grumbles back, trying to imitate the tough cadence Mia had first spoken with.

“A lot, actually.” Mia chuckles at the pissy mood she’d created in him. “One of them being that I’ve been across most of this solar system and nowhere in it is a burger shop.”

“Yeah well who the hell asked?!” Ryder barks up to the middle of the group.

“Nobody. I don’t need a go-ahead to express my opinions, especially not from a dork like you.” She emphatically shrugs, laughing to herself at the worked-up Page’s demeanor.

“Oh yeah…?” Ryder huffs, preparing to go into a full tirade.

“Hey, Boss. Can I talk to you about something?” You say, hurrying up to the very front of the group where Boss and D are leading, giving a wide berth to the argument that’s about to spark up behind you.

“Sure. What’s on your mind?” Boss asks, turning to greet you. Up on his shoulder is his consort, Gretel, who looks at you with a curious gaze alongside her guardian.

“Well it’s not so much my mind, as it is yours.” You clarify your intentions.

“Oh…” He nods, seeing what it is you’re broaching. Seems he’s still not game for it. You guess you let yourself get a little too familiar with his mind after letting yourself in on your own on LOHAN. You suppose he was only okay with it because it was an emergency at the time. It’s probably something else entirely to expect access when there’s not a literal gun to his head requiring it.

“If you’re still not feeling me having a look inside, I get it, I was just-.” You begin to explain, figuring it’s asking a lot still.

“No, I-I get it. There’s been a lot going on with me lately.” He sighs, nodding his head. “If you don’t mind having a look, I’d be grateful.”

“Uh-, s-sure! Yeah, no problem.” You agree, surprised at the reception. Even before all this, you didn’t think Boss would’ve been so open to you poking around his head.

“So how’s this work, are you gonna jump inside my brain again?” He asks, causing Gretel to shift over to his other shoulder, away from the side you’re walking on.

“Not entirely, but,” You begin to explain as your hand energizes into a green silhouette of lightning. “I’ll have to jack in at a neural port to take a look. Should be painless.”

“Should be?” Boss narrows his eyes at your lightning hand, his consort peering from beneath his chin as well.

“The brain doesn’t have any pain receptors.” You shrug, not entirely knowing yourself.

“Alright, just… be careful. I think I only have so many head injuries left in me.” He says, giving you the green light. With the precision of, ironically enough, a brain surgeon, you insert your electrified digits into the side of the Boss’s brain. Gaining access to his stream of consciousness, you feel as your mind’s eye merges with his cognition, allowing you to peer into the confines of his mind palace. Not nearly as intimate as fully merging with his consciousness, but still allowing you into a shared mental space.

 

Shutting your eyes, you delve into a trance, focusing on the shape in which his thoughtscape has been altered. It comes in waves to you, like a world being built outward from where you stand, brick by brick, forming a canvas of pulsing hills of grass, laden heavy with enormous pools and ponds and coiling paths of thought and metal. Huge streaks of scorch lay upon the land, a physical scar tissue of whatever the hell was driving Boss down the spiral of insanity. An unpleasant sight, but not entirely unexpected with what’s been going on up here lately. For the most part, the damage seems to have been kept to a minimum, with some vectors of damage showing signs of healing. How curious…

Venturing across the rolling hills of consciousness, you come to a crest looking out at a vast valley. And at the center of this valley is a tree that spans the world, bridging the soil all the way up to the sky, merging the earth with the heavens. You focus there, traveling to the mental construct with a blurring swiftness, appearing next to the tree in an instance, your hand placed against its trunk. It is here that you discover this great pillar of cognition was the veil you had first come across when you merged with the Boss’s mind. The winding tapestry of consciousness, fixing and healing itself, sewing itself back together again before the thoughts it was made of were even an hour old. You focus on the tree, feeling its fibers slowly migrating up, winding around the tree like a bark growing up from the ground. What is this?

“Boss, I’ve come across some kind of mental block within your mind.”

You instruct your body to say.

“A massive barrier that’s locked in a constant state of renewal, endlessly creating new cognitive material to fortify it’s boundaries, keeping the rest of your mind out.”

 

What? What the hell is it blocking?

The words of the Boss’s thoughts rattle the world around you.

 

“I was actually hoping you’d be able to shed some light on this.”

You respond.

“I’ve got no way of getting past it. And judging by how frequently the structure of the mental barrier has been rebuilding, I doubt it’ll be undoing itself any time soon. Any idea what could be beyond this?”

 

I don’t know… What’s usually behind a mental block?

 

“In most cases, repressed memories. If a person’s gone through training, they can sometimes manifest barriers like this as a form of psychological fortification, a defense against torture or mind control. I had figured that might be what was going on in here, which is why I asked. Thought you might’ve made it yourself.”

Your body explains as you look up at the gargantuan tree, watching the pulsing lights of thought travel up its quark-screw trunk.

“If that’s not what this is, then I don’t know what to tell you. Nothing like this should naturally occur within a human mind. It’s almost like a self-sustaining mental defense matrix. Constantly creating new cognition to ensure all parts of it are completely undamaged. Almost like it’s mending itself.”

 

Mending…?

 

“Hold on, maybe I can-”

Going off a hunch, you try to work your way past the mental construct, injecting yourself between the fibers of thought the best you can. You can only pierce around up to your forearm before hitting a wall, some final barrier of hard-construct cognition, a sort of layer of cognitive sediment. You can feel as Boss tries to tell you something as you work, but too occupied with trying to force your way further, you don’t quite catch what he’s thinking. Just when it seems like you’re cracked the shell of whatever the hell this thing is hiding, you feel a sudden sense of dread wash over you.

 

 

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

 

 

Looking in towards the fissure you had made within the tree, a chill courses across the surface of your mind as you see as two blazing red eyes glare back at you, teaming with a hateful madness.

“Ah!” You suddenly jerk, pulling away from Boss and extracting from his mind palace.

“Whoa, Creed you alright?” Boss asks, hands extended out as if to ease a wild horse. Eyes zipping around, you scan your environments for threats, your sixth sense going haywire as if under attack from every angle. What the hell was that thing?! “Jeez, just what the hell did you see in there?”

“I-…” You stop short, some strange compulsion giving you reason to hold your tongue. “Nothing. I couldn’t get past the barrier.” You tell him, the words being chosen for you as they leave your lips.

“Are you sure? Cause it looks like your heart just about leapt into your throat there.” Boss informs you, taking a step forward towards you. As he does, you realize that you aren’t walking anymore, as well as the fact that Boss’s consort isn’t on his shoulder either. Glancing around with a calmer temperament, you come to find that you’re somewhere else entirely. What looks to be the entrance foyer to a grand opera house, with a large staircase leading up.

“Y-yeah, some form of synaptic crossfire took place on my way out, just as I unhooked from your mind. Simulated a panic instinct for some reason.” You rip off the cuff, avoiding the subject at all costs. You aren’t sure why your first impulse after seeing what you saw was to keep it to yourself, but you’ll be damned if you go against it now. Your instincts are rarely misguided, if they don’t want you talking about what’s behind that veil, you’re gonna respect that fact. “It must’ve compounded when I realized I wasn’t where I thought I’d be. Where is that, by the way? And… where is everyone?” You glance around, realizing it’s just you and Boss in the foyer.

“Ground floor of the gateway temple.” He informs you, turning to ascend the steps. “I figured you probably shouldn’t try walking up stairs while you were still in my head, so I had the others head up without us.”

“Are you sure that’s safe, splitting off from everybody like that?” You ask while following up after him, still trying to fully shake off the shock of what’s just happened.

“Eh.” He shrugs, nonchalant about the idea. “I had Dallra do another once over on the temple, and the only other person here is that one guy, and he hasn’t left the wing he’s been in for the past half a day. Should be fine.”

“If you say so.” You hum, figuring security detail isn’t in your job description. Eventually arriving at the top of the stairs, you both are let out at a small lobby area, akin to one of those really fancy theater entrances, back when seeing a play was a special occasion for only the upper crust of snobby society. Honestly you’re feeling underdressed right now. Looking around, you spot another staircase that looks like it could lead up, but Boss makes a slight ‘haa’ sound, nodding towards the corner of the room. Following where he gestured for, you spot a set of elevators built into the wall. “Well would you look at that.” You acknowledge the convenience. “Fancy stuff.”

“For this planet, at least.” Boss agrees as you walk over. “Considering this entire damn Land is trapped in sixteen hundreds Transylvania. Land of Castles and Lightning, more like Stairs and More Stairs.” He huffs while pressing the call button.

“It does leave a lot to be desired.” You agree as the elevator doors open up. Entering into the cabin, Boss hits the button at the top of the floor panel, causing the doors to close again. A small node on the console lights up next to the GF button, and the elevator’s mechanisms start turning, pulling you up with a slight shake. As you go, the lit node jumps over to the button next to it, 1L. “Although you can’t deny it has a certain appeal. Like an obscure European getaway feel.”

“European getaway?” He looks at you funny.

“Just something a friend used to talk about.” You explain. “Said her Father always wanted to go back to the old country.”

“Hm…” He murmurs, facing the doors of the elevator. You do the same, letting the hum of the mechanisms pulling you upward be the only thing filling the silence in the cabin. As you do, you let your mind wander back to what you had seen in the Boss’s subconscious. That thing he’s got locked away behind a vault of repression. You’d ask him about it if you didn’t get such a sinking feeling about bringing it up. Maybe… Maybe it’s just not your place to pry. Maybe there’s a reason he’s got whatever it is in there frozen away. You just hope it never gets out... “Hey, Creed.” Boss calls after a moment, nearly causing you to jump. You glance over at him, seeing what it is he needs. “Were you ever… inside my mind before Lohan?”

“Not that I recall.” You answer promptly. “Today and back at that garage were the only two instances I had ever entered your thoughtspace. Why do you ask?”

“……I’ve heard your voice in my head before.” He answers after a moment of pause. “Talking to me, giving advice. Usually during moments I wasn’t sure what to do. I even heard you down at the bottom of that pyramid on Lofac.”

“And you’re sure this was my voice?” You ask, curious of the testimony.

“Can’t think of anybody else who’s ever called me boss.” He looks over at you with an unreadable expression, as though he’s trying to gauge your reaction before showing his own. It almost seems like something you would do if you were trying to interrogate a person without them realizing.

“Lofac was the first time that we met.” You remind him, turning to face the doors again. “I’ve got no idea why you would’ve heard me before then.”

“Well…” Boss hums, joining you as you look forward. “The future is full of mysteries, I suppose. Maybe we’ll find out one day.” He’s heard you before…? And in his head no less? Perhaps some form of temporal synesthesia, brain trauma attributing actions he’s taken in the past to advice he thinks you would’ve given him at the time? And he’s simply retroactively remembered it as you telling him what to do back then? What a strange anomaly. Putting that line of questioning on hold for a moment, you look back up again, watching as the light blink from level to level. You think nothing of it at first, mindlessly observing the representation of your ascent progress. It isn’t until the lit node jumps next to the 60 button that you feel a sudden sharp inclination pushing you forward. Without a second’s hesitation, you press the button, jerking your elevator ride to a sudden halt. “Uh… Creed?” Boss turns to you as the doors open up, revealing a surprisingly crypt-like appearance to the level.

“Yeah?” You quietly call back, realizing how weird it is to stop the cabin the way you did, so abruptly and without cause.

“The hell are you doing…?” He asks, just as confused as you.

“I-I don’t know, it’s just… it feels like we’re supposed to go down this path…” You phrase it the best you can without sounding insane. Sure, you’ve let your instincts guide where you were going to go before, but never so impulsively, never without thinking it through first. Yet with this, it was like the moment you saw this level’s button light up, you had to press it. “Just… go with it for now.” You tell him, hesitantly venturing out of the elevator.

“Creed, Dallra said the guy staying in this temple was roaming around the upper levels of the structure. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure sixty qualifies as ‘upper’, even for Trolls.” Boss tries to warn you as you explore the area. It’s like some kind of ancient mausoleum in this place.

“The vagabond… we should meet him.” You declare, turning back to gauge Boss’s reaction.

“Meet him? Have you lost your mind?!” He barks at you while still trying to keep his voice down. “Need I remind you that the last people we met put me in a coma for half a week?”

“Actually, the last people that we met sold us intel about things going on in the Arena.” You remind him of the Mage and her Jester, which seems to pull the wind from his sails. “Boss, I get that the group’s track record isn’t exactly the greatest with running into strangers, but if we’re planning on getting outta this place, don’t you think we should start getting along with the remaining Godtiers here?” Still lingering within the doors of the elevator, Boss stares at you a while with a blank look on his face.

“…Creed, I’m not planning on taking everyone in the Arena with us.” He says after a moment of silence. “We don't have nearly enough resources for something like that. We’re only getting the people we need and then we’re getting the hell out of this place. That’s it.”

“Okay, but what if this guy has some valuable skill we need for the plan?” You float an idea, still feeling strongly about this. “Shouldn’t we at least verify if he’s useful or not before we completely blow past him?”

“…What if he doesn’t want to join a team?” He asks, pausing a moment to think through your proposition.

“Of course he wants to join a team.” You wave away his doubts, heading for a passage leading further into the floor. “Think about it, he’s hanging around a gateway, somewhere there’d be dozens of players potentially looking for people to team up with passing through. What other reason would he still be hanging around in a place like this for?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe he’s another fucking vampire hanging from the god damn ceiling looking for unsuspecting victims to pounce on!” Boss quickly explains, hurrying after you while almost ducking his head, keeping an eye up on the roof above you.

“You’re being paranoid. Dallra already said he was a troll, he’s not gonna be a vampire.” You tell him as you try to get a bearing in this place. Progressing further into this level, you realize it’s less of a crypt and more of a full blown catacomb as you reach a balcony to a large pit, with two or three levels spanning down into a void below you too dark to see through.

“I know from first-hand experience that trolls and vampires aren’t mutually exclusive.” Boss quietly says as he catches up with you.

“Huh?” You look up from the chasm below over to him.

“D-… Doesn’t matter!” He stammers, whisper-shouting as he turns a shade red under the torchlight of a nearby sconce. “I’m saying this is a huge risk for no reason!”

“Trust me on this one, Boss. You brought me on to do a job, right?” You ask as the two of you linger before the balcony. “Recruit the problem-child Godtiers. All I’m asking is you let me feel this one out.” Finishing your proposal, not a single beat after the words leave your lips, there comes the sound of what could only be described as an ear-shattering explosion as it rings out through the halls in a deafening cacophony of sound and violence, as though the world itself was saying ‘be careful what you wish for’.

BLAM

Skittish like a cat, you can’t help but skip back a few paces, away from the balcony, retreating from the skull-splitting noise. Taking a glance over at Boss, you find him in a similar state, his pickaxe conjured up by his side. Okay. It sounds like a cannon-shot just rang out right below you. Not necessarily a bad sign. Maybe it’s just-

 

BLAM

 

BLAM

 

BLAM

 

BLAM

 

 

Okay, maybe this was a bad idea…

“Creed.” Boss whispers over to you, catching your attention as you try to run through all the possible scenarios your current situation could go down. Looking at him, you see he’s crouched low, already moving to the other side of the room you’re in, towards a staircase that looks like it leads down to the area the blasting just came from. Seeing he’s caught your gaze, he nods past you, and when you look, you spot a similar looking stairwell on your side of the room as well. Is he being serious or is this some kind of cruel punishment for taking him down this path?

“What are you doing!?” You whisper-shout to him.

“We’re danger-close, we have to make sure they won’t follow after us.” He retorts back, continuing on towards his set of stairs.

“…Do you not remember how this ended last time?!” You try to appeal to his reason as he disappears down the steps. “You don’t split the party!” You call after him one more time, to no answer. God-! You and your big mouth… You equip your Bat and head for your way down. Why you aren’t going down together is beyond you, you guess he might be planning for some kind of flank, but you don’t even know if these stairs lead to the same level! Damn it…

Continuing on into the dark, you get to the point where your eyes adjust to the low light level. This place reeks of mildew and mold, with a distinct dank feeling hanging heavy in the air. What the hell did your sixth sense have you coming down here for? It seems pretty clear at this point that it was a bad idea. Come to think of it, this is the first time your instincts have come back to bite you to this degree, and so immediately, no less. Are you losing your touch or something?

“…” Coming out to an open hall, with the only thing to sneak behind being the large stone pillars holding the roof up, you get close enough to where your balcony looked out at to see what was going on in here.

A sizable crater lies at the center of the amphitheater you’ve entered, almost directly beneath where you and the Boss were standing, hidden just beyond the veil of darkness for you to see. You look from side to side, checking to see if the coast is clear. You don’t think there’s anyone nearby lying in wait to ambush you if you step out, but as recent events would suggest, your instincts aren’t what they used to be. Creeping up, you slowly draw closer to the pit to investigate if there’s anyone inside.

Peering into the crater, you spot amongst the burning rubble what looks to be a shred of black garment. Huh… Not exactly what you were expecting. And what might you be, little thread? Carefully reaching in to pick the thing up from the still-sizzling gravel the floor’s been reduced to inside the hole, you inspect the tattered remains of whatever this was to look for further clues. Looking closer, you realize that this cloth, although barely even a scrap in your hands, has begun to grow, seeming to sew itself out of thin air, expanding its boundaries until it’s a sizable piece of fabric. While observing the item seemingly regenerate, it then hits you what this artifact is. Dropping the rags back into the crater, you frantically look around for your teammate.

“Boss……! Boss…!” You quietly call into the void, receiving no response. Looking back down again, you see as the fabric has grown into a black tunic with a swirling white vortex printed upon its chest, with a puffy pair of pants coming into being at its hem. Backing away as slowly as you can, your blood goes cold when you feel the rigid form of metal go jabbing into your back. You’re no expert, but you’re pretty sure that’s the barrel of a gun. Well… You wonder what your friends are doing right now.

 

***

 

“As you can see behind me, what little remains of the Forge has been scattered across the surface of the planet, with many individuals having fragments of the former monument landing in their yards, and, in several unfortunate cases, upon their homes themselves, according to first responders.” The blue lizard news anchor reports on the t.v. above you with an enormous crater off in the foreground behind them. As he speaks, a small satellite goes flying through the sky. Or was that bird… Or maybe a plane? “Several witnesses have also reported sightings of known Cabal members at the scene of different crash sites, directing removal efforts. Though spirits are being kept high in the face of this tragedy, one question seems to be on everyone’s mind this day; What does this disaster spell for the people of LOCAF-“ You reach over the counter and grab the remote beneath the register, hitting the power button and shutting the noise box off. You can barely hear yourself think with all the chatter in the room.

You’re drunk, but what else is new. You’re in a bar on the 29th floor… or was it 31st? Ah, it doesn’t matter. You’re on one of the countless levels in one of the countless skyscrapers on a planet littered with towers. The only distinguishing difference between this level and any other is the fact that it looks like the inside of an Irish pub.

“What’s the next move then?” The purple knight asks, continuing on with his conversation across the room.

“Have a nice cold pint and wait for all this to blow over. What else?” The blue mage answers from the other side of the bar, pouring himself a glass. You don’t know the pair. Not really, anyways. You happened to bump into one another a few worlds back and neither you nor they saw any point in killing each other at the time. You’ve been drifting in the same direction ever since, passively waiting for that inevitable breeze strong enough to take you in different directions to come along and whisk you away.

“What else?” The knight asks back, sounding offended at the mere suggestion of inaction. “Anything else! We can’t just sit around with our thumbs up our asses, waiting for something to happen. You know who does that? Sheep do that. Sheep! Prancing around, waiting to be slaughtered by the wolves.”

“And you fancy yourself a wolf?” The mage more states to himself than poses a question, setting a glass down before the knight.

“Fucking A-right I am.” The knight says, getting up to pace about their side of the room. “You’re either a predator, or you’re the prey. There is no in between. If you’re not killing, you’re dying.”

“What do you propose we do then?” The mage sighs while pouring his own glass.

“Well… Suppose we go looking for that page.” The knight snaps like he’s had an epiphany. “Remember? The one with the ship that other knight was talking about.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve bought into all that fairytale nonsense. Some random muppet just so happened to stumble upon a golden ticket out of 'ere? It’s obviously a trap.” The mage scoffs at the proposal. “Say you manage to find this guy. Then what? You help him crash head-first into the million lightyear ring surrounding this place?”

“Or we kill em and take their shit, fuck if I care! Just something! Anything but wasting away, sippin’ on fuckin-“ He slaps the glass the mage had put on the bar for him away, causing it to clink to the floor, surprisingly unbroken. “Piss Water all day!”

“……………………………………………………” The mage stares off at the spilt beer on the ground with a blank expression. You aren’t sure if he’s insulted by the disrespect of the action or perplexed someone would waste good alcohol the way he did.

“What about you, Silvia.” The knight calls over to you, acknowledging your presence in the room for the first time in hours. “Any ideas or are you just gonna sulk the entire damn day?” You don’t look at him. Not right away, at least. You shoot back the rest of your whisky and slam the glass down on its rim as you swallow the firewater.

“Someone blew up the Forge.” You says carefully enough not to slur your words.

“What?” He turns to face you directly.

“Someone.” You swing your self to the side to face him back. “Blew up the Forge.”

“Yeah, no shit. We just came from the museum planet, we all fucking saw the scrap heap there.” He berates you, missing your point.

“The other Forge.” You clarify while yawning, turning to rest your head down on the bar top, looking out at the horizon of buildings that lie out the window. While horizontal, you notice a strangely dark sky of storm clouds off in the distance, fast approaching your region of the city. “The one from Locaf.” You mutter into the crook of your elbow, letting your eyes rest there. You want… cookies. Cookies and milk.

“…About the page.” You hear the mage say, slightly muffled now as you pull your hood up. “I’ve actually heard there’s someone out there gunning for them.”

“What? Heard from who?” The knight skeptically bores at him.

“That alien girl, the heir with the slash across her chest.” He reminds him of the vagabond you had run into the other day. “She said someone had hired her to hunt this guy down for them.”

“Hired? What the hell are they paying her with?” The knight huffs, unbelieving of the idea.

“Final spot in the Arena games. Top ten, guaranteed.” The mage informs him with an audible smirk on his face.

“You want to go after this guy, then?” The knight asks, a smile undoubtedly growing on his face as well.

“Maybe… Maybe.” You imagine the mage leans back as he talks, thinking he’s all that because he convinced the knight of anything. “We don’t necessarily have to get involved, but I just can’t stand the thought of someone getting ahold of something that valuable before me. I say we find this bounty giver, see if they can actually deliver on what they promise before we commit to anything.”

“Hear that, Silvia?” The knight calls over to you, causing you to slowly open your eyes again. What you see there shocks you, enough to sit you upright at the bar. “Sounds like we’re… we’re…” The knight’s babble dies out when he sees what you’re looking at. Outside, hanging before the window of your tavern, is a girl, her form held up by the five glowing pink wires connected to her fingertips. Limply swings there, the girl, like a martinet tangled in its own strings, raises her hand, tapping her finger against the glass.

 

Tap

.

.

.

Tap

.

.

.

Tap

 

 

***

 

“Boss……! Boss…!” You hear quietly called out to you while you sneak forward towards the disturbance. It’s Creed, somewhere off in the dark. He’s found something?

Hurrying your pace, you lightly jog, taking long low strides to lessen the sounds of your footfalls. As you venture out into a large hall, you spot two figures off in the dark, one with their hands up, the other jamming something into the former’s back. You at first aren’t sure what’s happening, but it all becomes crystal clear when you hear the distinct -click- of a hammer being pulled back on a gun echo throughout the hall.

With a blurring speed, your Time Dilation melts you into a slipstream without you so much as having to think about activating your abilities. You’re at the scene in 1/50th of a second, standing behind the assailant just as he stands behind Creed, the tip of Bane of All Mountains pressed firmly into the seam of his throat, where the esophagus meets the jugular.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Pressing the spear of your pick in for emphasis, you feel as the bastard’s eyes settle on you through the dark, sizing you up. He’s a troll, just like Dallra had said, candy corn horns and all. “Drop it.” You order in as firm a tone you have.

“And if I don’t?” He shifts his shoulder to the side slightly, trying to glance back without moving too much.

“Then I open up your vein highway and you bleed out on the floor.” You reaffirm your guard on the stranger’s throat. “Your choice.”

“You cronies don’t scare me.” He responds with a scoff. “You like making ultimatums? Well here’s mine; you drop your weapons and I don’t send you back to your Beldam in a thousand pieces!”

“Just fucking try it.” You goad, your temporal reservoir boiling over as you anticipate a fight. Observing your opponent’s every move, you notice his muscles begin to rouse, as he shifts into the opening motions of whipping himself around.

“WHO?!?!” Creed suddenly blurts out, catching both of your surprise.

“W-what?” The bastard asks, his attention suddenly focused back on Creed again, alongside your own.

“Who are you talking about?!” Creed hurriedly expands on his question. “You said you’d send us back to our Beldam, to whom are you referring?!” The look on the troll’s face changes from surprise to anger at the question.

“Don’t play dumb with me, xeno!” He demands, jabbing the barrel of his rifle into Creed’s back for emphasis. “I know you’re working for her! How else would you have found me here?”

“We aren’t working for anyone, asshole. We found you because you’re in a fucking portal crossing!” You bark at the moron, pressing your pick into him again, taking his attention off Creed before he can decide to pull the trigger.

“Lies!” He glances back, scraping into your pick himself, evoking a small trickle of blue blood to stream down his neck. “That damn troll bitch… She tracked me by my scent to this place! And sent you two in, her loyal blood-hunters.”

“Hey, I understand how this seems, alright? It’s suspicious, you’re in hiding and we show up out of nowhere.” Creed says, turning around to face the guy, causing his attention to shoot forward again. “But we’re not working with who you’re running from. We’re with a group, but we’re only passing through.” As he talks, a few small surges of green lightning arc from Creed’s hands, the tips of his fingers starting to shimmer as though he’ll turn to thought once more.

“What is that?” The guy readjusts the grip on his gun. “Why are you sparking?”

“It’s a defense mechanism.” Creed says, slowly lowering his hands. “You have a gun on me and my brain is releasing adrenaline in anticipation of a fight, but we don’t want that to happen, right?” He asks, turning to you with his question.

“…Right.” You agree while taking Bane off his neck. Quickly looking between you two, the guy seems to struggle with your sudden deescalation of the situation, clearly confused why you aren’t fighting right now.

“Tf!” He suddenly huffs, lowering his gun as he steps around Creed. “Then get lost.” He tells you both, retrieving something from a pouch sewn into his pant leg. With a twist of the thing, the small cylinder begins to glow, illuminating the room you’re in as he drops it to the ground beside him. Getting a look at him clearer now, you see he’s dressed in a dark leather armor, with some strange 0 symbol on his shoulder guard. The rifle he’s thrown over his back is actually some kind of enormous shotgun, on par with those cannons they used to hunt elephant with. Beyond that, he looks to be a typical troll, Blueblood judging by the blue blood running down his neck, maybe a little more gruff or rugged looking than those you’ve come across so far. Tall, but not nearly as tall as Esspin, though that’s not saying much. Tired looking eyes... That’s the most striking feature by far.

“…” Creed steps back from the guy, retreating next to you as you watch him crouch down to sift through some big-ass crater in the ground. He glances over at you to see what you want to do. You shrug in response. “Who… was it, exactly, that you thought we were working with?” The vagrant looks up from his hole at him.

“…The Beldam of Blood.” He mumbles before turning back to the pit. “Crazy bitch jumped me by the docks. Used her magic to disfigure me, muttering something about ‘having a new prince’ whatever the fuck that means.”

“Disfigure?” You ask. From what you can see of the guy, he looks like a normal troll. Nothing about him in particular screams disfigured. Even his horns seem ordinary, small curves with a slash through them, forming an almost ‘y’ shape at the tips of them.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He laments, gazing down at himself. “Look at me! I’m an ugly freak!”

“……I don’t think you’re ugly.” You passively comment, not seeing what he’s on about. As benign as your statement is, you seem to catch the guy’s attention with it, as he looks over his shoulder at you, as though unbelieving of your words, required to scrutinize your character to figure out if you’re lying or not. Eventually the troll’s gaze shifts from you down to the weapon by your side.

“A pickaxe…” He says under his breath. “You’re a Worker?”

“Sorry?” You say, not understanding what he’s asking. Unsatisfied with your response, he turns back to sift through his pit once more. “…What’s your name?”

“Perses.” He says while still messing in the ditch.

“Any last name?” Creed pipes up in the conversation again.

“No.” He grunts. Seemingly trying to ignore you both now, you figure this interaction is over. Wildly unorthodox in its conclusion, but you’re just happy it didn’t end with either you or Creed getting a hole blown into your sternum. Just as you go to walk away, the vagrant tosses something from within his ditch behind him before continuing to sift through the contents within. You look down at the discarded item and do a double take at what you see. Tattered pieces of a Space player God Tier, puffy black shorts and a black fingerless glove.

“You’re the Prince of Space….” You say under your breath. “You’re the Prince of Space.” You repeat, looking up at him again.

“I’m the Baron of Space.” He asserts, half glancing back at you. “The fuck is a Prince?” Your eyes meet with Creed’s, the both of you understanding how powerful the person before you is. You nod off to the side, signaling you want to talk out of earshot. Quietly, you and him excuse yourselves off to the exit of the room, behind one of the large pillars holding the place up.

“He’s the Prince of Space.” You tell Creed.

“Yeah, I gathered that just before he got the jump on me.” He sighs, looking back to the Troll. “What’s the play then? Door’s still open to back out.”

“How d’you figure?” You ask him to go on.

“He seems preoccupied with whatever it is he’s looking for in that crater.” He explains, looking back. “We could probably make it back to the others and be out of this place before he even realizes we left. I doubt he’d even care if we did. But…”

“But he could be a powerful ally.” You finish for him. “More importantly, he’d be the prime candidate for breaking the Barrier of Space that’s encapsulated the Arena. Otherwise we’d have to fly through millions of lightyears before we’d even get three feet away from this hellhole.”

“The real question is though, is he too powerful to be an ally?” Creed proposes. “He’s probably one of the top contenders to make it out of the Arena alive, what the hell would he need us for?”

“It’s definitely a risk… what do you suppose the odds are he’ll join?” You consult your recruiter on your recruitment needs.

“He’s dismissive, so that’s already not good.” He reports while tapping a finger anxiously against the grip of his Bat. “Maybe twenty percent I can bring him around.” Creed takes another gander out at the Prince. “…Better make that nineteen percent.”

“He’s too valuable of an asset to just let walk out the door… You okay taking this bet?” You ask, knowing Creed would be doing all the heavy lifting on this operation.

“I can certainly take a swing at it, but… It should only be me going out there.” He informs you with a cringing grimace, like even he doesn’t like what he’s saying. “He doesn’t seem very open to being outnumbered to me. With someone hunting him, having two guys suddenly fall from the sky to try and convince him to go somewhere with them might set him off. Safest bet is if it’s only me out there with him.”

“You sure?” You check with the Heir, knowing the situation he’ll be in if things go south. “You don’t have to take point on this if you don’t want to. Like you said, the door is still open.”

“It’s what you hired me for, Boss.” He tells you, stepping back into the arena. “Wish me luck.” You let out a worried sigh and give your teammate a wary but confident smile. “No seriously, wish me luck, we need whatever voodoo and charms we can get on this.”

“Ah… good luck.” You acquiesce to his superstitious request. With that, you watch the Heir return to the Prince’s divot to consult him on his future allegiances. You can’t help but feel this could all end badly…

 

***

 

Miles away, but not many, an auspicious Thief scries upon a rival group from her perch through a pair of field glasses. They stand atop a bridge above a great ravine, huddled around the portal at its center. Beside this burglar sits a palmhusk, transmitting a live feed of this group’s conversation for her to listen in on. She had known this group would arrive upon the bridge eventually, with their secret plans to use the gateway there known to her well before their visit. As any good spy would, she planted a listening device embedded within the stone of the bridge, right at the stoop the gateway sat upon, all in efforts of capturing any useful intel this group might whisper before their crossing. The prized secret of this gossip being where their next destination might be. No such luck, though.

For now, the Thief listens in on the mindless chatter of this group’s downtime, of which she takes a great many notes about, a slew of which likely being ultimately meaningless to record. The most recent of which being what the purple runt plans to do with something called a ‘ignorant vampire hussy’ when he ‘gets his hands on it’, the notepad the thief writes on having since devolved into a scribbled mess of profanities and hyperbolic threats during her transcription of the rant. However, there comes a pause in the chatter up on this bridge, causing the Thief to double check through her looking glasses to make sure they hadn’t made the jump through the gateway yet. They all still remain there, however one of them looks off to one side of the bridge, towards where they had arrived from.

“Hey, where’s Creed and Jason?” This one, the one dressed in blue, asks the group. “Don’t you think they should’ve been here by now?” Upon her question, the Jade in black looks up from her book with an occupied gaze. Then suddenly, a look of dread flashes across her face.

“……Shit!” She shouts through the transponder.

 

***

 

“The long and short of it is, we have an escape route, and we have a means of travel. And we would greatly appreciate your assistance in getting us where we need to go.” You explain, wrapping up the ending of your recruitment efforts. For the most part, the Prince has grasped everything you’ve been telling him so far. What your group has planned, the role he’d play in breaking past the Space Barrier if he were to join you. He's even asked a few simple questions throughout your speech and was civil enough to hear you out, which is usually a good sign, but he’s been a hard read for you. He’s an impassive individual, barely emoting or showing much emotion at all, which has you feeling a tad uneasy about how you’ve been proceeding. Usually you base your persuasive efforts off how your conversation partners react to your suggestions, doubling down when they seem receptive or backing off when they take offense, but with him it’s been mainly guess-work with how you’ve been going at him. He hasn’t outright told you off for pestering him or asked you to go on because he’s interested, so you’ve been caught in a kind of awkward middle ground between passive and aggressive convincing tactics. “It goes without saying that an alliance, however temporary, would be mutually beneficial to all parties involved. You will be compensated for your services, of course. A spot on the vessel out of the Arena as well as formal dorming necessities. Any other conditions you might require can be negotiated for as well, naturally.” Seeing you’ve finished, the Prince leans back on his hip with a disinterested look on his face.

“Uh-huh, un-huh.” He sarcastically nods along with the final words of your statement. “Yeah, I’m gonna take a hard pass on this… whatever it is you’re calling this little hobo-frumpery you’ve got going on here. Sorry if that puts a storm over your war-march there.” The breath you were holding in anticipation for his answer is let out as a deep sigh.

“Is that so?” You ask back upon hearing his verdict.

“Yeaah. It is so.” He maliciously mimics your disappointed disposition. “Sorry, Sparks, but I’ve got a better race-monger to bet on than your sad little group.” He explains, pointing a thumb at himself. “Myself.”

“Hmm.” You hum, unsure what to make of the egotistical gesture.

“Going on a cruise across the vast utter nothingness of paradox space sounds swell n’ all, actually not in the slightest really, but I’ve got a universe of my own to get back to. You can try and trick reality, or whatever way you want to put it, but I’m going to go with my best option.” As he speaks, the Prince takes an emphatically swinging step forward in your direction. “Which includes killing you, unfortunately.” He tells you, jabbing his pointer finger against your chest, causing you to jerk at the contact. With his index pressed against the neuron on your shirt, a sudden tear begins to form in the fabric of your God Tiers, with his mere touch seeming to burn a hole through your outfit. “But since you and your underling seem alright, I’ll hold off and look for other prey for now.” He finished, removing the finger and halting his destructive touch at the edge of your Aspect’s symbol.

“I see…” You mutter, looking down at your now sundered shirt. Though mildly annoyed by the act, you’re too busy trying to think of some other way to convince the Prince to join, your mind running a mile a minute looking for another angle. It’s like you had said before, you don’t really have much to offer him in ways of incentive. A guy as powerful as him could practically lord over the other participants here, he has basically no reason to join you. No reason except… wait… underling? “……That’s a shame really.”

“For you, maybe.” He shrugs before bending down to pick up his glow flare from the floor, seeming like he’s preparing to leave soon.

“Not that. While your skills are most suited for our needs, there are others who could get the task done just the same.” You sigh, putting on a bit of a performance to re-engage the Prince’s interests. “My …underling, as you put him, seemed rather fond of you. It’s not that often someone strikes Jason’s fancy. However, you seem to be a man of convictions, I won’t insult you by trying and sway your decision now that it’s been made. I wish you a good day, all the same.” You tell him before turning and heading back for the Boss.

“f-… Fond?” The Prince’s reserved expression changes upon hearing your report, morphing into a subtle shock at the news. “H-hey, hold on now…” He mutters, taking a few steps after you. Seems he’s taken the bait, hook line and sinker. Exiting out into the open passage leading towards the stairway up, you reconvene with Boss by the pillars, finding him leaned against the stone there with an anxious look on his face. Seeing you’ve returned, he stands up straight to greet you, his face brightening as he waits for your report.

“Hey, how’d it go-“ He begins to ask.

“Apologies, Boss.” You say before he can finish, speaking loud enough for the Prince to hear as he lingers within the auditorium, having unconsciously followed you halfway across the room, curious of your rendezvous. “It seems he’s set on going for the win himself. Looks like we’ll have to find that Bard instead for your plan to work.“

“Bard? What Ba-“ You forcefully wink, signaling Boss to go with it before he can compromise your narrative. “Oh… Oh! T-that’s too bad. He could have really helped us out. I guess I’ll have to make alterations to my plan.” Boss speaks up, matching your volume to let the Prince hear. You motion with your fingers down by your side, signaling for him to keep it coming at an angle the Prince won’t see your gesture at. “You’d better not fail me again, or you can kiss your position on my ship goodbye.” You give him a thumbs up, nodding as you close your eyes in appreciation of his performance.

“It won’t happen again, sir.” You report.

“W-wait a second!” The Prince demands, bursting into the hall to join your conversation. That pretty much seals the deal, you suppose.

“Ah, you’re still here.” Boss remarks like a stuck-up king on a power trip.

“Y-yes! I am.” The Prince nods, taking a step forward. “Jason, was it?”

“That’s right, I’m Jason.” Boss says, turning to face the Prince with a slow, almost uncaring grace to him. Color you impressed by the subtlety of his conduct. “What was it you said your name was again?”

“Perses. I guess we didn’t really have time to get acquainted, haha.” The Prince awkwardly laughs, anxiously rubbing the side of his neck. He’s like a line of dominos, effortlessly falling just where you want him to. “I-It’s a pleasure. For you as well, I’m sure.” Taking another step forward, the Prince extends a hand out for the Boss to shake, but your leader only glances down at it with a disinterested look in his eyes. “Ah, um, apologies but I was under the impression that your servant was the one in charge.” The Prince adds on, retracting his hand from the space between them.

“You were, were you?” Boss almost yawns.

“Yes, very much so.” The Prince eagerly nods. “He has a sort of confidence you don’t often see in the lower classes. I’m sure that’s due to a cultural divide between our species. I had no idea you were the leader of this group. And I, uh… I guess I’d like to apologize.”

“How gracious of you. I can respect a man who has the integrity to reject someone to their face, but I’ve already been informed that you don’t wish to aid my team. An unfortunate outcome, but I suppose I can find someone else who can fill the role for us just as well.” Boss says, laying it on thick. You ease your hand slowly a few times, indicating he take it down a notch. “A-… B-but really, that’s alright with me. E-everything’s cool.” He awkwardly tacks on at the end.

“Cool, cool. Yeah, I’m all about… cool. Haha…” The Prince says, rocking back on the balls of his feet, softly clapping his hands on each rock. “I-if I wasn’t the Baron of Space, I-I-I’d be the Baron of C-cool. Ha-uh.” He continues on, making a sort of croak sound, before clearing his throat. “But so this… space barrier, or however Sparky put it. Destroying it, that’d be… cool, right? Like… like a really cool guy would do that sort of thing… right?” Boss looks over at you for confirmation. You give him a small nod ‘yes’.

“Yeah.” He says when he sees your go-ahead. “I’d say that only the coolest of guys could do it, really.”

“Really?” The Prince perks up. “A- b-because I was thinking the same thing! Great minds think alike, I guess. I knew you were a cool dude, just like me, and it’d be a direct violation of my personal code not to help a fellow cool… individual… in their time of need.”

“So… you’ll help, then?” Boss hesitantly asks, afraid he might lose him just before he can get a yes. You aren't worried, though. This gambit was over before it even started. The Prince nods in agreement at the question. “H-ha! That’s amazing! Thank you, that’ll be an enormous help!” He tells him, snatching a hand from the Prince’s side to shake. “Nice to bring you aboard, Perses!” At the sudden contact, the Prince’s cheeks flush a blue deeper than the ocean, practically radiating across his face.

“U-uhh, w-well. Right, I-I’ll be waiting at the elevator… F-for you.” He stammers out before sharply turning and swiftly speed-walking to the stairs Boss had snuck down.

“Phuh!” You sigh once he’s out of earshot, letting out a breath of relief. “Well, that was about as sloppy as they come, but you did it. Way to go, Boss.” You knock him on the shoulder as congratulations for the assist before heading after the Prince, not wanting to leave him out of your sight for too long. Best to not let him ruminate about the decisions he’s just made, less he figures out they aren’t in his best interests.

“Way to go, Boss, my ass.” Boss nearly gasps, letting out a deep breath himself as he follows you. “Why the hell didn’t you use your powers on him?”

“I was scoping him out, but his mind’s like a prison, Boss. Never seen so many psychological fortifications in my life.” You tell him, lamenting how difficult it was to navigate an interaction with the guy. “Must’ve gone through some pretty heavy shit back on troll-planet. If I tried to force it, there was a pretty high chance he would have noticed me rooting around in his head. That’s bad enough, normally. But a guy with his powers…” You glance down at the hole he’d left in your shirt with just a touch, seeing it’s only now just begun to magically sew itself back together again. “I don’t think he’d take too kindly to a mental stowaway. All his decisions had to be natural, or at least feel natural.” You explain as you ascend the staircase.

“Jeez. I still can’t believe I convinced him...” Boss sighs, still a bit energetic having had the tail end of the recruitment placed in his lap like that.

“Yeah well don’t get too cocky, it probably only worked because he likes you.” You chuckle to yourself, seeing how quickly the Troll turned to putty in your hands when you started dangling the Boss’s approval in front of him.

“…What?” Boss stops, peering at you with a confused look on his face.

“What, you didn’t notice?” You glance back at him with a smirk. It was a long-shot, that’s for sure. You had noticed the Prince staring at the Boss a little longer than seemed normal, and when he brought him up without reason, that’s what tipped you off. If your hunch had turned out wrong, you’re not sure what would’ve happened, but as it turns out, you’re an expert at knowing when to hold ‘em.

“Wait, likes me how…?” Boss asks, hurrying to catch up with you. “Creed! Likes me how?” You can’t help the laughter that bellows in your chest as he chases you down. Arriving at the elevator, you meet the Baron of Space once again, as he stands by the open doors of the cabin, patiently waiting for you and, more specifically, the Boss to arrive.

“Hi.” Perses shyly greets him as you walk up.

“H-, hey…” Boss greets back, seemingly having a hard time interacting with the Troll now that he knows the full context between them. Before the situation can get any more awkward, you take a step forward to hop on to the elevator.

However, before you can board the ascension device, a large force suddenly slams against the top of the cabin, as though something heavy had fallen down the elevator shaft on top of it. The sudden boom freezes you in place, a nervous sensation coursing through your system at the abrupt movement. This sensation only compounds when you hear the distinct sound of footsteps clink against the roof of the elevator. And then -bang-, as a panel at the top of the cabin is kicked in, falling to the floor of the lift. The tension is thick enough to choke, when dropping down from the void is-!

Oh. It’s Mia.

“Sup. The others sent me to get you.” She says, setting her spear down by her side like it’s a staff. “You morons dying or something?” Well… at least they care enough to send someone to retrieve the bodies.

 

Creed, rejoin with your Caring Team.

Chapter 61: > Sending a Message

The elevator ride is quiet. That same hum filling the cabin as you four stand in pairs, Mia and Boss in the front, you and Perses in the back. Whether it’s the added weight in the cabin slowing your ascent or the uncomfortably crushing silence, but the ride seems longer than your previous experience going up.

Mia seems annoyed, having to come down to verify that you and Boss had not, in fact, ‘wandered dick-first into the only hazard for ten square miles’. She wears the annoyance in her arms, crossing them while holding her spear in the cradle of her shoulder. You think this is the reason Boss has kept his pickaxe out as well, as a sort of security-blanket type self assurance to fend off the bad vibe aimed at him smoking up the cabin.

Perses, being new to the dynamic, and likely new to human interactions entirely, seems oblivious to the disturbance in the room. That or he just doesn’t care, which seems equally possible. Looking over his attire with a more dutiful inspection now that you have the chance, you notice that the armor he’s wearing is more of an under-armor bodysuit that he’s reinforced with various plates and straps, both metal and hardened leather. It’s form fitting, looks like polymer-mesh, like the stuff Space Warriors wear beneath their Aero-Rig body armors. Whatever it is he’s wearing, it looks battle-worn. Large slashes dug into the face of his bodysuit, nicks and scrapes all about the edges of his reinforcements, entire chunks missing at some points. D had mentioned something about troll society having cultural enforcers and individuals called Threshecutioners. You wonder if he belonged among their ranks before he entered SBURB.

“So, aah…” Perses begins to say, cutting through the elevator hum. “The Pickaxe… it’s pretty cool that you have it as your weapon…” He tells Boss, leaning out slightly to talk to him.

“Oh, uh- thank you.” Boss says, looking down at his weapon then back at the Baron. “It’s actually my main armament, so I’ve had the abstratus for a while now.”

“It’s not every day you see someone carry the Saint’s Holy Symbol as an Aggriever.” Perses continues on. “Most aren’t bold enough to attempt such a feat, usually finding its weight too lopsided and cumbersome to swing with a sufficient enough proficiency in Strife. Most only carry it as a memento or reminder of the plight, so to see one in action, even momentarily, in an honor.”

“u-… I’m sorry, Saint?” Boss looks back at him, confused by the compliment.

“The Saint under the Mountain.” Perses clarifies. “Patron of the Workers of the Mine, the One who Burrows. You’ve never heard tale of them?”

“Sorry, can’t say I have.” Boss tells him with an awkward laugh.

“I see, well… i-it’s cool to see, either way.” He bashfully reassures himself, turning blue in the face. “You carry it well!” With his peace said, Perses stands himself at attention. At the front of the cabin, you notice as Mia turns her attention to the Boss, peering at him with an unamused look.

“Really? …Another one?” She asks him. “That’s like four now. What are you, alien cat-nip?” Boss just clears his throat in response. With that, the cabin goes silent again, the odd jostle to the lift shaking the occupants every so often. Time has crawled to an excruciating slow, it isn’t even funny.

“…So why did you try destroying your God Tiers?” You break the silence once more, figuring you’ve got time to kill before the elevator reaches its destination. Perses seems to fancy himself a warrior in some regard, so you’re curious what would make him want to get rid of his god-threads. You can understand sticking with his old battle attire for a war-game, but completely discarding the pj’s? You’d think he’d want to hang tight to proof of his ascension, a physical symbol of triumph over reality. He glances over at you, seemingly perturbed or put-off by your speaking to him.

“The Beldam was tracking me through the scent the obnoxious pixie wings left behind.” He answers with a stern look forward. “I would’ve abandoned my anointed dressings in a ditch long ago had the risk of them being used in a ruinous incantation against my person at the hands of a rival Champion not far outweighed the burden of keeping them with me.”

“You’re at threat of incantation?” Mia asks him with a jovial yet mean spirited tone.

“Of course I am.” Perses firmly tells her, annoyed with the question. “All who sail the river of bloodshed take on the risk of clandestine debasement via the black magics. Hexes are a much more prominent threat than most realize. That’s the problem with everyone these days, no one thinks about the future. They’re all too stuck in the present to pull their heads out of their asses, and they end up leaving needless ties to themselves behind, both physical and emotional, that just about anyone can exploit.” Mia glances over at Boss, her eyes asking ‘Why? Why must you invite psychos into our home?’ At least that’s what you got from it. “As such, I am stuck in an unideal crossroads. I cannot leave the dressings behind under threat of another using them as components in a curse, and I cannot wear them without my every move being subject to pursuit. So I resorted to dissolving them at my earliest convenience. Unfortunately, they’ve proven their ‘anointed’ moniker quite thoroughly, being nigh impossible to destroy with any degree of permanency. Consistent atomization of the garments has only proven to accelerate the regenerative process. Indisposable, one would say. So I am burdened to keep them with me for the time being. That is why I attempted to destroy them.” He finished off, fairly ruffled by the debacle he’s been through with this outfit. “…They’re also gaudy pieces of garbage I wouldn’t dare be seen wearing. I mean shorts and fingerless gloves? It would be like asking to be bullied.”

“At least someone gets it.” Mia mutters under her breath.

-Ding-

 

“Oh thank god.” Boss whispers to himself as the elevator reaches the top floor. Opening their doors, he’s the first one to step off, hurrying away from the uncomfortable smog that’d built up in the room during the ride. Stepping out yourself along with the rest of the inhabitants of the mechanical ascender, you’re met with a cold breeze along with a face full of mist from the rain.

“Lovely.” You mumble to yourself, wiping your face dry and putting up your hood. The top of the temple is made up of two large bases facing one another across the divide in the valley, connected by a large stone bridge with a canopy shielding its center from the sky. Walking along, you notice a series of embrasures built into the sides of the bridge, making it clear this is a part of a bastion built to resist enemy sieges. Neat bit of architecture embodying the bloodstained history of this god forsaken gulch. Some really solid visual storytelling, thank god you can see it.

“You two done fingering each other down there?” Ryder calls from atop a ledge under the stone canopy, beside where the gateway is positioned. Not long after, Leah pulls him down, quietly scolding his outburst.

“What is this fingering you speak of?” Perses asks, venturing out from behind the others in your quartet.

“I’ll be damned.” Leah declares, stepping forward. “I thought Doll was pullin’ our leg when she said they were bringing back a hobgoblin with 'em.”

“Not exactly sure I used that specific terminology…” Dallra mutters under her breath.

“Who the hell is this guy anyway?” Ryder asks while rushing to the front of the group, crossing his arms to make himself look like a bouncer.

“I’ll make this quick. Everyone, this is the newest member of the team.” Boss announces to the bridge. “Apologies in advance that we didn’t vote on recruiting him, it was…” He looks over to you specifically. “A bit spontaneous.”

“Does new guy have a name?” Leah inquires, stepping behind Ryder.

“Or a designation?” Frank asks, popping up in between the two, peeking around Ryder like he’s a cartoon character looking around a tree. Noticing him there, Ryder subsequently shakes him off in a fit.

“I am Perses. You will address me as such.” Perses informs the lot.

“A- He’s the Baron of Space.” Boss interjects, seeing the strange looks said new guy is getting.

“Fuck’s a Baron?” Ryder half-laughs while looking Perses up and down.

“It’s like a Prince.” Mia boredly explains as she moseys by with her spear leaned against her shoulder.

“Then why not just call it a prince?” Ryder scoffs before shaking Frank off when he realizes he’s crawling onto him again.

“So are we picking up every vagrant we come across?” Haugrr asks Boss when he walks past the part of the bridge's ledge he’s up on. “Between Frank and this new guy, we’re starting to look like a band of roaming transients.”

“Transient. That’s a pretty big word.” Boss stops, acknowledging the troll’s place laid out before him. “For you.”

“Mhm.” Haugrr sneers through a smile at him.

“Ah, Perses, this is Haugrr. The other destroyer class on our team.” Boss tells the Baron as he walks up, introducing him to the Prince. Stopping to look his counterpart over, Perses narrows his eyes at Haugrr with an incredulous glare.

“…Those are Oracle robes.” He comments after a moment of contemplation.

“The robes belong to the corpse I’m possessing.” Haugrr glares back. “My real body is actually Fuchsia, so you have to do whatever I tell you.”

“Why would I do that?” Perses plainly asks.

“Hm… First time running into an Indigo who wasn’t a bootlicker.” Haugrr huffs, looking at Perses with a blank expression. “What a shame.”

“Stop… making noise at me.” Perses tells him as he walks off.

“I trust you had a reason for making your detour?” Someone asks you, snapping you back to yourself. Glancing over, you find Esspin’s wandered over to join you, along with Sara and Ragnaa. “Not that I’m opposed to expanding our merry band, it’s just Dallra made it sound like your venture came rather out of the blue.”

“He’ll be the one to break the Space Barrier around the Arena.” You answer as you throw your Bat over your shoulder, heading for the group gathering around the gateway.

“Sorry, the what?” Sara hurries after you.

“Aah, nothing, small detail.” You divert, unsure if that’s supposed to be common knowledge with the group. “Point is, he’s a powerful player we’d rather have with us than against us.”

“Creed, what… is he?” Ragnaa asks, catching up with you as well.

“He says he’s a Baron, but his God Tiers looked like Prince-garbs from what we saw of them.” You inform her as she eyes the newcomer from behind your shadow. “Not sure if it’s a subclass or a different designation, but destroying Matter seems to be well within his wheelhouse.” You glance down at your still repairing shirt, the damage now only a single tear across your neuron left before it’s completely refurbished.

“No, I mean-“

“Alright! I’m calling it.” Boss cuts her off before she can clarify her point. “We’ve been on this planet too long. No more lollygagging, we’re going through the portal.” He informs the rest of you, half scaling the pedestal the gateway sits on. “Everyone line up.”

“That word again…” Mia sneers to herself. "Lolly gag."

“We can talk once we get to the place.” You tell Rags before moving to the portal construct as your group begins to pour through, one-by-one.

“hmm…” You hear her anxiously hum to herself, watching the Baron from a distance. Walking forward, you step up to the plate and go to place your hand against the gateway. Just as you do, though, you think you hear the distant -static- of feedback interference. Hand already placed upon the construct, all you can do is ponder what that noise could have been before you’re whisked away to somewhere new.

 

***

 

*ring ring*

“Don’t let her get to the grove!” Hekter announces, taking up the flank. “Keep her where we can see her!”

*hellooOoo?*

“She’s too damn nimble!” Archie calls back. “Where the hell is Kai with his dumbass traps when you need him?!”

*ring ring*

“Are you assholes for real? Land a fucking hit already! She has a damn blindfold on!” Robin berates you all. Diving out of the way of an incoming barrage, she fires off three shots from her hand-crossbow, Hell’s Orchard.

*h-h- hellooOo?*

“Hop off it, Robin! She’s obviously some kind of kung fu master!” Archie barks back as he tries to maneuver his unmanageable fucking flagpolekind armament. Seeing it in action, you aren’t entirely convinced he didn’t just tie a giant fuck-off Heart flag to a staff or lance kind abstratus.

*ring ring*

“The hell is kung fu?” Hekter asks before receiving an open palm directly to the nose. “GAAA!”

*hellooo?*

“That. That was kung fu.” Archie says through laughter seeing the blue river stream down the troll’s face. Slamming his flag down, the Page misses by a mile before taking a three-piece to his jaw and throat.

*ring ring*

“LJ! Answer the Fucking Phone!” Robin screams at you just as you got your swing lined up. Thoroughly disrupted, your attack whiffs before it even exits the gate.

“Every fucking time…” You mutter through grit teeth. More than a tad miffed at this point, you rip Robin’s phone from your pocket and tear it open. “What?!”

“…You sound busy.” You hear Anshal say from the other side of the line.

“Spit’it out already.” You groan, working up for another windup with your yo.

“Calling to report target has activated the Lomam gateway. Confirmed off-world.” She recounts to you.

“Understood. Be advised, current schedule’s run into a delay. Still escorting Auratt to the Lomam portal by way of Lodaf, currently a day out.” You report back with her, doing your best to coordinate while in the midst of Strife. Leaning back to put a bit of snap on your pitch, you fling your yo out, just missing your target as you brush past the side of her jaw, effortlessly dodging your attack.

“A day? What the hell have you all been doing?” She scoffs at you, sounding disgusted by the disruption in your agenda.

“Hunting.” You say into the phone, looking back at the strife before you, as the Page of Mind absolutely hands your allies their collective asses without so much as breaking a sweat.

Bravo Team’s proved itself sub-optimal at expeditious travel as you had previously believed it capable of, so it goes without saying Robin will likely be giving you an earful before the day comes to an end. Team makeup consists of you, Robin, Hekter, Tabes and Archibald. Current directive, deliver Auratt to the LOMAM gateway in the Land of Dust and Fury with the intent of getting her close enough to target to take the kill shot. You had designed the team for the purpose of being small enough to travel quickly, but strong enough to repel any hostile advances from enemy Godtiers along the way. You’ve obviously run into a bit of a problem in this regard. It all started when Robin decided to throw your schedule into the wind. There was word from some of the Consorts on this planet that a Page had taken up residence in the local forest in the past day. Despite telling her numerous times that every form of common sense says Jason is still on LOCAL and had no feasible reason or method to make his way to LODAF in such a small amount of time, Robin insisted that you still check it out. ‘He has time powers’ she said, ‘he could cross the Arena with a snap of his fingers’. Never mind that he’s never displayed this type of prowess in chronomancy before and has only shown an affinity for combative snares in his implementation of his abilities, Robin has a feeling!

Her feeling was wrong, by the way. Tracking down the Page the consorts were talking about, find Jason, you did not. Instead, you came across a girl in Mind attire, wandering about the woods with a blindfold on. Like with most of the contestants you’ve run into in your travels, Robin had first tried to suss out whether or not the girl could be of any use to her. Strong enough to bother keeping around, but weak enough that they couldn’t hijack the group and turn your followers against her. However, the Page showed herself to be a rather… stoic individual. Silent, completely aware of and responsive to your presence in her vicinity, but unwilling to respond in any way. Robin has always been on the temperamental side, but nothing sets her off worse than being ignored. You speak from firsthand experience. And with the Page of Mind completely bypassing your Leader, it was only a matter of time before you all had broken out into full-on Strife. With the Page proving to be useless to your cause, Robin gave the order to take out the competition, which leads you to now. All ganging up on the bird, to no effect.

Whether it’s an ability from her power kit or just sheer training, the las has some serious reflexes, flowing around your attacks as though she saw them coming from a mile away. Dodging and weaving in and out of your team’s defenses, taking punches and kicks wherever she can get them, which appears to be everywhere, judging by how much she’s tearing you all up. Some real drunken fist, crushing rock type shit. Making it doubly hard is the array of spectral limbs she has at her disposal, brought about through some manner of manifesting simultaneous decisions into the corporal world. It seems she just can’t decide if she wants to kick you in your teeth, chest or head more, so she’s opted to do all three simultaneously.

Right now, she’s summoned twelve additional arms from her back, conjuring six on each side of her. Hekter goes in for a swing with his ax only to have the belly of his weapon blocked by the Mind Page’s third right arm, followed up by a swift counter attack delivered to his left eye, side of jaw and middle of throat. Before she can bludgeon him any further, Archie comes swinging in with his daft flagpole, slamming down in between them, creating a momentary veil separating the combatants as the fabric of his flag floats down. Trying to take the girl by surprise, Archie throws a punch while still hidden by the flag, aiming for whatever he can get at this point. His sneak attack is blocked, the momentum of his hit neutralized against the Page’s elbow. Before he can realize his hit was ineffective, the Page leaps forward, landing an ax kick against the top of Archie’s head and sending a knee up into the underside of his jaw.

“Fuckin’!” He yelps, stumbling back from the skull-sandwiching he’d just received.

“Hekter! Evasive manuvers!” Tabes orders, aiming two digits at the group. Complying completely to the order, the Knight grabs hold of Archie’s nape, falling back on his calfs and pulling his companion along with him to the ground. The moment her target is open, a thin missile of antimatter shoots from the Maid’s fingertips like a laser beam, slamming into the Page and engulfing her in a firestorm. Already doubting the lethality of the attack, you begin winding up a pitch. Just as you’ve thrown the body of your yo-yo out, the smoke from Tabes attack clears, revealing the Page had formed an almost shell-like shield using her manifested arms, blocking a majority of the explosion from reaching her. As the limbs unwind themselves from the Page’s form, your yo sneaks through the cracks in her defenses with a curved -slam-, reaming into her jaw with a reverberating hit. You’d take pride in it if you weren’t painfully aware how much of a lucky shot it was.

“LJ… You still there?” Anshal’s voice comes in through the phone as you recall your yo.

“I’m gonna have to call you ba-!“ Palming your yo-yo, you realize that Page somehow ran behind the shadow of your weapon as you recalled it, staying out of the bulk of your perception long enough to bridge the gap between you.

You flick open the razor in your ring, but before you have a chance to cut open a Blood Port, the Page reels back all seven of her right fists, driving them forward, slamming into a single point in your chest with a strike that kills the breath in your lungs. It hurts, but you power through it. You go to strike back and-… and…

You lose balance in your feet. Unable to stand properly, you rock backwards and go crashing to the ground, landing flat on your back.

 

***

 

“LJ?” You hear from off a ways. “LJ!” You hear called again. It’s… it’s Robin. “Get back up, LJ! What are you doing?!” You hear her call out. It warms your heart to hear she’s so concerned with your well being. “LJ!”

“I heard you the first time!” You nip back at her, still laying flattened out from that punch. It feels like your soul was just Suplexed. What the hell kind of move did that Page hit you with? Helluva right hook… Slowly, you push yourself up off the ground, finding your second wind. Getting back to your feet, you find the fight’s progressed a ways, moving partly across the clearing you’re in, getting closer to the tree line. It also looks like a heavy fog has rolled in from the forest, leaving the land surrounding the strife-grounds obscured in mist. Double timing back to your group, you arrive as Bravo Team’s surrounds the Page, forcing her into a crouching defense, sightlessly watching over her opponents as she patiently wait for one of you to make the first move. “Hekter, flank left and keep on her.” You jump in next to the Knight, devising a plan of attack for this next offensive. “Archie, stick to hit-and-runs, swooping tactics. Tabes, find-“ Before you can finish strategizing, Hekter zags forward, making a break right instead of left. At the same time, Archie dives forward as well, trying to perform a pincer move alongside the troll. “H-hey! The hell are you guys doing?!” You admonish the two of them as they go for contact. Hekter is the first to reach her, taking a swing aimed at the gap between her extra arms, swiping through her defenses but still sailing wide as she tilts to the side, turning into a half-cartwheel which she uses to gather momentum for a kick against Archie as he arrives, landing her foot against three different spots on his face. The swing Archie had intended against her goes wide, and his wanker flag clasps around Hekter, incapacitating him long enough for the Page to rise back up and knock the both of them away with the back of seven of her fists for each of them. “Shit, Tabes! Converge for fraymotif, Tacet Desmoterion configuration. Sync?” You instruct while bolting for the Elf, who disregards your strategy in favor of taking aim for another explosive attack. “Tabes, sync!” Just as you arrive by her side, the damned Maid takes off herself, making a B-line for the Page and ignoring you entirely. “Oi!” You call out to her. “What are you doin’?!” You turn to the rest of them. They don’t even so much as look at you. “What the hell is going on…” You mutter to yourself.

“You’re getting your perchcushions kicked is what’s going on.” Someone chuckles to themselves. Unfamiliar with the voice of whoever it is taking the piss, you do a quick twelve point scan of your surroundings, spotting someone sitting down on a toppled log back towards where you first fell down, off by the edge of the fog. Seeing that your soldiers aren’t following their orders, you decide to step off away from the strife for the time being, venturing over towards the interloper.

“Who the bloody hell are you?” You nod your chin at the stranger, making sure to stop a good few feet out of lurching distance.

“A friend.” The person shrugs with a nonchalant attitude. “Or as close to a friend as you can get, under the circumstances.”

“…You’re a troll.” You declare, taking notice of his grey skin and orange horns and… blank white eyes?

“That I am.” He half bows, playful or sarcastic in the gesture, you know not which.

“What exactly is happening right now?” You ask, glancing back at Bravo Team as they struggle to keep pace with the Page.

“You mean why is everything so misty, and no one will acknowledge you?” He asks back, leaning back on the log as he tucks his arms across one another.

“Yeah, that…” You answer as you look back.

“It’s because you’re dead.” He tells you. “Sorry to have to break it to you.”

“Dead......?” You ask back, the word almost chilling and turning to glass in front of you. “No, that’s… that’s not possible… I’m right here!”

“No, you’re right over there.” He tells you, glancing over to the side of the clearing. Following his gaze, you spot the thing he’s referring to out in the field. You take only two steps towards where it is before you can see it clearly now. Off in the distance, sprawled out in the grass, is the body of L.J. Johnson, the Mage of Blood. Dead.

Still not believing it, you look down to your hands. Your ring is gone. With nothing to slash yourself on, you bite into the webbing between your index and your thumb, tearing into the flesh deep enough to evoke a large stream of blood. Only… there’s no taste of iron left in your mouth as the torrent comes flowing out. Looking down to your torn-open hand, you find that instead of a stream of red escaping your form, a pale glowing liquid escapes in its stead.

“Oh man…” You mutter to yourself as you fall back on your ass, dumbstruck by it all. “Robin’s gonna be so disappointed with me…”

“Dude. I don’t think someone’s disappointment should be your first concern directly upon death.” The troll tells you, rising from his seat to come stand beside you.

“You obviously don’t know my girlfriend.” You sigh, looking on as your team continues with the strife, unbothered by your abrupt withdrawal from both the fight as well as the land of the living.

“…Wanna talk about it?” The troll offers, prompting you to glance back.

 

***

 

Appearifying someplace new, you’re immediately met with an invigorating breeze that passes through you like one of Sara’s healing winds. Opening your eyes, you find yourself within a small hut built from a series of flat stones that’ve been stacked and cemented to one another. You’re here with Mia and Perses, and not long after, the rest of your team begin popping into existence in flash after flash, quickly filling the small landing room you’re all arriving in.

Hurrying out before it gets any more crowded in here, you toss your pickaxe over your shoulder and raise a hand up to block the sun from getting into your eyes. Jeez, a week on a planet like LOCAL has really fucked your peepers, it seems. You’re Jason again, by the way. Looks like the Perspective got a bit lost on its way during transit when Creed jumped through.

Getting a proper gander at the world before you, you’re awestruck by what you see. Enormous winding peaks and mountain ranges scatter the horizon, rising up from a vast ocean of mist below them, like islands each unto their own. The skies here are a light steel blue with vibrant white clouds, and the grass springing up from the grey stone of the mountains are a deep, almost crimson, burgundy. Sauntering over to a nearby cliff outside the portal landing's hut, you take a look down, kicking a small rock by the ledge off into what must be a treacherous chasm below you, too heavily obscured by the mist to make out how far down it goes. It seems the Land of Mist and Mountains really lives up to its name.

“You know the way?” Dallra asks as she walks up beside you.

“Not in the slightest.” You enthusiastically declare, glancing over at her.

“Hmhmhm. It’s right over there.” She says with a laugh, leaning into you to point out a particularly steep mountain off in the distance. “The Bozyang Monastery. It’s a bit of a hike, but thankfully there’s a wooden cargo lift we can take up, otherwise it’d be quite the climb.”

“Pf, please. It’d be no sweat.” You jokingly tell her, putting on an ironic cool-guy persona as you lean into her back, turning a shade redder as you do. “I don’t mean to brag but… my pickaxe doubles as a climbing pick.”

“Does it, now?” She snickers at the performance. “Then we’re in good hands.”

“Ahem.” Someone verbally clears their throat behind you. Looking back, you see Mia standing there, a disinterested yet simultaneously disgusted look on her face. “We have a waypoint or what?”

“Right, uh, Dal.” You turn to your Seer. “That’s all you. Lead the way, if you would.” You gesture her forward the way a chauffeur would when welcoming a movie star from their limo to the red carpet. She quietly giggles at the display as she walks on.

You watch as she ventures up to the front of the group, grabbing everyone’s attention before beginning to lead down the path. The part of the mountain you’ve arrived on is a narrow one, with your trail being a small rock shelf on the cliffside only a few yards wide. There’s a few houses built into the face of the mountain as well, forming a kind of small village along the slender pass.

Finishing up taking in the scenery, you’re about to hurry after your group before the others can get too far down the trail when you notice Mia is still standing where she was, polearm in-hand like a staff as she narrows her eyes at you, gazing suspiciously your way. You end up accidentally gazing back yourself, your attention becoming transfixed on her eyes. You see that fierceness in the jade hue of her peepers again, her convictions undoubtably returned back to their full power. The staring goes on for a little too long, though. You’d say it makes you uncomfortable, but it leagues better than the usual death-glare she looks at you with, so you’ll take what you can get.

“…Hm.” She grunts at you.

“What?” You inquire, somewhat weirded out by her staring.

“I can’t tell if you’re an irredeemable bastard or just an oblivious moron.” She answers while tilting her head to the side, the way one would when contemplating a piece of art.

“Good to have you back, Mia.” You say with a huff as the two of you begin after the others. While walking, you hear a distinct crunch beneath your feet, causing you to realize there’s actually a bit of snow on the ground along your trail. Huh. It feels like an eternity since you last saw snow. It’s not a lot, just barely enough to coat parts of the ground with a thin layer of white frost, so it’s not like anyone’s gonna be building a snowman anytime soon, but still. It makes you feel nostalgic for when you were young and the only person you had to fight was your Dad when he made you brush up on your strife tactics. Walking along in the cold silence of the mountain pass, an idea comes to you. “Hey, I’ve got a favor to ask.” You tell Mia, prompting her to raise an eyebrow at you. “It’s about that Page…”

“Which one, the stitch-doll, the ginger, or the unbelievable douche?” She asks you.

“The gin- hey…!” You turn to her, taking exception to the snarky comment. She rolls her. “The ginger. I was wondering if you could use your magic on him.” With Mia back at 100% again, she could probably morph Ryder into a proper Rage player with the snap of her fingers, fill his Rage-o-Meter up to maximum. Maybe get him to actually pull his weight around here for once.

“Nope.” She shoots you down without a second thought.

“Great, I really need- wait, what?” You pause, realizing she’s rejected your proposal.

“I’m not using my magic on anyone.” She reiterates.

“Ah come on, Mia…” You moan, hoping she might fold if you actually beg her to. Seems like something she’d ask of you, at least.

“No.” She firmly repeats. “I don’t use my powers anymore.”

“Wait, really?” You turn to her as you walk, trying to see if there’s any fault in her resolve. “What about back on the Forge?”

“That’s different. My Strength comes naturally to me.” She explains the difference to you. “It’s not something I do, it’s just the state I get into when I get amped up. Shit starts burning, that’s simply the way I work. But I won’t use my magic on him. I don’t mess with that shit anymore.”

“Why not?” You ask in earnest, to which she gives you the coldest glare you’ve ever seen from her. For half a second, you think she might hurl you off the cliff right then and there. “Right… dumb question…”

“…What do you want him raging for anyways?” Mia finally asks after an agonizing moment of silence, picking the conversation back up.

“Ryder is… well, you’ve seen him.” You tell her, figuring your reasoning doesn’t need words to explain it. She gives you a laughing scoff at your comment. “I guess I was just hoping you could fast track him into… I don’t know, someone who can throw a punch or something.”

“The dude’s a shrimp. All my magic would do for him is make him an annoying shrimp who’d tantrum around until he had a heart attack.” She explains, sounding a tad disdainful of the boy. “Nothing I can do for you, Greene.” Nothing she can do…? But… that’s not true…

“…Do you think you could train him?” You ask before you can even finish your thought. She looks over at you with a quizzical expression, either questioning if you really just asked what you just asked or wondering what it is you have in mind.

“Train him?” She repeats your ask. “I’ve never trained anyone before.”

“But could you?” You ask again.

“…How rough can I be with him?” She asks after a moment of contemplation.

“Very.” You answer without missing a beat.

“……Sure, yeah, I can train him.” She agrees to the arrangement. You laugh almost reflexively, happy to celebrate the future prospects for your team. After that, you can’t help the pep that gets put in your step as the two of you catch up with your group.

 

***

 

“And so yeah, I guess that’s about the long of it.” You say with a huff as you watch Bravo Team throw attack after attack, practically blindfolded themselves. It’s embarrassing you ever cleared this roster for field operations, none of your members can coordinate in a strife in the slightest. They’re all out there, stepping on one another's toes like they’re vindictive Irish tap dancers. “We’ve known each other for years now. I guess it would just feel unnatural not to have her as my first priority.”

“I don’t want to be too harsh against the configurations of your human relationships, but you’re clearly limited in your range of expressions regarding your significant others.” The dead guy assesses you, playing Troll-Sigmund Freud in this improvised postmortem therapy session. “It seems you vacillate exclusively between the ♥concupiscent quadrants♠ for one another, which I guess could work for a human if they’re confident enough in their relationship, but I think the misstep is really coming from the complete bypassing of the ♣conciliatory quadrants♦ entirely. This Robin girl is the only quadrant-filler you’re interested in having, yes? Which means you both have the entire map to fill out for one another. You can’t just have your highflying emotions going all day, all night. Or make emotional demand after emotional demand, one after another like you’re holding a quadrant hostage from your partner until they concede to you. ♥Red Feelings♥ can’t heal all the scars the ♠Black Tirades♠ cause, and without another to mitigate the damage that naturally comes upon a relationship, it’s up to the both of you to make sure your connection is still a healthy one. You have to take the time to communicate with one another, sort out the legitimate criticisms from the hurtful things said in anger so you can move forward with a clear understanding of how you ♦stand as a pair♦. You need to display that you’re ♣willing to make concessions♣ for her, but that you expect the same curtesy to be done for you because that’s how a partnership works. You can’t have one person do all the lifting, you’re supposed to raise each other up as a team.”

“That’s all well and good, mate, but at this point? I’m sorry to tell you it’s probably fallin’ on deaf ears.” You sigh, resting your jaw against your hands as you watch the strife from the Troll’s toppled tree. “Me and Robbie have been on the rocks for a while now. Maybe we would’ve tried to fix things, if’n we had more time, but… the Arena pretty much put an expiration date on our relationship. At the end of all this, one of us wasn’t making it out, so there wasn’t any real point in trying anymore. Suppose we were just riding these last few days out until we reached the end of the road, not really caring how hurt the other’s feelings got.”

“Whatever it is bonding you to this girl,” The Troll says while resting a hand on your shoulder. “It seems toxic.”

“…Maybe” You half-chuckle at the curt assessment.

“What if she isn’t the one to survive in the end?” He asks, looking out at the strife with you. Robin’s up in a tree, peppering the Page with a hail of bolt, which she seems to effortlessly catch. Even those explosive-tip shots she has, the Page clasps them between two of her spectral hands, cupping the bomb head safely in her palms to detonate harmlessly. “You might end up running into each other again.”

“Nah, Robin will win.” You declare with a tired sigh, leaning back in your seat. “She’s too cunning not to. The only real obstacle in her way is the bastard trying to undermine the tournament.”

“You mentioned him before. It seemed his presence was putting a strain on your relationship.” The Troll comments, glancing back over at you again.

“Yeah, I’suppose.” You passively shrug, figuring it’s not your problem anymore.

“Why did you bother spending all this time looking for the guy if it was complicating things with her?” He asks. “Someone’s bound to come across him and put him in the dirt anyways. Why did it have to be your problem?”

“You don’t understand. This guy is a threat to all of us, not just me and Robin.” You explain the situation. “If he actually succeeds in what he’s doing, then all of this will have been pointless. All the bloodshed and misery we’ve dragged one another through just trying to survive, then suddenly… no one wins, and it was all for nothing. We’d all die monsters, and for no bloody reason.”

“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.” The Troll says, mimicking the position you’re sat in, with his jaw in his hands. Hearing this, you sit up yourself.

“…Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” You quote the end of the soliloquies he had begun. “And where exactly does an alien pick up Macbeth from?” You ask with a surprised laugh.

“Eh, you’re not the first human friend I’ve ever had.” He waves you off.

“…I still can’t get over that I died.” You say after a quiet moment passes. “I mean, what the hell even happened? I just fell over like a twit.”

“She popped your heart like a water balloon, dude.” The Troll tells you.

“Trolls have water balloons?” You look over to him.

“Of course. What kind of awful civilization wouldn’t invent water balloons?” He asks with a wide puzzled grimace. “Anyway, be grateful it was her who did it. Anywhere else in the Arena and you’d be a mindless shadow dropper by now.”

“Why’s that?” You look over to the Page as she hurls a sizable rock with three of her hands at Robin’s perch in the tree. It hits the neighboring branch and part of the main canopy, and Robin clamps down on the branch she's on in response, kinda like how a stuck cat would if you shook its tree.

“It’s this mist. Once it gets into you, it squeezes all the juices from your thoughtsponge.” He informs you of the danger floating just behind you. “Something about that Page clears the stuff around her, some kind of Presence of Mind field. Whatever it is, it allows the Dead to think again, which is pretty sweet. The only reason I’m awake right now is because my soul wandered into her path by chance. She’s run across a few others in the past, but they all went empty-panned when they strayed too far from her.”

“So what, you’ve just been tailing her ever since?” You ask him.

“It’s either that or wander endlessly in a mindless haze until something comes along and destroys your soul.” He shrugs. “I’m fine with Option A for now.”

“Hm. Fair enough.” You agree, figuring awake is better for the immediate. “…I’m LJ. By the way.” You say as you extend a hand out. “I just realized we didn’t exchange names.”

“Huh, yeah I guess you’re right.” He takes your hand, shaking it. “Amvinn. Good to meet you, LJ.” As you’re getting acquainted with the stranger, you notice around you as the fog slowly begins to encroach upon your position.

“Uh… should we be worried about that?” You ask while looking past Amvinn. Looking back himself, suddenly, the Troll shoots up from his seat.

“Yes, that would definitely be on the list of things the dead still have to worry about.” He fills you in, turning back to the strife. “Come on, we need to catch up.” Taking off, the Troll glides forward over the grass, flying after the Page of Mind who’d somehow broken through the perimeter Bravo Team had encompassed around her.

“Ah, bollocks.” You get up and after em.

“She’s getting away!” Archie whinges as you rush past him, pointing at the Page to Robin like it’s doing something.

“Well get the hell after her!” Robin shouts down to him from her tree. “Stay on her, and don’t let her go far.” She directs them as they chase after the new target. “LJ, where the hell are- LJ? …LJ!” Robin shrieks upon realizing you didn’t just have the wind knocked out of you. Well, it’s nice that she at least noticed, no matter how long it took.

“Hey, how the hell do you fly like that?” You call after Amvinn who’s easily keeping pace with the Page while you have to high-knee it, running after them.

“It’s not that different from Godtier flight, it’s more in the stepperpoles, though.” He explains, glancing back at you while keeping his gliding-stride forward. “It’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it.”

“I never figured out God-flight either!” You tell the Troll as you catch up with him in the midst of the nearby forest.

“Looks like you’ll be getting a lot of cardio in, then.” He looks over at you with a half-pitying, half-amused look.

“You’re hilarious.” You grumble between paced breaths as you try to regulate your breathing. “So how long does she usually run for?”

“That depends. How long are your friends planning to chase her for?” He asks, a quiet judgment in his voice over your group Most Dangerous Game-ing a person.

“Fair enough, but for the record, none of these people are my actual friends.” You emphasize the distinction. “They’re more like living punishments I’ve been forced to deal with for the sins of my past.”

“You’re like a constant downer, huh?” He decides. Brushing off the comment, you instead take in the scenery beyond the fog.

“You know, for the Land of Dust and Fury, this place is actually rather nice.” You try to make conversation as you keep pace with the Page. Suddenly, she pirouettes forward, leaping into the air and flinging a rock at you, mid-spin. Being newly incorporeal, you dodge out of the way from the projectile, thinking she was targeting you.

“Fak-!” You hear behind you. It was Archie. She hit him on the bridge of his nose.

“Flowery meadows, lush forests, blooming groves. Not very fitting of its name.” You continue on with your smalltalk.

“I think it’s like a metaphor, maybe?” Amvinn shrugs. “Like it’s a silent fury, hidden by the pristine of the planet.”

“No offense, mate, but you sound like a bit of a donut.” You inform him.

“Yeah I literally have no idea what that means, but hey we’re coming up on another clearing.” He calls out, ignoring the insult.

Following after the Page of Mind as she escapes your hunt, she suddenly screeches to a halt, sliding her heels against the grass to decelerate herself quicker. Just as she manages to stop completely, the ground before her erupts, just missing her with the blast-zone of an explosion. Behind you, Tabes leaps down from a tree at the edge of the forest. Diving in, Hekter catches up with the strife, taking a swing and embedding his ax into the side of two of the Page’s forearms. Anticipating her counterattack, the Knight twists around, prying the edge of his weapon from the girl’s spectral arms and maneuvering himself behind her. Once out of the kill-zone, Tabes fires off another round of explosive barrages, hitting the Page main body on the first shot before she can turtle herself behind her shield of arms. While her limbs are occupied with defense, Hekter winds up a sweeping swing, aiming to take a chunk from her back.

“Why the hell couldn’t they coordinate like that when I was still alive…?” You mutter under your breath, bitter at the sudden competence.

At the Last second of Hekter’s attack, the Page summons an additional leg that kicks back at him, knocking the ax up and out of his hands before it can land. Rolling with the hits, Hekter snatches his ax back from the air, reclaiming the specibus and slamming it down, knocking the spectral leg away with the blunt side of his weapon. Continuing on, he barrels forward, tackling into the Page as she continues to fend off Tabes’ assault, railroading her forward towards the attacks. Digging her heels in, the Page slams her feet against the ground to contest Hekter's control, sacrificing an arm in her shield to break the Knight’s grapple on her, allowing the Page to spin off to the side just as Tabes takes another shot, leaving the explosion to hit Hekter in her stead.

“Dah!” Your troll yelps upon impact.

“Yeah, that’s about right.” You hum. Behind you, Amvinn gently sets down on the grass, landing and taking a few steps forward.

“What is that…?” He says in awe, peaking your curiosity enough to look where he’s looking. Off, in what would be the direct path of where the Page of Mind was running, stands a figure, incarcerated by large, green chains bolted to the ground around him. The vacant stare and hollow eyes let you know he’s a dead kid, just like you. Ignoring the unfolding strife beside him, Amvinn hesitantly wanders closer to the imprisoned soul, perhaps cautious of the individual someone had gone to such lengths to keep locked up. “……Greg…? Holy shit, Greg!” He suddenly rushed the rest of the distance to the kid.

“You know this guy?” You ask the Troll, joining him beside the chained individual, discovering upon a closer look that he’s a human, and a fellow Mage on top of it.

“hn…mhm…nan…” The Mage, his name is Greg? Greg mumbles as he shifts beneath his confines, beginning to stir from the mind-numbing effect Amvinn had explained to you.

“He was a member of the group I was in.” He explains while tugging on the chains shackling his friend, testing the fortitude of his bindings. “I only knew him after he died, back before the desentienting took effect, hey, give me a hand with this.” Coming up beside him to assist, you scrutinize the makeup of chains surrounding the soul of Amvinn’s lost friend, eventually discovering a weak enough point within its manufacturing that a firm blow to it could break the link.

“Here.” You say as you strike the chain and break the crumbling metal, still able to channel some degree of psychic enhancement to your physicality with this glowing ether blood you’ve got now. With one of the main shackles tying him down dismantled, Amvinn is able to finagle enough space in his collar to slip the rest of the bindings off of him.

“Greg… hey, Greg.” Amvinn says to the guy while holding the sides of his face, using his grasp on him to angle and turn his head to look over his condition. Slowly, the Mage blinks his ever-blank eyes, coming to from his stupor. “Greg, can you hear me?” The Troll snaps a few times, trying to get his companion to focus. “What are you doing out here? Haugrr said that you had him anchor you in the middle of nowhere, but why? What’s out here?”

“h…er…” Greg mumbles, wearily pointing to the Page of Mind as she rocks Tabes’ shit, having gotten into close enough quarters with the elf to lay hands on her. “she… w…was out… here…”

“That human?” Amvinn asks while looking to where he’s pointed. “I don’t understand. I’ve been following her around for days now, she just arrived on this planet yesterday. How did you know where she was going?”

“Pre… cog… I’m a… precog…” He whispers through a raspy voice, struggling to find himself so soon after the deep sleep. Gently, or perhaps because he’s too weak to exert any force in the act, Greg takes Amvinn’s hands and peels them from his face. “saw it… saw where… where she’d be… saw her with him…” Your brother Mage explains, suddenly turning to you, taking a step closer as he lets loose of Amvinn’s hands. “Searched through countless futures in my untethered chronology… until I found you here… on this planet of awaited curses.”

“Me?” You ask as the Mage lingers in the space before you. “Well, uh… guess I should be flattered you came all this way, huh-“ Suddenly lurching the rest of the way to you, this Greg wanker snatches you by the collar of your shirt with both his hands, pushing you back a ways, but still too weak to properly man-handle you in any major way like he’d wanted.

“Stop… you have to Stop!” He shouts, doing his best to give you a thrashing. “Abandon your shortsighted ambitions of victory! Lay down your arms and give up the hunt, you foolhardy moron!”

“Amvinn, your friend daft or something?” You ask the troll as he silently watches on at your struggle in confusion. Seeing he’s no help, you try to pry the psycho’s mitts off of you, looking back to him as you do. “What are you on about?”

“Jason and his ilk!” He roars against your face. “Bother them no longer. You don’t know the sort of forces that you’re messing with.” Ahead of you, Amvinn’s attention darts to the side.

“U-uh, hey guys, the human girl is on the run again, we’ve gotta get moving.” He announces as he quickly side-steps away from the fast-encroaching mists. Barely registering the warning the troll’s given, you feel your lips tear into a scowl as your mood sours like vinegar.

“If you came all this way just to make threats, then you’ve wasted your time, mate.” You rip shit-head’s hands off of you in a single jerk. “We aren’t gonna stand by and let that tosser ruin it for the rest of us.”

“You’re tempting a fate you can’t possibly understand!” He yells, trying to block your way. As if he could pressure you with the presence of the fog closing in behind. “There won’t be any reward at the end of your venture, you won’t have the chance to claim it! If he gets out, it’s not just us that’s screwed, the entire multiverse will be at stake. Paradox Space itself will be destroyed! The Unmaking of All Things!”

“What are you guys doing? Come on!” Amvinn shouts back to you as he follows after the rapidly retreating Page.

“Piss off, tosspot.” You spit as you step around the Mage, beginning to hurry after Amvinn and the Page while what remains of Bravo Team pursue in the corporeal world.

“It’s possible, don’t you get it?!” He shouts after you. “His plan might seem like a long-shot, but they just need time to figure it out!”

“Get Bent!” You shout back at him, marching on. Before you can take even a full ten paces forward, the crazy bastard leaps onto your back, tackling you to the ground.

“Now this is the Law of the Jungle!” He shouts at you, so close he can feel the incorporeal breath on your neck. “As Old and True as the Sky! The Wolf that shall Keep it may Prosper, but the Wolf that shall Break it must Die!”

“What the bloody hell are you babbling about, ya nutcase?!” You shout back, thrashing to get free before the fast-approaching fog can swallow you up. Seeing your struggle, he forces your arm back, pinning it against your spine. “Get off!” With as much strength you can muster, you go to swing the psycho off you and maybe clip him once in the jaw while you're at it, rolling with the angle at which he’s bent your arm. Just as you do, the Mage pulls back, letting loose of his grapple on you, and you end up flinging yourself onto your back with all that built up momentum. Stunned at the sudden freedom of your movements, Greg takes the opportunity to pin you once again, slamming his palms against your shoulders.

“As the Creeper that girdles the Tree Trunk, the law runneth forward and back; For the Strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the Strength of the Wolf is the Pack!” He shouts, tears flowing from his empty sightglobes now. “Wash daily from nose tip to tail tip; drink deeply, but never too deep; And remember the night is for Hunting and forget not the day is for… Sleep.” Still struggling to be let free and catch up with the Page, there comes a sudden calmness in your mind, as if soothed by the madman’s poem. It isn’t until you see that the mist has completely enveloped the both of you that you realize what's happening.

“Get the Bloody Hell Off Me!” What the hell is this psycho doing?! He’s gonna damn you both! You thrash and rage against the rival Mage’s grapple, trying in vain as your mind becomes heavy with fog, leaving you more and more dazed as the effects set in on you. In what must be the last moments of sentient existence for you, Greg slowly reaches over, removing a hand from his pin to lay it against your face.

“You understand, don’t you?” He asks as the fog crashes over him like a tidal wave, and the same dazed feeling in your mind comes across his face. As you struggle to stay awake, you notice how a stillness appears in the eyes of the Mage, when just a moment ago they had burned with a fierce passion. “You will… I know you will. You just need a little more time.”

In the brief nanoseconds before you lose yourself to the drift, the palm of the Mage’s hand pressed against your face glows a soft, gentle glow. Crimson light floods your vision, and you feel as though you’re being called home for supper after a long day of play. Nostalgic for something that you’ve never experienced. Longing for a life you’ve never lived.

 

***

 

In a flash, LJ’s form disappears from beneath the Mage of Time, Greg Czereno, and he falls forward, landing on his forearms in a groveling position. Somewhere, on the other side of the forest, LJ’s body lurch from the ground, his Soul having been recalled to his mortal form.

Greg, too far behind now to catch up with the Page of Mind’s influence, sits up, leaning back on his knees as he turns to face his friend, the Seer of Heart, just a ways away, flying from him. While too far away to see the expression on his face, Amvinn can tell from the emotion’s his soul emits, Greg’s heart is wracked with uncertainty. The young Troll watches as the Mage’s cognition is rendered into nothingness against the mist in the world, drowning his emotions like a candle snuffed out in the wind. And then he is gone. Vanished behind a white veil.

Alone again, only one thing occupies the thoughts on Amvinn Orrick’s mind; For what reason would Greg sacrifice so much for a conversation so meaningless? And this question would haunt him for many more nights to come.

 

***

 

“GUUUUAAH!” You shoot up, gasping for breath in a total panic.

“Leon!” You hear cried out as someone suddenly throws themself into you. With another new set of arms wrapped around your neck, the sudden instinct to fight running through you is held at bay when you realize who it is.

“Robin…” You mutter through the pain in your chest.

“Y-…y-you… damn moron…” She manages to say through the tears. “I thought… I-I-I thought I-I lost you…” She finishes before burying her face against your shoulder, quietly sobbing into your neck.

“……sorry…” You mumble, knowing she won’t hear you. Pretty much stuck in her grasp on the ground, you look around your surroundings, noticing that all the grass beneath you is dead. Surveying further, you find a massive circle, maybe hundreds of feet wide, has all died around you. Even a few trees at the forest’s edge have wilted away into not much more than spires of branchy twigs. Looking down to Robin, you find that she herself is in rough shape as well, as large vectors of necrosis creep out from under her gloves, up to her shoulders. Taking her by the arms, you study the injuries closer. “Robbie, what did you do?” You ask her, the franticness in your voice sounding too close to anger to not be.

“It’s fine…” Robin sniffs, rubbing the back of her hand against her nose as she tries to pull herself together. “Everything in the grove died out before I could completely regenerate your heart, so I just… topped you off, is all…”

“Robin, you told me you’d stop doing that.” You say a little too harshly than you intended. “You promised!”

“This wasn’t like that, you jackass!” She suddenly shoved you, turning off to the side and pulling away. “It was an emergency. I’ll just borrow some juice from Iggy when we get back.”

“…hhm.” You simmer, turning away as well. With a moment to decompress, a thought crosses your mind, and you search the ground around you, finding the discarded phone you’d dropped when you… well, dropped. Picking it up, you give Hekter a ping. It rings a moment before he picks up. “What’s your status?”

“Still in pursuit, sir.” He reports. “I believe we lost Archie at some point. Are you and Robin close behind?”

“Negative. Fall back.” You order with a sigh as Robin glares at you from the side of her eye.

“But sir-“

“I said fall back.” You repeat yourself, firmer this time. “We’ve already kicked up a big enough racket with Tabes throwing those bloody explosives around left and right. I’d like to get outta here before you two attracted half the god damn plant’s attention. She isn’t worth it.”

“…Understood.” He complies, backing off from the pursuit. Satisfied at the compliance, you notice a slight tickle at the corner of your mouth. Reaching up, you wipe a small trail of blood that you must've spat up while you were dead or dying. Looking down at the crimson ichor, you see the message it spells out on your hand.

Consider it a professional courtesy, Amvinn. You were kind enough to oversee our time together in the afterlife. That debt has been paid now that I've spared your lifeline. You'd better appreciate it, because it's the last act of mercy I'll ever show any of Jason's lapdogs, dead or alive. So run on, little troll. Your friends will be on their way to you soon.

Looks like your blood's gone a tad septic since you've been dead. With a sigh, you take another look around again, feeling like you're missing something. After a moment, you remember what it is again.

“And for god’s sake, see if one of you tossers can find Auratt on your way back.” You request, just now realizing you haven’t seen her since the strife began. "We've got no idea where she's wondered off to."

“I’m here, actually.” You hear from beside you. You look over and hey, whatdoyafuckin’know, it’s Auratt, standing there like she’s got a reason to be so bloody casual.

“And where the fuck have you been?” You grumble at the insubordination.

“Hiding.” She nonchalantly answers while taking a sip from a can of something she somehow found.

“…Whyyyy?!” You growl, growing more frustrated.

“I was told I was mission critical.” She keeps up that careless attitude. “No point in putting myself at risk when you guys clearly had it handled.”

“I died.” You inform her of her miscalculation.

“And you seemed to walk that off pretty well!” She says, completely indifferent to your grievances in her absconding. You take a deep breath in, and let out an exhale more growl than sigh. Looking up at the sky, you can't help but think that Amvinn is having a better time than you right now. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow...

 

LJ, just… just be someone else…

Notes:

Happy Late Easter to those who Celebrate! Shout out to all the Eggs out there from the Bert lineage.

Chapter 62: >The Little Flame that Ignites the Heart

“So-“ *bu-bump* “You got any plans” *bu-bump* “for our first night” *bu-bump* “in a safe stronghold?” Creed asks as the lift you’re on jostles the fuck out of the lot of you. It's currently you, him, Dallra and Perses on board. The last group to go up, with the rest of your team waiting for you at the top.

“This place,” *bu-bump* “safe?” *bu-bump* Perses replies, arms crossed as he leans against the wooden railing at the left side of the rectangular platform. “Ridiculous. Any aerial combatant” *bu-bump* “worth their spit could turn this” *bu-bump* “skulker’s nest into a pile of rubble, five minutes tops.” *bu-bump*

“Not likely.” Dallra *bu-bump* interjects while atop one of the cargo crates the monastery’s consorts were hauling up. Gretel is there as well, sitting beside her on the container. “The winds are so” *bu-bump* “powerful at the upper” *bu-bump* “levels of Lomam, that” *bu-bump* “you’d have to focus entirely on” *bu-bump* “stabilizing yourself just to keep from” *bu-bump* “being blown away.”

“What of those who are” *bu-bump* “unbothered by the winds? Would they not” *bu-bump* “be able to bypass this supposed barrier?” Perses continues on.

“It’s safe enough.” *bu-bump* “It’ll do for now.” You assure the lot as you look out at the Land beyond the thin wooden scaffolding that surrounds the lift, with what must be an endless world of adventure staring you right in the face. It feels… strange. A chill passing through you as the breeze runs through your hair. It makes you want to go out there and see the world. You’ve never really felt that call of adventure before. Sure, you’ve been known to explore a tomb or two in your day, but that was only ever to find the lore within, like a hungry pig scrounging in the dirt for succulent truffles. This though… it’s like you want to experience everything this life has to offer. Must be something in the air here…

*chung*

“All I know is, I’ll be sleeping with one eye open tonight.” Perses tells the rest of them as they disembark from the platform.

“Are you coming, Mr Jason?” Gretel asks while reaching up to take you by the hand. You realize then that your lift has finally arrived to the top of the mountain, too occupied with your view of the world to notice.

“Oh, sorry kiddo.” You say, bending down so she can grab hold of you more easily, letting her lead you out to the entrance courtyard to the monastery. The specific part of the mountain you’ve arrived at appears to be a small auxiliary pillar connected to the main alps, with a connecting smooth-stone bridge leading over to the rest of the complex. “So, any interesting factoids you’ve got about this place?”

“I know of a few trivial facts regarding the congregations on LOMAM, but unfortunately, the Blue Anole monks here are rather secretive in their practices, disconnected with a majority of the information and cultural trades the rest of the Realms partake in.” Your daughter informs you as she drags you across the bridge, catching up to where the rest of your group’s gathered. “The most information I’ve ever heard of an outsider getting a hold of was a tertiary source, and it was a cookbook for barley and oats.”

“Huh. Barley, that’s… interesting.” You say, faintly disappointed. “So they’re recluses?”

“By and large.” She nods. “Some have been known to go on pilgrimages from time to time, but even while visiting the other realms, they keep their practices to themselves.”

“Well that just sounds unneighborly.” You tell her, seeing the annoyance on her face. “To have all those stories and to keep em all to themselves.”

“Yeah, they really blue ball ya.” Gretel says in her innocent gecko-child voice, causing you to look down at the girl as she skips along.

“…You’ve been talking to Ryder again, haven’t you?” You ask, your dad-senses tingling.

“Hehe. He talks funny.” She giggles.

“Jason!” Sara exclaims as she practically falls out of the sky on top of you, summoning a plume of wind beneath her to slow the fall, catching her like an invisible pillow and nearly taking you off your feet in the process. “This place is unbelievable! It’s so free and open and you can see everything for MILES!” She continues on, spinning around what must be half a dozen times in a split second.

“Y-yeah, it’s pretty great…” You half-laugh, your heart racing from the Sylph jumpscare. Glancing down, you notice that Sara has actually yet to set foot down before you, a strange mystical wind spiraling around her feet keeping her aloft. “What’s that about?” You point the anomaly out to her.

“Hm? My Glide?” She asks, glancing down with you, twisting her feet from side to side now that you’ve brought attention to them.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever really seen you fly like this before, you usually just drift every now and then.” You nod, still transfixed on the strange wind magic she’s seemingly discovered.

“I know, right? It’s amazing.” She laughs while skating circles around you and Gretel. “I have no idea what happened, it’s like this place is a supercharge for my skills. I feel like I can do Anything!” With that declaration, Sara suddenly shoots off like a rocket, twisting and swirling about the air above you.

“Yeah, just-!” You begin to call after her, pausing when you realize she probably can’t hear you. “Don’t go too far…” Turning back to your group, you notice that some of your ranks have already broken off for the main temple of the monastery. You spot Mary swimming away through the air with those creepy-ass tentacle things she’s stapled to her back, and who knows where Frank’s gone off to. Mia and the triplets have disappeared as well, and you also spot Esspin off by one of the eastern ramparts of the monastery trying to keep after Sara as she zips around the exterior of the building. Leaving Dallra, Creed, Perses and Haugrr waiting for you at the bridge’s end, just before the front courtyard.

“What’s the plan, Boss?” Creed asks as you join them.

“Familiarize yourselves with the compound and figure out where we’re staying. I don’t want us too spread out in this place on the off-chance someone can sneak their way up without one of us noticing.” You explain, picking Gretel up and placing her on your shoulders. “Besides that, relax. We’ll be taking the night off, so make yourselves at home.”

“Finally, an order I can get behind.” Haugrr smiles before turning to slap Perses on the shoulder with the back of his hand. “Come on, Percy. Let’s go get you properly acquainted with the rest of the team.” He tells him while strolling across the courtyard, towards the stairs up to the main buildings of the compound.

“It is Perses. You Will pronounce it correctly!” The Baron demands, growling at the Prince while watching him walk away. “Jason… I will see you tonight, yes?” He turns back to look at you.

“Uh, y-yeah. I’ll be around.” You awkwardly nod, still unsure how to handle the predicament you’ve found yourself in with this guy. With a determined smile, Perses turns back to hurry after Haugrr.

“The new guy seems friendly.” Dallra tells you as she joins you by your side. You aren’t sure if it’s supposed to be teasing or not.

“Oooho-ho, very friendly, D.” Creed chuckles, appearing at your other flank.

“Save it.” You order, turning back to face the both of them. “You two, take it easy for tonight, but don’t forget, we’re on a mission here. Our progress has been on pause for too long now. Perses was a lucky find, but if we don’t start making some big moves soon, we’ll be dead in the water. Creed, if you could, have a word with the other some time tonight, see what they’re thinking for the next recruit we go after. My vote’s on the un-dooming power. Dallra, be on standby for when we’ve got a name.”

“Got it.” Dallra nods.

“Can do, Boss.” Creed agrees before turning to head into the monastery with everyone else. Dallra takes a step after him when you reach out.

“Hey, Dal.” You call, catching both of their attention. “There was actually something I wanted to talk to you about… alone.” Looking faintly surprised, Dallra turns to face Creed, seeing what he’s made of your request.

“Loud and clear, Boss. Take your time.” He says, raising up a hand as though to way goodbye before walking on. Now alone, Dallra returns by your side. Gretel shifts shoulders as she approaches.

“Sooo.” The troll hums while leaning in towards you. “What is it you wish to talk about, Page Jason?” She asks with a sly smile.

“A few nights ago, you said you’d seen a planet in the Arena with deep green oceans and gold seafoam. Right?” You ask, causing her light spirit to turn more serious.

“Lofasm. Yes, I remember.” She recalls. “Why do you ask?”

“There’s someone on that planet I have business with. I was wondering how far the nearest gateway was from us.” You fill her in on your intentions.

“Already planning our next move?” She asks, sounding dubious of whatever it is you’re cooking up. “I thought the monastery was to be out base of operations for the foreseeable future.”

“It is. I’d be going on this expedition alone.” You inform her.

“Alone?” She pulls back hearing this.

“Yeah.” You confirm with an uneasy sigh. “Me going there has nothing to do with the team’s escape plan, I’m not gonna waste anyone else’s time dealing with my bullshit.”

“And how exactly do you plan on not getting lost if you’re going alone?” Dallra asks as she crosses her arms, clearly nervous over the situation.

“Because you’ll be guiding me.” You tell her, offering up the Mage of Blood’s phone for her to take. She looks down at the device before looking up again to see if you’re sure. “Think of it like a trial run. If things go well with this little venture, we’ll know we’re ready to send out smaller groups with you overseeing the operation. You’ll be our Eye in the Sky watching over us.” Hesitantly and with an almost reverence, the Seer takes the phone from your hands, looking it over like it were some great badge of honor.

“You trust me with this…?” She asks, eyes still glued to the device. “After all the slip-ups I’ve let get back to the group… you still want me watching over us?”

“The past few days have been rough on us all,” You tell her, drawing her eyes to yours. “but there’s no other hands I’d rather be in than yours if I’m out there alone.” Hearing your words, a soft smile appears on Dallra’s lips, and slowly, she leans in, placing them against your own. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t freeze at the gentle touch, not that you’d have pulled away if you could. After a moment together, she pulls away, leaving you feeling as though you’re lacking in some regard. Like your face itself has been left exposed in a way you hadn’t realized before.

“…The closest portal to Lofasm is nearly a week and a half away.” She quietly informs you in the aftermath of the kiss, like she’s afraid to speak out too loudly, lest the moment be lost to what she’s telling you. “However, if you cut through the Land of Chess and Foresight, you could be planet-side in maybe three or four day’s journey.”

“Y-… yeah. That sounds doable.” You nod, doing your best to ignore the blazing inferno upon your face and the unyielding thumping in your chest.

“Just… just get me a description of who you’re looking for, and I’ll send you the program for the landing zone closest to them you can enter into the gateway.” She explains to you while trying to avoid eye contact, her own face burning jade as she anxiously twists her leg from side to side.

“Sure… I’ll, I’ll do that…” You nod, gazing at her in stupefied wonder. Meekly, the girl looks up at you again, and your eyes meet once more. “…”

“…” Not another word was spoken between you before the tension snaps once again, and you meet one another’s embrace. Lips locked for much longer this time around, it feels as though this moment should never end.

“…Can we go now?” Gretel impatiently asks, her chin resting atop your head. The sudden reminder of the little girl on your shoulders is enough to taint the passion of the moment with a small fit of laughter that you can’t help yourself from stumbling into.

“Hmh.” You snicker as you pull away from Dallra. “Uh, sorry.” You glance up to your daughter as she looks down at you with her tongue out, unamused with her front-row vantage point to such a display. “Yes, we can go. Right?” You turn to Dallra for the last question.

“I suppose we’ve waited long enough.” She tells you, taking you by the hand to lead you onward.

 

***

 

You come to with a deep breath in. There’s a crispness in the air this morning, one that lets you know without a doubt that you are awake. Sitting up and scraping the sleep from your eyes, you look around at the small room you’d crashed in the night before. It’s tiny. Brick floors and a small slit window letting the light pour in. A desk in which to write at sits beside the moderately comfortable cot you’re on, and beyond that, a trunk for personal belongings lies at the foot of your bed, that’s about it in the room. Not that you’d need much more than that.

Not wasting any time, you hop out of bed and exit the room, roaming the halls of the friary you’re staying at, looking out past the masonry separating the interior from the garden at the center of the building. Outside on the lower level, a group of blue lizards practice some kind of yoga or tai chi in their loose fitting monk robes. You don’t give them much mind, however. You’re Mia Kruger, and you’ve got a task to accomplish.

Yesterday, Jason had asked you on your way here to train the ankle-bitter he’d adopted while you were away, and like a chump, you agreed to it. It’s not like you have much else better to do, but he didn’t know that. Where the hell does that guy get off, thinking he can direct your time the way he does? Anyway, you’re on your way to find your new pupil now, unsure where it is in this place he’s settled. However, you’re sure you can find him if you take a lap or two around the place. Brute Force has always been your favorite way of finding your solutions.

As you walk, you contemplate the student Jason had bestowed upon you, and how absolutely fucking unless he is. You’ve heard all about him since you’ve been back, and how he practically stomps all over the place like an entitled brat, doing just about anything he thinks will make him seem tough. You’d followed after him yesterday when he and the two chicks that’ve taken pity on him enough to call him a friend went exploring the main buildings of the mountaintop complex. He’d tried several times to shake the blond girl off his tail and go off on his own during that time, but she kept with him, even when he didn’t seem to realize. Not long after, he found his way to the room the consorts keep their supplies stocked in, to which he immediately tried raiding. Embarrassingly, one of the lizards in charge of the pantries here stopped him, knocking him on his ass, not once, but thrice, making it clear to him that the supply room was off limits to outsiders via the bloody nose he gave the runt. Jason had said he was a limp-wristed wimp, but can’t-even-beat-a-consort levels of wimpy? How the hell are you supposed to work with that? Throw the whole kid out and start over, why don’t ya?! Oh well, you’ll think of something…

“Mornin’ Boss.” You hear called out from the other side of the garden. Glancing over, you spot down on the lower level that one dork with the broken glasses who follows Jason everywhere walking over to talk with the bastard himself, sitting at a bench while he watches the lizards do their morning routine. “Spoke with a few of the others like you asked. General consensus is we work on the cultivation of Haugrr’s power before everyone else kicks the bucket.”

“I figured as much.” Jason sighs, getting up to meet with the tweedle dee to his tweedle dumbass. “Only problem is, the one we needed for it is already dead.”

“Killed by the Prince of Life. And any replacements we find for them are just as liable to be hunted down by him just like the Maid of Light was.” Glasses summarizes, loosely crossing his arms in contemplation.

“Exactly the reason why we need to get creative with who we make a firm decision on recruiting next.” Jason babbles on with whatever nerd talk these bozos are getting up to. As they yammer at one another, you continue on, making your way towards the staircase on the other side of the hall you’re in. “Powerhouses who can hold their own if the Prince finds his way to them.”

“You got any possible candidates lined up?” The other inquires, clearly with someone in mind himself, yet humoring Jason enough to think he’s the only one who can keep track of the losers in the Arena.

“I’m holding off on making any concrete decision for now.” He answers. “If the hunt begins as soon as we decide we want them for the team, then we should wait until we’re absolutely prepared to make the venture to them. We can figure out who as soon as I’m back.”

“Hold up, you’re leaving?” The guy sits back hearing this. Not gonna lie, you’re a bit interested too. “To where?”

“You remember the sea monster that leprechaun chick showed us?” Jason reminds him. Leprechaun? “With that light magic of hers, in the RV?”

“Vaguely, yeah.” Glasses nervously nods, uneasy at the thought. “Tried really hard to suppress that from my memory, but what about it?”

“I’m going to find them. Make sure they don’t tell anymore assholes in the Arena what our plans are.” Jason declares with an uncharacteristically strong resolve. “It’s bad enough that he told Robin about us and our ship, who knows if he’s told anyone else.”

“S-... so correct me if I’m wrong, but if I’m following you…” Glasses works through the situation, making sure he’s on the same page as that Page. “You’re planning on giving an ultimatum to a frickin’ kraken? Keep your mouth shut or else?” Just how much have you missed since you’ve been gone?

“I wouldn’t say it’s an ultimatum, more like aaauhh, reparations, of a sort.” Jason hums, looking for the right words to make his ideas sound slightly less asinine.

“Reparations? Boss, it’s a damn sea monster.” Glasses tries to talk some sense into him.

“What’s this about sea monsters?” The new troll asks, entering the courtyard. The one who wants to jump Jason’s bone, just like every other fucking alien in this god forsaken place.

“Perses! There’s a lot of sea monsters on your world, right?” Jason asks him, trying to find someone to back him up in his reasoning, citing the local schizo as his lifeline. “How do the aquatic members in your species negotiate with them?”

“…Aquatic?” He grunts back at Jason as you’re descending the stairs. How eloquently put.

“Never mind. Point is, I’ll be fine.” He turns back to the one with a functioning brainstem. “I’ll only be gone for two or three days.”

“Wait, you’re leaving?” Troll-guy interjects. “To where?”

“Exactly what I asked…” Glasses mumbles.

“I’m just doing a quick planet hop, it’s not a big deal.” Jason tries to down-play like he wouldn’t get his incompetent ass torn open like a spring chicken the minute he’s on his own out there.

“I shall come with you, then.” Jason’s newest suitor declares, taking a step closer to him, causing the boy to flinch.

“U-uh, a-,are you sure?” He stutters. “I mean, they could really use your help around here, making sure the monastery is secure.”

“I insist on it.” The guy doubles down.

“I actually agree with Perses on this.” Glasses interjects. “We shouldn’t be doing anything alone right now, least of all venturing off to different planets.” Jason’s mouth widens, doing its best not to turn into a scowl at his little green buddy.

“You idiots will probably die out there, regardless.” You say as you walk by.

“Thank Youu! Mia!” Jason pops.

“So where is it we’re heading?” Troll-guy asks him.

“Lofasm.” Jason begrudgingly tells the lad. “The Land of Firmament and Sea Monsters.” Hearing this, it’s like a gunshot hits the big blue idiot, and that cocky confidence he was wearing seems to slide right off him.

“A-, actually, y-you’re probably right, this place could definitely use some extra muscle keeping it safe.” He nervously stammers, briskly walking away, nearly toppling into you as he goes by. “I-I mean, it’s just so vulnerable. Haha, yeah, definitely needs more muscle, yeah. Okay, bye Jason, have a safe trip, see you when you get back!”

“Huh.” Jay gawks, watching his supposed guardian scamper off. “Whaddya suppose that was about?”

“That’s… something we should probably talk about, but Boss, even if it’s not Perses, you should have someone with you. It’s not safe to go alone.” Glasses continues to pester. “Let me go. I don’t mind if it’s a quick trip.”

“eeeh-I don’t know, Creed. I’d be happy to have you, but I was planning on using a Checkpoint to get back once everything was said and done.” Jason tries to reject him lightly. Meanwhile, you finish crossing the garden and exit out into a small hallway, leading down a half spiral. “Using it with two people tends to… destroy me. And walking back on foot would pretty much double the trip’s length for us. I-I think going it alone is still a better plan.”

“Nonsense. Returning is the simple part. Here.” You hear Glasses say, echoed down the hall. “Excuse me, sir. Can we talk to you for a moment?”

“… Is this about the lashings I gave to the imp in purple yesterday?” You hear as the two presumably begin to harass one of the Consorts living here.

Heading down the hall, you manage to wander through a few more rooms before being confronted with yet another one of the lost strays Jason had found since you were gone. Sitting at a small balcony looking out at the vast world outside is that Space Seer, Dogma or whoever. That’s another thing that ruined your afternoon last night. Aside from seeing your very own pupil getting his ass served to him by a 3 ft tall lizard, you also beheld Jason and this girl going at each other like a couple of rabbits down by the cargo dock. Awful. What’s even worse is you first saw it from a distance, noticing them from a balcony on the upper levels of the complex, a morbid curiosity finding you when you noticed them down there. Only to discover the horrendous scene playing out when you took the time to look a little closer. How long did you stare at those squirming little cephalopods? Minutes? Hours? However long or short it was, it’s taken years off your lifespan.

“Ah, Mia! Good morning!” The female greets you, overly familiar with your person. It peeves you to no end.

“Morning.” You do your best to ignore her as you walk by, however you stop when you realize this Seer could solve the current conundrum you’ve found yourself working through. “…Hey. You see everything, right?”

“Oh, um… I suppose you could say that.” She says, surprised you’ve stopped to talk to her. “About as much as my Aspect will allow, which some might say could encompass everything, but I’m not-“

“Fuck, okay. I don’t care nearly as much as you think I do.” You cut her off before she can waste any more of your time. “I’m looking for Ryder. You know where he is?”

“Aah, take this hall, and make a left as the first corner, then a right. He’ll be the third door down.” She cuts to it. “A-and, sorry if I was bothering you…” She tacks on, causing you to pause just as you start walking again. She really is just like her, isn’t she?

“Dallra.” You call to the girl, grabbing her attention once again. “Whatever you have going on with Jason, you should know it might not be exactly what you think it is.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand what you mean.” She tells you.

“Just… be careful, messing around with him.” You advise, glancing back over your shoulder at the girl. “Jay is damaged goods. You never know when he might fall apart on you.”

“Uh… thanks?” She says, still not quite seeming to get what you’re telling her. You turn and start walking again. “Oh, and again, it’s great to have you back, Mia.”

“Still have no idea who you are.” You say, rounding the corner.

Following the intrusions the Seer had given, you eventually find your way to the room Ryder had commandeered. You can tell because the handle of the door has been busted up, as though some little mongrel kicked it a handful of times, trying to hit the latch with the heel of their foot to open it. Going to press in the thumb latch with intent of opening the door, the handleset breaks off entirely as soon as you grab hold of it, leaving you with a broken hunk of metal in your hand. With an exacerbated sigh, you just kick the door in, gaining you access to the room inside.

“zzzZZZZzzzzZZZZZzzzzZZZZZzzzz” There he is, the ginger fuck. Your pupil, the lame duck with a broken wing. Snoozing like he hasn’t got a care in the world.

“Wakey, Wakey, dumbass!” You announce as you smack the Page on the side of his still-sleeping head, evoking a hearty -slap- against the skin there.

“Gah! What the hell?!” He suddenly jolts awake, eyes darting around before zeroing in on you once he’s conscious enough to realize what’s happening. Suddenly that shocked look on his face does its best attempt to morph into a pissy-looking glare.

“Get up. We’re going for a walk.” You tell him.

“Fuck off.” He huffs, rolling over and pulling his blanket up to his chin. Looking at him now, you realize that he’s actually on some kind of air-mattress, the actual bed belonging to the room having been flipped over and left lying on its side in the corner.

“Get up you red haired, freckle fuck! We’re burning daylight.” You say while aggressively kicking the blowup bed, hurling any plans he has of ignoring you promptly out the window.

“The sun never goes down here, you bitch! How the fuck are we burning daylight?!” He whines, tucking himself beneath the covers.

“Not literally, dumbass.” You say while reaching over and snatching the dinky looking cape he’s got on out from under his blanket. “Jason’s orders, it’s time to get your shit together. You need a kick in the ass and I’ve got just the boot for the job.”

“What?” He asks, sounding disgusted by the prospect of improving. “Why the hell wasn’t I told about this?!”

“Probably because you would’ve bitched and moaned just like you’re doing now.” You explain to the petulant child as you wrangle him out of bed by his collar like a squealing hog. Man, he is a runty little thing, it’s like you’re nearly twice his size. Is he really only three years younger than you? “Point is, I’m stuck babysitting your spitfire ass for the time being. That means I’m in charge of your progress from here on out, since you’ve proven yourself so woefully unqualified to handle it in the first place.”

“Pff, don’t flatter yourself, bitch.” He practically spits as you fling him towards the door. “Your little boyfriend probably just wants to see how his pet measures up to a man like me.” He jabs a thumb into his chest, prideful of all eighty pounds of himself. You narrow your eyes at the challenge, and your mouth slowly curves into a wicked smile.

“Oh, I’m gonna have fun knocking you around.” You tell the boy as you march forward, effortlessly slipping an arm around his neck and placing him in a headlock.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Goldilocks asks, walking up just as you’re exiting the room with your pupil.

“Me and your pet goblin are going on a meditation walk.” You nonchalantly tell her as you haul Ryder along underneath your arm.

“Oh, well don’t that sound nice!” She quaintly states, giving you a smile before walking on.

“I ain’t going anywhere with you, bitch!” Ryder continues to protest as you lead him out to the zen gardens at the back of the complex, where a few of the lizards give you dirty looks at the ruckus you’ve brought to their sand-raking. Seeing this will be an uphill battle if you don’t establish a hierarchy soon, you grab the kid by the cape and whip him in front of you, nearly sending him spinning off his feet. “Gauh!”

“Quit your belly aching and listen up, ya little weasel. You and me are going to the top of that mountain over there, one way or another.” You explain to him the series of events that will be unfolding, pointing off to one of the nearby mountain ranges that connect to the alps your monastery is on, its peak rising well above the planet’s cloud line. “Now you can either get dragged there the entire way, or you can walk like a big boy. What’s it gonna be, gingerbread?”

“…”

 

***

 

“Five minute break is over. You done wheezing yet?” You ask, marching back to the sad sack sitting on top of his small boulder, leaving him just below shoulder level with you.

“The fuck is the point of this, anyway?” Ryder asks with his face mushed against his two fists while he sits with his legs crossed like a kindergartener. Criss-cross applesauce type shit.

At the moment, you and the runt are at the top of a nearby alp, having found some kind of meditative sanctuary or garden at its summit that’s absolutely perfect for training. Flat and level surfaces to move around freely on, enough dirt and grass up here to soak up any blood and give Ryder a soft enough place to get kicked into. There’s even a neat little pod for refreshments and soul-crushing reflective contemplation. This place has everything! It took you forever to get here though, having finally arrived at the summit after an embarrassingly long climb. It wasn’t even that steep of an ascent, there was a path carved into the rock leading you to this place. It was maybe thirty or so levels and it took nearly two hours for Ryder to arrive here at his own pace. You’d have chucked the scruffy little moron head first into training if you weren’t so sure he was gonna overheat and fuckin’ die if you did. So you gave him a breather for the moment.

Moment’s over.

“You might not realize it just by looking at us, but this group actually has some standards.” You explain, crossing your arms as you look down at the disappointment. “We expect our people to bring something to the table if they’re gonna roll with us. Right now, I’d say the only thing you have to offer is a warm body and a shit attitude. So I’m gonna shape you up.”

“Fuck you.” The mouthy little prick grumbles, like he’s got a death wish or something.

“Fuck me? Ha! No, no, no, fuck you.” You charitably clarify his misconception.

“Fuck you!” He sits up now, puffing out his chest.

“Fuck You!” You step a foot closer.

“Fuck You!”

“Fuck You!“

“F-fuck you!”

“Fuck! You!” You shout, now towering over the puny runt.

“A-alright, fine.” He suddenly recoils back, folding once he realizes he can’t match what you’ve got. “I’ll do the stupid training or whatever this is.”

“Strike one, rookie.” You announce, slapping him on the back of his head as you walk past him.

“Gah! What?! I said I’d do it!” He whines as he looks back at you.

“But that’s the problem. You don’t want to.” You break it down in simpler terms so the mutt can understand. “You compromised in the face of adversity. A true rage player is headstrong. A true rage player won’t do anything they don’t want to do, and won’t back down regardless of anything once they’ve made up their mind.”

“S-so I don’t have to do this?” He meekly asks, the faintest bit of hope riding the coattails of his voice. Ugh. He’s been spending too much time with that goodie two-shoes with the gun.

“No, dumbass. Of course you do. You already conceded, remember?” You remind him.

“Fuck.” He huffs, practically deflating there on that rock of his.

“Fuck is right.” You agree. “Now, step one.” With a slow and methodical stride, you pace around your pupil. “We’ve gotta know what gets you mad.”

“This, in particular.” He whines.

“Boohoo. What else?” You press.

“Everything.” He sulkingly looking off in the distance.

“OooOooh, Little Red’s got a grudge against the world. What else?” You press further.

“Being mocked.” He begins to speak through his teeth, his eyes now tracking you as you go round and round him.

“What, you gonna cry?” You immediately go for the nerve.

“Hmph.” Ryder pouts, suddenly turning away from you.

“…” You immediately halt your stride, noticing his pissy reaction. “If I knew you were this big of a bitch, I would have brought tissues.” You mutter just loud enough for him to hear.

“Fu-fuck you. This is bullshit.” He says unsteadily.

“No, this is the truth.” You correct him. “You’re a fucking pushover, like every other Page in Paradox Space. Normally, I’d be fine with that. Par-for-the-fucking-course if it were anybody else, but you’re a god damn Rage Player. And if you think I’m gonna sit idly by as you besmirch my fuckin’ Aspect’s good name, you’ve got another thing comin’.”

“…” He remains silent, brooding to himself the more you go on.

“What? Got nothing smart to say?” You ask him in a mostly mocking tone.

“hmbr.” He grumbles something beneath his breath. “No.“

“Strike two!” You announce again, slapping the back of his head once more in hopes the lessons sink in.

“Ah!” He yelps, tears starting to form in his eyes. From the pain or from being a wuss, you’ve got no idea. “What the fuck…!”

“What the fuck did I just tell you?” You ask, bringing him back to task. “Don’t comply. Don’t give in. Don’t take any shit. Not even if it’s from someone who’s clearly better than you. Like me.”

“whatever…” He murmurs, crossing his arms and closing up on himself. You let out a heavy sigh, seeing he’s beginning to turtle into his shell.

“Alright.” You say, hatching another idea. “Since it looks like you’re having trouble grasping the concept of self-respect, how about we move on to the next step.” Ryder looks up at you, only his eyes visible with the rest of his face hidden behind his knees, which he’s brought to his chest in a sulky kind of emo gesture. “Come on, get the fuck up.” Grabbing him by the arm, you force him up off his rock.

“Fuck! I can stand up by myself!” He yelps at you, trying to still act tough. “What are we doing?”

“Combat training.” You answer, beginning to stretch out for the fight. “Best way to grow a spine is to break your back, don’t ya think? What’s your Kind Abstrata?”

“Huh?” He looks at you funny from across the newly established strife-grounds.

“Your Kind Abstrata.” You repeat, fully limber now. “If I’m gonna teach you how to strife, I’ll need to know what I’m working with. So what do you fight with?”

“Fight with?” He perks up with a smirk. “My hands! They’re registered weapons after all.”

“Your hands?” You raise an eyebrow at him. “So Fistkind.”

“No idea what you’re on about, what’s-your-name.” He says, looking down at his clenched fists like they’re something to be proud of.

“You don’t use Fistkind?” You dig deeper on the ignorance of this child.

“Uuuuh, I use my fiiists.” He puts an emphasis on his words while twisting his balled-up hand back and forth, holding it up for you to see like you’re fucking unfamiliar with the appendage.

“Oh sweet christ, you don’t even have a strife specibus.” You finally realize.

“I don’t need a special bus or whatever the fuck you’re talking about, girly. My Father was a Boxer and I’m a Boxer, just like him! My fists are all I need.” Ryder boasts while starting to hop in place, shadowboxing with the open air in front of him. “Anyone who wants to fuck with me will have to answer to these bad boys.” He throws sloppy punch after sloppy punch, his casted-up arm that much more awkward and clumsy than his healthy one. You watch him go on like this a moment, realizing his idiotic prancing about is giving you an opportunity to observe his form.

“...You’re punching with your wrists.” You finally deduce what’s so wrong about his technique.

“What?” He pauses his little dance, looking at you, unamused.

“Your wrists. They’re doing the moving when you’re punching.” You nod towards where he was generating momentum from. “You need to be using your shoulders and hips when you punch, that’s where all the power comes from. The way you’re doing it now, you could break your wrist if you aren’t careful.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. I’ve watched my dad spar for hours, I know how to throw a fucking punch.” He sneers at you, looking kinda like he’s about to sneeze.

“Alright…” You shrug, figuring you can turn this into a learning experience. “Break that rock, then.” You nod towards a nearby boulder, just beside the small ponds at your summit.

“Huh?” He glances at you while holding a weak southpaw guard.

“That rock. Break it.” You reiterate, in case he’s a bit slow.

“That’s impossible.” He rolls his eyes before going back to hopping around, throwing bullshit punches. “Why don’t you go get your boyfriend and his dumb fucking pickaxe if you want boulder-bits so bad.” He tells you with a condescending scoff. You remain silent, emotionlessly watching him dance around a bit longer before walking over and grabbing him by the nape, forcefully marching him over to the rock.

“Break. The Fucking. Rock.” You order, jerking him forward.

“Fuck! Fine.” He exclaims, rattled at the man-handling. Hesitantly, he steps before the sizable boulder and takes his pathetic stance. After a brief few seconds trying to size up the best place to land a punch against the rock with his un-casted arm, Ryder goes in, slamming the unprepared fist upon the indifferent stone that towers over him. “Gah- Fuck!”

“Again.” You immediately instruct.

“You gotta be kidding me...” He says while gripping the wrist of his punching hand, trying to cope with the pain.

“A. Gain.” You say it slowly for him, truly hoping he’ll get the message this time. With a grimace, Ryder turns and, with a bit of hesitance still, punches the rock once more. “Again.” You repeat. He does so. “Again.” And once more. “Again.” You go on like this, ordering strike after strike, each punch coming faster than the last as an anger clenches the Page’s jaw, forcing him to continue on despite the agony in his fist. Bits of skin and blood fly from his busted knuckles and a red stamp-shaped stain begins to form where he's striking. Eventually though, it seems he hits too hard and recoils back.

“Ah! God damn it!” He stomps away a few paces, clutching his fist, trying to block out the stinging sensation overwhelming his mind.

“Did I say stop?” You ask, watching him walk circles, as if he could leave the pain behind after a certain number of steps. “Again.”

“Fuck off.” He growls at you.

“Again.” You order. He puffs a few exhales through his nose, mustering the courage to talk back to you.

“If you think it’s so easy, they why don’t you give it a-“ Before he can even finish with his juvenile proposition, you turn to face the boulder head-on, and with an underhanded gut-punch, you strike the rock, cracking it in half with the effort one would implement in order to crack an egg. “shot…” The heavy halves of the stone fall to their respective sides with a hearty -thump-, settling in place upon the small patches of grass below them. Left speechless, Ryder gazes at the scene in befuddlement before looking down at the dirt with a grumbling pout. Guess lesson one was a bust… With the quiet taking over the moment, you make your way over to the sorry dog.

“Give me your hand.” You tell him, holding an open palm for him to deliver to. Sheepishly, he lifts his busted paw up for you to examine. “…The skin is split open, but it’s not too bad. Maybe a slight knuckle fracture at worst.” With a proper prognosis, you reach down to the ground and grab a handful of dirt. Pulling back up, you rub the red soil into his fist.

“Ah! The hell are you doing?!” He yelps, trying to pull away.

“Calm down, ya baby.” You tell him as you clamp down on his wrist. “What, your dad never told you to rub some dirt in it before?”

“What if it gets infected!?” He barks.

“Relax. I’m pretty sure we’re immune to disease.” You try to sooth the fussy idiot as you reach over his shoulder, tearing a strip of cloth from his cape. With it, you wrap a makeshift bandage around his injury.

“Pretty Sure?” He over dramatically asks, like he can’t believe you’re not 100% certain on all things. Looking him up and down, you let out a deep sigh, shaking your head.

“Come on.” You tell him. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

 

Mia, whip this Idiot into Shape!

Notes:

Happy Eclipse 2024 everyone! Listen in closely and I'm sure you'll hear the secrets it whispers!

Chapter 63: > Interlude; Mea Culpa

You come to in a dark room. No, not a room. It’s more like… nothing. Like you’re in a sea of darkness. A void. Your name is Jason Greene, and you don’t know where you are.

A sudden clicking sound directs your attention in front of you. There’s a television on, blaring static-nothing at you. What… what is this?

“What’s on?” You hear as someone plops down next to you on your right. It dawns on you then that you’re sitting on a couch. A brown leather, three-seater. Hauntingly familiar. The person tossed an arm over your shoulder, leaning back against the back cushioning of the couch. You look over. It’s you. “Oh, this again. Eh, you’ve seen it once, you’ve seen it a thousand times.”

You look forward at the television again. The static on screen has changed. There’s a monster there now, claws soaked in blood. It’s killing people. Mercilessly slaughtering everything around it.

“I’m not too keen on gore.” You say, not taking your eyes off the grizzly scene.

“But it’s a classic, though.” Another you says, sitting down on your left. They fold their arms and cross their legs at the ankle, leaning back against the armrest. “You could watch it a thousand times, and it never loses that guttural feeling.”

“Why would you want to feel this again?” You ask as the monster turns one of the people into dust. “I can barely stand feeling it once…”

“Why the hell are you so damn picky about it.” You say, leaning over the back of the couch between yourself and the you on the left. “You made the fucking thing.”

“The movie?” You ask, looking around at the crowd of Yous that’s formed.

”Ha!” The you to your left scoffs. “Movie, he says.”

“Whatever it is, I don’t like it.” You look away from the screen, but you still see it, ever-present in your peripherals.

“That’s always been your problem.” The you leaning over the couch tells you. “You can never own up to your own actions. You made it, so act like it.”

“Are we always forced to like the things that we create?” You reason, sitting down on the armrest next to the you on your right. “Or are we just not allowed to be disgusted by them?”

“You’re being overly dramatic.” You tell yourself, leaning on the armrest to your left. “He made it. Even if it was unintentional, it obviously means something to him. He shouldn’t look away.”

“It’s okay to look away sometimes.” You say, appearing down on the floor, leaning against the foot of the couch with your legs crossed. “Especially with things like this. Maybe he doesn’t like that part of himself, and making this was just how he had to get it out.”

“You’re all looking too deep into it.” Another you on the ground says, lying on their side with their feet in the lap of the other on the floor. “It happened. It’s not like he meant to do it.”

“Like hell he didn’t.” The You leaning over the couch scoffs. “This shit was a long time coming.”

“It wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t stop himself.” The You sitting crosslegged on the floor says.

“Don’t tell me you’re falling for his excuses, too.” The You on your left retorts, looking down at the You on the ground. “He probably enjoyed it.”

“What’s it matter if he enjoyed it or not?” The You lying on the floor asks, starting to sound defensive. “He did it. No point getting all up in arms about it now.”

“Well, speaking practically, there is a point.” The You on the right armrest argues. “We’re watching it unfold again. Right there on screen. If any a time to bring it up, now would be it.”

“All the world’s a stage.” The You on the left armrest draws the couch’s attention. “And all the men and women merely players.”

“Now you’re the one being overly dramatic.” Right armrest You says with a roll of their eyes.

“Maybe we should just turn it off.” The You to the right suggests.

“Is there even a remote in this place?” The You lying on the floor asks, looking around.

“What’s going on?” You ask. You you, that is. Looking around at all the Yous that’ve gathered in this bizarre void of yours, they all seem so familiar. Of course they’re familiar, they’re you, after all. But there’s something so particular about them. Something just a little off. “Something’s not right here.” You try to stand up, but are quickly shoved jutted back into your place on the couch.

“Sit your ass back down!” The You leaning over the couch orders, firmly clamping down a hand on your shoulder and forcing you back in your seat. “We’re just getting to the best part.”

You turn your attention back to the television screen. The monster’s just about killed all the people around it. It now hovers over one last victim as they slowly die. The victim reaches out, caressing the monster’s face, gifting it alacrious thought. The monster viciously grabs the dead man's hand as they touch it, but soon mellows, peering down at their final victim as the last bit of life leaves their eyes.

Now alone, the monster begins to frantically look around, reflecting on the slaughter it’s committed and the bodies it’s left behind. It's beginning to panic. In its regret, the monster takes off into the air, flying away in cowardice of what it has done. You feel like you’ve seen this before. You know those bodies. How do you know those bodies?! You haven’t seen this before. No… no you’ve seen this a thousand times! But this is the first time you’ve seen it… But you never want to see it again! What do you mean? You’ve never seen this before. Not even once.

“Like I said,” The You on the right says with a sad and quiet voice. “You’ve seen it once, you’ve seen it a thousand times….”

You know those bodies. The Monster is You.

 

***

 

The dream ends with a rising pressure. As if your head were a kettle, reaching its boil and starting to scream. You shoot awake, your heart pounding in your throat and a cold sweat around your collar, and you have to fight in order to stave off the sick building up from your stomach. What the hell was that? Where the hell are you?!

You look around and find yourself, realizing you’re in the small himalayan hut you and Creed had taken refuge in just before reaching the portal. After an unfortunately long morning making preparations for the hike, as well as prepping Sara on what to do in the case of an emergency as second-in-command and babysitter for your daughter, you and Creed had walked all of yesterday, arriving at the town the Gateway temple was in. The two of you had agreed you were too tired to make the jump and go looking for accommodations on the other side, and so decided to bunker down at the portal crossing for the night.

Looking down, you find one of the Anole consorts meditating on your stomach, legs crossed while he sits on the covers of your bed. You had brought this one with you from your Monastery so you could use him as a fast-travel key back to your home base. Creed’s idea when he first convinced you to let him tag alone, said you wouldn’t have to walk back with him if you had a consort to take you back to their village via the backdoor gateways. You were originally planning to use a bit of time shenanigans to speed up your journey, but you suppose the added protection of traveling with a partner doesn’t hurt. You’re a bit worried about ambushes, though. If you were alone, you could just Checkpoint back home, but with Creed here, you’ll have to stick it out, less you get torn to shreds against the flow of time carrying another with you through a temporal jump. Not exactly something you’re interested in doing again.

“The waters of your mind stir like the sea under storm.” The consort tells you. “A great burden brews just beneath its surface.”

“Save it for the pilgrims, yogi.” You tell the lizard as you pull the fur-pelt blanket off of you, throwing the consort from your chest.

“Ah!” He jolts, tossed off to the side. Just as you swing your legs off to the side of the bed, you get a -ding- notification from your phone.

 

PESTERLOG:

-- quartermastersFallingdown [QF] began pestering senileMinor [SM] at 05:16 --

QF: Y0u 0kay?
QF: It l00ked like y0u were 2pazzing there f0r a 2ec0nd.
SM: Yeah, all okay
(not sent)
SM: Just a bad dream
(not sent)
SM: Thanks for checking in
(not sent)
QF: <3

-- quartermastersFallingdown [QF] ceased pestering senileMinor [SM] at 05:17 --

 

You stare at the little heart on the phone a moment longer than you realize, not noticing the goofy smile that’s crossed your lips.

“Boss, you awake in there?” Creed calls from outside before arriving at the doorway. “We should get moving before too long. We’ve got a schedule to keep, right?”

“Right. Be out in a minute.” You nod, slipping your phone back into your pocket.

“You too, Remmy, no lagging behind. You’re our ticket home, remember?” He tells the consort as they hop off the bed.

“I do not acknowledge this moniker of ‘Remmy’ you have bestowed me.” The consort tells him, his scaly feet tapping against the floor as he crosses the room. “Brothers of my cenobium do not take on names. They are a sign of vanity that we detach ourselves from.”

“Okay, well… just know that whenever I say Remmy, I’m talking to you.” He says as the monk walks past him.

Blinking a few times as you try to shake off last night’s sleep, you can’t help but feel that you’re forgetting something. What was it you were dreaming about again? Whatever it was, you don’t want to think about it ever again.

 

Jason, get on with your Day.

Notes:

On this, our most sacred day, I wish you all a happy 4/13

Chapter 64: > Sowing the Zephyr

A strong wind blows through your space, rustling the red grass down by your side. You look up from your notebook, distracted by the intangible force passing over you for the briefest of moments. Turning back, you jot down your most recent of notes.

‘Completion time has shown a 30% decrease between 1st & 2nd lap. Stamina proving just as untrained as the rest of his remarkably weak body.’

“Ha… Ha… Ha…” You hear your poor excuse of a pupil struggling to breath as he takes his third lap around the summit sanctuary, bringing shame upon your dojo the entire way. You’d think after running through the entire track and field lineup, you’d find something that the runt is halfway decent at, but the more you test his physical limits, the more you seem to realize that you truly have nothing to work with here. Disappointment is one word to describe what you’re feeling, but if nothing else, watching him struggle to run, jump and lift pretty much anything is giving you a solid grasp on the training regiment you’ll need to put him through if you’re gonna make something of the kid.

“Twelve more laps before you get a break. If you collapse before then, that’s gonna be another ten afterwards.” You announce, setting down your notes for a magazine you swiped from one of the consort rooms in the monastery.

“Why the hell… did I have to get stuck with you?” Ryder manages to ask between gasping breaths as he jogs on.

“Because I know a lot about Pages and I know a lot about Rage.” You say, flipping through your magazine, passively perusing the articles therein. They’re all about sourdough, if the first twelve pages are anything to go off of. Hm… “So logically, I’d know a whole lot about you, specifically how wimpy you are.”

“Did you bring me up here just to insult me?” Ryder realizes as he stops to catch his breath.

“No, but that is a big part of it.” You shrug, discarding the bread column as you toss it behind you. “I have to get something out of this, don’t I? That’s five more laps for stopping, by the way.”

“You’re a real fuckin’ sadist, you know that?” He tells you while picking back up his stride.

“Oh, like you’re such a saint.” You laugh, watching as he finished his fifth lap, going right into his sixth. “Prancing about like a little vagrant, breakin’ shit left and right as if you have got some kind of ingrained need to vandalize everything within grabbing distance.”

“Hey, you don’t know me bitch.” He tries his best to get under your skin “What if I’m a gentle soul or whatever the fuck? Misunderstood by the world.”

“You’re not a gentle soul, dumbass. You’re a weak soul.” You stress the difference. “A person can’t be gentle unless they hold the capacity to harm. You don’t.”

“I can harm. I can harm like nobody’s business!” He argues, seeming to actually get a proper stride going. “Rage is all about harm, and I’m all about Rage!”

“Aaand, there it is.” You roll your eyes with a disgusted sigh. “You might be a Rage player, Ryder, but all that gets overshadowed by that Page title of yours. It’s like a damn anchor around you morons.”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” He asks, stopping mid-stride again.

“What’s it mean? It means there’s something about Pages that I can’t stand. You think knowing all about your Aspect is the coolest thing in the world, but you never actually bother learning about it.” You explain. “Jason was just like that, even before he knew about his stupid title. You know how often he’d try to convince people how mature he was, that he had an old soul, like anybody gave a fuck? But as soon as you gave him an ounce of responsibility, he’d crumble like wet newspaper. Time isn’t about acting mature, it’s about actually maturing. Same as Rage isn’t about acting angry and throwing a hissy-fit all the fucking time, breaking whatever you come in contact with. It isn’t just screaming your head off and cursing every other sentence. It’s conviction. It’s seeing a goal and not letting anything in the universe get between you and it. It’s about understanding what you want and never betraying that fact, not for anything. That’s Rage. Not whatever the fuck you’re doing.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He scoffs, running on again.

“No, not whatever. The reason you haven’t progressed anywhere is because you don’t understand your Aspect.” You inform the witless wonder. “You’re trying to redefine what Rage means without even knowing what it is in the first place, of course it’s fighting you. It has no reason to progress you along. I mean, what God Tier are you even on?”

“What god tier? What are you, slow? I’m a Page of Rage.” The dickhead sneers at you.

“No, jackass, I mean what actual Tier are you on? How many times have you leveled up since God Tiering?” You try to break it down to simple terms for him.

“God Tiers have levels?” He asks in too earnest of a tone to be kidding.

“Jesus Chri- Yes! God Tiers have Tiers.” You emphatically inform him. “They’re like the Achievement Rungs on your Echeladder.”

“Rungs?” He glances at you as he jogs, just about to complete his thirteenth lap. “Eche-what? Can you start using real words, please?”

“Stop!” You order, causing the boy to slow into a confused pause in his run. “Ryder. Please open your Management Window.”

“Uh… okay?” The boy agrees, slowly diving into his Status Array like it’s his first time using it and hesitantly navigating to his Management Tabs like he’s unsure where they’re supposed to be. Walking over to scope out the scene, you’re absolutely fucking gobsmacked when you see that, despite being ascended to Godhood, this runt, this little fucking bastard is Still At The BOTTOM OF HIS ECHELADDER!?! “Oh, this thing? I think I saw this back like a year ago, what the hell is it?”

“……” You’re left speechless as you pace away, stunned from what you’ve witnessed. What the fuck is this!? “I swear to Jason, I’m gonna put you through a fucking wall when you get back here…” You mutter to yourself, cursing the blight that bastard has put upon your home.

“Hey, would you fucking say something! Was this all important? And why am I wearing that dumb fucking hat in the display screed?” Ryder pesters you. You take a moment, rethinking your entire approach to this whole ordeal.

“Okay… Okay, I can still work with this…” You convince yourself, returning by Ryder’s side to solve this nightmare. “Your Mangrit is at a ten, and your gel viscosity is only at a five. That’s… pathetic.”

“Oh what, is yours a five hundred or something?” Ryder derides like the dumbass he is.

“Try Ten Thousand.” You correct, causing the smug look on his face to flatten.

“No way.” He says in the same way a frustrated child says ‘nuh uh’. “That’s impossible. My Father’s Vitality Gel was at three thousand, there’s no way you’re over Triple that!”

“Believe it, Greentike.” You tilt your chin up to look down at the little moron. “Wanna know something else? My Ladygrit is probably five times what his Mangrit was, too.”

“Shut up!” He snaps at you. “No one was stronger than my Father!”

“Calm it down, young one, you’ve got a lot more pressing issues to deal with than someone out-lifting your pop-pop.” You inform him. “Looking at it now, it doesn’t seem like you’ve accomplished anything of worth in your entire damn life. Which means you’ve got a lot of work ahead of you if you’re gonna keep pace with the rest of the Godtiers in the Arena.”

“Don’t I feel lucky…” He huffs while turning and walking away from you.

“Yeah, you are damn lucky, because I’m here to fucking make something of you.” You yell over at him before he can completely go limp in the face of hardship like the Page he is. “If I’m really working with nothing here, then a good note we can start off with is finding your center.”

“My what?” He turns back, glancing over his shoulder at you.

“Your center.” You repeat. “You know, your core. Who you are deep down past all that play-pretend bullshit you’ve put up to make yourself feel safe. What makes you tick, what fuels your drive.”

“Um… I guess being strong?” He mumbles, uncertain if even he believes what he’s saying.

“That's not gonna cut it.” You shake your head. “Think deep, Ryder. What do you want most of all? What will you stop at nothing to accomplish?”

“Being a good fighter, then.” He tells you, still not getting it. “Or maybe being angry enough to scare off my opponent before they can even start anything!”

“Closer, but still not enough.” You explain as he slowly wanders back to you. “Rage is based on Anger, sure, but it’s also based on Willpower. Forcing others to comply to your will, to act in accordance to your worldview. Make them understand that you’re in charge and this is how the game is played; by your rules. Rage is about Drive, nothing getting in your way, Conviction, nothing stopping you, hell, even Ignorance can be your center.”

“Ignorance?” He asks, sitting down on his rock again.

“Ignorance.” You nod. “It’s one of the major Tenets of Rage. Ignoring what others say. It doesn’t matter if they’re right, who’s right has never once decided the outcome of a fight in the entire history of war. What matters is what you know to be true. If they can’t make you bend the knee, you can beat them. Doubt.” You hold up a finger to him. “Doubt is the mind-killer. Doubt is for the enemy. You don’t doubt yourself ever. Even if the entire world is standing against you, telling you you’re wrong, you plant your feet in the ground and you hold. You don’t back down because that’s not what Rage players fucking do.”

“What if you are wrong and you know it, though?” He inquires, actually seeming to listen to what you’re saying.

“Doesn’t matter. When was the last time someone told you they were wrong?” You ask back. “When was the last time someone admitted to you that what they believed was incorrect and that they were sorry? I’ll tell you when, fucking never. Nobody admits that they’re wrong. Even if they lose an argument, they'll walk away still thinking they’re the ones in the right. And what, because I’m loud about it, because I say the quiet part we all feel out loud; ‘I’m right and nothing you can say will make me change my mind’, suddenly I’m wrong and I need to just admit it? Fuck. That. I’m right, you’re wrong. End of story. That’s how you play it. Rage.”

“Yeah… okay, I think I get that.” Ryder nods along. “Then my core should be that in a fight, I’m the one on the front lines, and I don’t care what you or Leah or any other girl has to say about it!” You rub the sides of your head hearing what the little dumbass took away from your speech, trying to massage out the stupidity he’s exposed you to.

“Alright, what the hell is your deal with fighting?” You begin to dig, figuring you’re more likely to find the source of his hangups yourself before he tells you. “Rage isn’t about fighting. Rage is a way of life. An ideology that allows one to move through this world without worry of suffering the faults of weakness. It is a tool that we temper ourselves with, not a weapon that can only be brought into strife.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Women don’t get combat.” The smug fuck declares. “It’s simply not something you’re programmed for. Guys are supposed to be the fighters, and girls are supposed to use their feminine wiles to get their way.”

“Ryder, I will hit you. You know that, right?” You remind him of your standing.

“Hey, I didn’t make the rules! That’s just how it is. It’s like… biology, or something.” He tries to explain. “It’s a man’s job to be the protector. To look out for the women and children in his life. There’s no reason for a girl like you to be fighting, so I should be the one handling it.”

“Well you’ve certainly got the ignorance facet of Rage down.” You sigh, shaking your head as how your pupil could turn out to be such a disappointment. You truly have failed as a master.

“You’re just like Leah, you don’t get it at all.” Ryder pouts, glancing off to the side. “It’s my responsibility. A woman shouldn’t have to take my place on the battlefield because I’m falling short. It’s a man’s responsibility to protect the people close to him. If he can’t do that, then he isn’t a man at all.” Hearing him talk, you notice a sincerity in the boy’s voice, and find something useful under all that sexist chatter. “My Father protected the people in his life… And I have to protect them too! I don’t want Leah rushing out in front of me like I’m some helpless fucking kid! I wanna be the guy that when people see me, they know that they’re safe because I’m around! I have to be! Otherwise…otherwise I dishonor the name that was passed down to me…”

“…Hm.” You mull over his little rant. “It’s your responsibility, huh? Alright, I think we can run with that. There are certainly worse convictions you could have.”

“Huh?” Ryder looks back to you.

“You want to be the big man on the front lines, is that right? Then use that.” You tell him. “Turn it into the fire that drives your engine. Don’t let anything stop you from living up to that idea, not some girl with a gun, not anyone more suited for the front line, and most certainly not your own weakness. Purge it from you. If you want to force your ideals onto reality, then you’ll have to quit being such a fucking pussy. Got it?” You hold up a fist before him. Staring at your hand a moment longer than he should, Ryder eventually balls up his own, planting his knuckles firmly against yours. Weak, but it’s something. “The only rights we are awarded are those we can bring about through our own hands. Now, ready yourself.” You order, forcing him back a step with a push forward.

“For what?” He asks while trying not to fall over.

“Isn’t it obvious?” You ask back, readying a pose. “Sparring. Put up your dukes, gingerbread!”

“Right now?” He frantically asks, trying to find his stance.

“No time like the present!” You laugh, advancing forward.

 

***

 

“…”

“… ahem.” You clear your throat.

“…”

“………”

“…”

“…Can you not breathe so close to me?!” You ask, your voice cracking as Creed looks on at your inability to properly program the gateway to the Land of Chess and Foresight.

“I didn’t say anything.” He holds his hands up at the subtextual accusation. With a grumble, you glance back to the image on your phone that Dallra had sent you. It’s of a picture she’d taken of the wall in her room, which she’s used to draw out a reference guide for what your portal construct is supposed to look like. This particular configuration is supposed to take you to the portal landing closest to a LOFASM gateway on LOCAF, about two days journey once you get there, if you could just get these… damn… hardlight constructs to do what you're telling them to do! Come on! It’s like you move one beam and another juts out of place! And when you try to put it back where it belongs, three more pop out! It’s like trying to solve a fourth-dimensional Rubik's cube on a time limit. How the hell does Dallra program these things so fast?!

“Perhaps if we took a moment to center ourselves-“ The consort that Creed snagged tries to coach you.

“Put a sock in it, Remmy!” You order, trying to not let your concentration slip. Come on… you’ve almost got it…

“Maybe we’d be better off jumping to a random landing at this point.” Creed suggests a little too earnestly. Aaand there it goes. Like, eight different beams go popping out of place all at once. Damn it.

“Okay, new rule everyone; No backseat gateway designing.” You announce to your team. You notice from the edge of your peripherals as the two of them exchange glances. “Okay… okay… okay… aaaaaannd… Got It!” You exclaim as you lock the last beam in place, completing the design Dal had sent you.

“And you’re sure this configuration is correct.” Creed more tells you to be sure than asks if you are.

“Yes, I’m-…” You pause before glancing back at the image Dallra sent, just to double check. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Good enough for me.” He shrugs while placing a hand on the consort’s head, tapping the gateway once he’s got a firm enough grip on the lizard. As expected, the Heir disappears in a flash before you.

“Alright, guess we’re just going for it, then…” You mutter to yourself, feeling a bit rushed in your planet-hop. Before the damn portal gets the chance to reset itself after being used, you quickly make contact with the construct, feeling yourself made one with the slipstream.

Appearifying with a slight jerk, your eyes snap open, scoping out where it is you’ve taken your trio. Looking around, you find yourself in what appears to be a castle sitting room, a black and white grid pattern spanning across the floor. At the right of the room sits a threshold opening out to the Land outside, allowing light to pour into the dim chamber. This place feels… familiar. Before you can question where you’ve seen it before, a -ding- comes from your pocket. A new message.

 

PESTERLOG:

-- quartermastersFallingdown [QF] began pestering senileMinor [SM] at 06:04 --

QF: L00k2 like y0u made it.
QF: G00d J0b!
SM: Thanks
(not sent)
SM: What about Creed?
(not sent)
QF: 0ut2ide, 0n the balc0ny.
SM: Got it
(not sent)
SM: I’ll check-in in a few hours
(not sent)
QF: 2afe travel2!

-- quartermastersFallingdown [QF] ceased pestering senileMinor [SM] at 06:06 --

 

Making your way over to where your Seer’s directed you, you’re stunned by what you see as you exit onto the terrace looking out at the world. Sprawled out in winding hills and towering cliffs is a Land in the distinct likeness of a vast chessboard. In the distance, the unmistakable shape and hues of Prospitian and Derseite warships cruise the horizons of the planet. This is…

“Strange, isn’t it?” A voice calls from your right. Glancing over, you see Creed and the monk consort standing over by the balustrade, looking out at the world alongside you. “It looks just like the Battlefield.”

“Chess and Foresight… A practice planet for the Reckoning?” You hypothesize looking out at the black and white world.

“Practice planet?” Creed repeats with a tone of skepticism. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of Sburb being so charitable before.”

“I’ve never heard of a session not having to bring the Forge themselves, either.” You comment, still baffled at where you are right now. You never stepped foot on the Battlefield in your own session, but your Future Selves showed you pictures of the place. The only thing it’s missing is the warring carapacians and it’d be a perfect match. “A very special exception has been made…” You say to yourself, recalling Gretel’s words.

“Who the hell does this Medium belong to…?” Creed mutters under his breath.

“Well, let’s get out there.” You say with a determined sigh, turning to the grand staircase leading down to a garden below the balcony.

“What’s our trail looking like today, then, Boss?” Creed inquires, following down the stairs, his consort in tow.

“Long and treacherous, as always.” You huff while trudging along through the ivy covered walls. “According to Dallra, there’s a castle about a half hour’s walk from the Lofasm portal that we can spend the night at before we cross. It’s about nine or ten hours from where we’re at right now.”

“Gonna be a rough hike without Sara’s passive to keep things moving.” Creed surmises as the three of you pass a group of Green Bat Consort. Landscapers by the look of them, tending to the garden grounds. Remmy politely bows to one as they go by one another.

“You can say that again.” You sigh, your feet still sore from yesterday. “Hopefully we can still make good time without her.” As you talk, your trio eventually reaches the garden wall and without having to say, you crouch down, lacing your fingers together and using them as a platform to boost Creed over. Once he’s up, you grab your monk by the nape of his robes and lift him, transferring the consort up to Creed on top of the wall. “You saw those ships right? Maybe we could commandeer one, make the trip go a little faster.”

“I don’t know.” Creed tells you as you summon Bane of All Mountains, jumping up and using your armament as a climbing pick. “Seems like it’s more than a two person rig. Might not have enough manpower to run it. They look kind of slow, too, probably aren't even able to break orbit.”

“Yeah, I’m just spitballing.” You shrug before dropping off from the wall, your shoes tapping against the chessboard ground as you land. “Wouldn’t hurt to check, though. Just to be sure.”

“Fair enough.” Creed agrees, landing next to you. Not far behind, Remmy follows in kind, performing a front flip down in front of you. “Assuming we can find where they land.”

“I could fly up to one.” You suggest as you get walking again. “I’ve got rocket boots… and gloves.”

“I thought you didn’t know how to use those.” Your Heir reminds you.

“I can go up easily enough…” You half-concede to his point. “Man, I didn’t use it that much when I had it, but I miss being able to fly.”

“It did have its perks.” Creed nods. “Sara’s certainly been enjoying that luxury lately.”

“I’m surprised we were able to get her to come down long enough to talk.” You agree, recalling how long it took to coax her out of the sky when you were leaving yesterday. After a certain point, you were thinking of just finding Esspin and leaving the message with her. Those two have been so off in their own worlds together lately, you really miss having them around. It feels like you haven’t talked with them in ages!

…Wait… ages… but, you’ve only known them… for a few weeks now… Why do you… why does it feel like…

“Hey Boss.” Creed calls, breaking the silence that’d quietly crept in between you while you got lost in thought. “When I was making rounds the other day, speaking with everyone about the mission… Ragnaa told me something interesting.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” You ask, curious of the ominous tone he’s set in the conversation.

“She said she doesn’t think Perses is a Troll.” He answers, that ominous factor only rising as he goes on, sending a slow chill across your back.

“What?” You follow up in a subdued disbelief. “What does that mean, ‘not a troll’?”

“She didn’t know how to put it, really.” Creed explains while locking his hands behind his head to lean it back on. “Or at least, she didn’t know the proper way to describe it. From the way she made it sound, he’s like some voodoo-doll that’s barely being kept together at its seams. I think her exact words were ‘he’s a mutilated fetish, vivisected down his gullet and turned inside-out, his bloated organs and tubes molded into the woeful shape of an indigo’.”

“Oh well if that’s all,-” You mockingly pretend like what he said hasn’t deeply disturbed you. “What the fuck, Creed!? Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?! I almost went on a solo trip alone with him, why would-, d-did you just have this queued-up in your head? Like, you just had that in your back pocket to bust out when the conversation dipped?”

“Yeah, it has been driving me a bit insane, keeping that wrapped up to myself the past two days. I just couldn’t find the right time to bring it up.” He tells you.

“Jesus, man, you don’t have to wait for the right moment to share shit like that.” You inform him for future reference. “Save the tact for less dreadful fucking revelations.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He nods. “What do you suppose we should do with this information?”

“…I don’t know.” You admit after a moment of focused contemplation. “Regardless of his standings, we still need his powers to bust open the Space Barrier if we’re getting out of here…”

“But you’re wondering if he could be the traitor.” Creed surmises before you can reach that conclusion.

“How did you-, never mind.” You begin to ask, stopping when you remember Creed had his literal fingers poking around your brain only a few days ago. Suppose that cat’s outta the bag, then. “I was considering it.” You focus forward on your path ahead. “It’s definitely possible. He waited around in our direct path for days straight, so the likelihood that someone planted him there for us to run into isn't too hard to imagine, but I don’t think he would’ve fought us so hard on joining if he had anything planned. I don’t even know if the traitor is an actual traitor. All Ginnun told me was that someone on the team serves a different master. Hell, by that definition, Dallra fits the criteria. She's talked about a mentor of her’s a few times before, the one that’s stuck in a blackhole. That tip about a traitor could just be meaningless garbage that Bard told me to mess with my head.”

“So we’re still able to trust Perses?” Creed asks in a manner sounding more like he’s asking you to reflect on the question for yourself than to answer it for him.

“We’re still not sure if he’s lying about who he is yet…” You say more to yourself to take a mental stock of your teammate’s character. “For now, we should act normal around him. I want to figure out what his deal is before we make any moves.”

“Can do, Boss.” Creed agrees. “Wasn’t exactly chopping at the bit to be getting on his bad side, anyway.” With that decided, you two, and Remmy, continue on with your journey, blazing through the trail Dallra had laid out for you.

“…………Is this place freaking you out as much as it is me?” You glance over at Creed as you all go by a small farm growing some kind of produce from the checkered ground somehow.

“I wasn't going to say anything, but there is an eerily familiar feel to this place.” He agrees, taking a look about your surroundings. “Feels like déjà vu for my own session’s Battlefield.”

“That’s not it, it feels… I don’t know. It feels like something’s wrong here.” You try to explain. “Like something bad’s going to happen.”

“You okay, Boss?” Creed turns to you now, hearing your supposed prediction.

“Y-yeah, yeah… must be something in the air here…” You try to shake off your grim feeling. It might just be that being so far away from your team has got you feeling a little paranoid lately, but you can’t help but think that something terrible is right on the horizon, and this place is ground zero. “Let’s just try and get out of here as soon as we can…” The conversation dies down after this, that ominous presence hanging over your head, invisible to anyone but you.

 

***

 

He ducks left and steps right, not realizing the indecision on which direction to juke in has overcomplicated his rhythm, slowing his momentum. You make sure to punish the mistake immediately before he can think the maneuver was anything but a detriment. You’ve adapted a kind of Pavlov’s Dog approach to training Ryder in the past day, where despite not really ever being able to land a hit on you, you've allow the runt to get a jab or two in whenever his approach is properly executed. For sloppy layups like what he just pulled, you make sure to crack down extra hard to deter bad habits from forming. Progress has been unremarkable so far, but you were already expecting that. There’s only so much you can expect from yourself, you aren’t a fucking miracle-worker.

“Hey spitfire, tell me something.” You say while backing up from Ryder’s barrage of somewhat competent punches, allowing him enough space to explore different technique combinations. “You said your name was passed down to you. What exactly does that entail?”

“It’s simple.” He grunts, throwing his last punch before running out of steam, pulling back to try and regroup. “The men of my family all carry the same name, like a sacred torch we pass from generation to generation that we all must honor through our deeds.” You press forward, trying to express through a thrashing that he not completely expend all his energy with no plan for withdrawal. Taking a swing, you’re pleasantly surprised to see he actually manages to block your left hook this time, albeit the force of your punch still shunts him across the ground, shoes scraping against the dirt, but the runt held against you. Is that progress we’re seeing? With your fist still pressed into the forearm of his unbroken guard protecting his jaw, he perks up with a smug grin. It would seem so. “I am Ryder Von Wolfhart, son of Ryder Von Wolfhart. Worthy of my Father’s name!”

“Feh.” You laugh as he pushes forward, trying to force you back. You don’t budge an inch. “You’re a Junior?”

“I’m a Third.” He sneers. “Ryder Von Wolfhart th-“ As he’s prattling on, you decide to slip past him, crossing your arm over and pulling it back as an elbow delivered to his nose. “-a, t-tha… Third.” He sputters as he falls back, his face gushing red onto that dorky outfit of his.

“Hate to break it to you cupcake, but at the moment, you still ain’t worthy of shit.” You remind him of his status. “If you’re gonna go mouthin’ off mid-strife, keep your damn guard up, for god’s sake. The human mind can only focus on one task at a time, which means if you’re focused on talking shit, your opponent will have an opportunity to get the upper hand before you can react.”

“Bullshit! I’m great at multitasking!” He boasts while flinging a splatterful of blood that’s pooled in his hand at your face. Closing your eyes before you can contract whatever’s swimming around the little mongrel’s life-juice, you’re momentarily impressed by Ryder’s resourcefulness. While you're blinded, you hear as the kid tries to scamper up to his feet, tripping slightly in the dirt as he tries to gain traction charging at you.

“Rule one of blinding attacks;” You announce, sweeping a high-kick across the space before you, knocking into what you can assume to be Ryder’s jaw in the process. “Once your opponent loses their sight, they’re far more likely to swing wildly, expecting your next attack to come from their front.” With your pupil knocked to the ground once again, you take the time to clean the filth from your face. “And by the way, no one can multitask. The mind just rapidly switches from task to task, giving the illusion of balancing multiple problems.” Regaining your vision, you spot the runt a ways away, nursing the newly forming bruise that you’ve added to his collection today. Walking over to him, you continue on with the lesson. “While implementing tactics like that can win you the advantage, you’ll need more than a single braincell with your followup. If you go charging in, pace your advance with the swing of your opponent’s attack. If you pincer from the flanks or above, make sure to hit hard and keep moving. It causes your opponent to panic, too confused and frustrated to think straight while they’re left defenseless in the dark.”

“whatever…” He huffs, still rubbing his face in sullen defeat. Is that right? Since when did you teach him the loser decides when the fight is over?

“Alright, take five.” You say, extending a hand down for him to take. Confused by the sudden leniency, he hesitates a moment before reaching up and accepting your offer. As soon as you’ve got a grip on him, you clip him across the jaw with the fist of your free hand, spinning him out. “A wolf should never believe what the hunter tells him, Ryder. Never trust the compassion of your opponent.”

“Gah!!!” Ryder exclaims, writhing in the dirt while clutching his face. “Fuck this! I don’t need this shit.” He declares before pushing himself up off the ground, jerking and flailing around as static clings his cape to him, before stomping off.

“Oh, oh yeah, I’m sure you don’t, Ryder.” You call as he storms away, crossing your arms in disappointment of your soon-to-be disgraced pupil. “I’m sure you’re completely content staying the pathetic sack of shit you are. What’s the point of improving yourself if your friends will pick up the slack for you, right?” Your words must’ve struck a chord in the whiney bastard, because he stops mid-tantruming stride like he’s come to a dead-end, halfway over to the stairs there.

“What the fuck did you just say?” He growls, still facing away from you.

“I’ve seen you fight. You’re a scrawny-armed chickenshit who can’t even put a Consort in their place.” You scoff while he still refuses to face you.

“…shut up.” He quietly protests, seeming to shrink before you.

“You’re still at the bottom of your echeladder, which I can only assume is because you can’t kill an imp on your own either.” You continue on, figuring any response is a good response at this point. Come on, dig deep, runt! Don’t just stand there and take it! “Given you’re in the Arena at all, I’d be willing to bet it was your incompetence that doomed your session. Wouldn’t be hard to imagine, you standing there, too afraid to move while everyone else wasted their time trying to keep you safe. You, someone who wouldn’t even lift a finger in their name. What a joke.”

“Shut up!” He repeats a little louder this time, his hands balling into fists.

“You’re a burden, Ryder.” You continue on, determined to reel something in at this point. “You can’t handle yourself in battle so others have to look after you. You bring them down. Your weakness is a liability and pretty soon, you’re gonna get someone killed, probably for a second time.”

“I Said Shut Up!“ He finally snaps, his voice booming as he turns back to face you.

“How bout that, sponge-cake.” You straighten out, impressed at the sudden display. “You’re actually showing some backbone now.”

“Fu-ack, -uck yo-ha-ou.” He suddenly stumbles, devolving into a coughing fit as he struggles to keep his veneer up. “A-hck!”

“You okay?” You ask, walking up to the boy as he partially gets a hold of himself.

“My, my voice, it’s- ehk, it’s shredded.” He explains through rasps while clutching his throat.

“Have you never gotten loud before…?” You inquire, thinking that shout he coughed up just now shouldn’t have been powerful enough to damage its owner.

“Of course I’ve gotten loud before! I get Loud All the Time!” He boasts back, trying to prove a point.

“…Have you ever meant it before?” You rephrase what you’re asking.

“I-…” He pauses, actually thinking this time. “ah… maybe once or twice… I guess.”

“Try it again.” You instruct, interested to see how much progress he can retain from his breakthrough.

“a-… aAAAAHHHAaah…” He mews like a kitten.

“Again, with your chest this time.” You order.

“aaAAAAHHHH!” He does a little better the second attempt.

“Come on Ryder, Act like you Want It!” You demand of him.

“a…ng…gRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!” He fully bellows, his voice echoing down across the mountains.

"Keep it Going!" You call over his screams.

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!” He full on Shouts, his screech piercing up to the heavens and undoubtably echoing across the Land itself. You wince slightly when you notice a small sting at the side of your head. It seems one of your eardrums has started to bleed. “Haa… haa… haa…” Ryder heavily sighs upon completing his War Cry.

“Not bad, pipsqueak.” You laugh, giving him a few applauding claps, catching his attention in the aftermath of his advancement. “Not bad at all.”

“You… You think so?” He asks in a way that seems like he’s looking for actual validation from you.

“Wouldn’t have said it otherwise.” You say, slapping him on the back. “That’s a good place to leave off for today. You might not have gotten as far as I wanted you to, but if you can summon that same energy at a moment’s notice, you’ll have officially taken your first step towards being a badass.”

“First step? Please, what I just did was like fucking ten.” He scoffs while walking past you, headed for the stairs.

“Ah.” You tisk, grabbing hold of his dinky little cape before he can get too far. “And where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Uh, to my room?” He almost asks, confused as to what you’re implying. “You said today’s training was done.”

“I did.” You nod. “Didn’t say descend the fuckin’ mountain.” With that declared, you jerk the dope by his cape, flinging him back towards the summit garden, putting yourself between him and the way down.

“Wh-w-…Where the hell am I supposed to sleep then?” He asks, even more confused than before.

“Whichever patch of dirt is coziest.” You shrug, turning back to the stairs yourself. “You’re free to pick and choose your grass-bed up here, I don’t care much where you settle.”

“B-but, I slept in my room last night.” He tries to reason, not seeming to get what’s being taught to him.

“Yeah, and it took you half the morning to get back up here.” You laugh, looking back at the sad sack. “From now on, you stay on training grounds. Saves time that way.”

“This is bullshit! I’m going down.” He declares, stomping forward at you.

“Oh you can go down.” You tell him, summoning Heed No Warning to your side, slamming the bottom of its staff upon the ground like some kind of wizard making a declaration of non-passing. “You’ll just have to get past me first.” Seeing the challenge you’ve issued, Ryder halts, realizing his situation.

“I-… It’s not even dark out up here, how the hell am I supposed to fall asleep?!” He tries to worm his way free without a fight. “I need to rest in order to train, don’t I?” He tells you with a shit-eating tone on his voice, like he’s some lawyer who’s found a loophole. With a smirk, you extend a hand to your side, and with a -snap-, the sky around you falls from high noon to dying twilight. “-!!!”

“Dark enough for ya?” You inquire, a smug smile plastered all over your face.

“H-, how…?” Ryder sputters, looking around at what you’ve done to the world.

“A Mirage. Simple magic, really.” You answer, already knowing what he’s trying to ask. “In addition to its other branches, Rage is also based upon the illusory arts. Delusions, Nightmares, Visions induced by Madness, or in this case, whatever you Declare upon the World, made Manifest. I’m sure you’ll pick it up soon enough.”

“……” It looks like gingerbread wants to say something in protest, but instead of using that spine of his, he simply slumps his shoulders down, absconding off to find the best patch of grass to turn into his bed. Oh well. You’re sure you’ll beat that submissive streak out of him sooner or later.

“Mia!” You hear from behind you, down the stairs you’re posted guard at. Glancing back, you spot Sara, hauling ass as she soars up the side of the mountain to you. “That scream just a moment ago! Did you hear that? Also wow, is it dark up here…” She alerts you, arriving just before the top of the steps, crouching down as though she expects an ambush to fall out of the sky on top of her. “What was that?!”

“Progress, my friend.” You tell her, a satisfied smile appearing on your face as you watch your pupil circle around his place in the dirt like a dog making its bed. “Progress.”

 

Mia, go Easy on the Boy.

Chapter 65: > Reaping the Whirlwind

While the previous instruction of going Easy on the Page was suggested in earnest, it seems that the Maid had taken it to be a particularly hilarious joke, so much so that while she was in the midst of laughing to herself at the idea, she had accidentally lost her claim over the Point of View in the process. Left to drift around the skies of the Land of Mist and Mountains, pushed and pulled by the whims of the breeze, you eventually settled back down upon the summit you had originally deviated from. You rest now upon the shoulders of a young man in a garden, dipping down into his 65th pushup of the morning.

“One-thousand… two-hundred-thirty-six…” You grunt as you push yourself up, pausing a moment as your elbows refuse to unlock. “One-thousand… five-hundred-eighty-seven” You continue on, starting to feel the fatigue now. “O-one… thousand… eight-hundred-eighty-eight…” That noisy bitch who’s been pushing you around the past two days told you to get started on your morning training as soon as you woke up today. You’d have blown her instructions off in a heartbeat if it wasn't for the fact that she was still fuckin’ standing there by the god damn stairs! You originally planned to sneak back down to your room some time during the night to get some actual rest at some point, but whenever you checked, there she was, silently watching you sleep like a freak, not so much as blinking the entire time! You aren't even sure if she's slept yet today. What the hell is her deal, anyway? You woke up and she was just… staring at you, doing nothing. Didn’t even fucking say good morning or anything, the inconsiderate tramp, just watched as you got to your morning routine without a word. She also hasn’t gotten rid of that night-sky illusion she created either, so it’s real fucking dark up here still. Anyway, you weren’t looking for any grief right after waking up, so got to training without much of a fuss. Five thousand laps around the garden, one thousand Sit ups, three thousand squats, and finishing up with two thousand pushups. A pretty intense routine, you know, but you’re a bit of a badass, after all. “One thousand… nine hundred… ninety nine…!” You exclaim before you feel your elbows refusing to lock in, eventually causing your arms to give out, flopping you to the ground. “Eh… I’ll call that two thousand…” You gasp, your muscles too fatigued to move right away. After a while of lying there, letting your arms recover, you eventually muster enough strength to get back up again. “Alright! I’m done!” You call over to your captor.

“…” The girl and her spear remain stoically silent, gawking at you without a thought in her damn head.

“Hey…! I said I’m done!” You shout over to her again, to no response. God damn it… “Hellooo?” You try again, walking over.

“…” Completely motionless, she watches you like a gargoyle of maybe some kind of hideous guard dog. Pointy stick in-hand, this girl remains ever-protective of your fucking way out of here.

“This is some sort of test, right?” You ask, half-expecting her to take a swing at you, imparting some bullshit lesson she thinks she’s teaching with a cheap sneak-attack. “You want me to try going down the stairs so you can start a fight to stop me. Is that the gist of it?”

“…” She refuses to acknowledge you, thinking it’ll bug you enough to start something.

“Because I’m not biting.” You declare, shrugging off her pathetic attempts to spark up a strife. “Nope. I don’t even want to climb down the mountain. Too much work.”

“…” Committed to the bit, your captor remains still, spear at her side like some wooden soldier or one of those British building guards with the dumb hats.

“And you think that silent treatment is gonna annoy me, but it won’t.” You inform the statue. “It won’t because I don’t feel like fighting right now. Yep, my choice. So we can stay here all day for all I care.”

“…”

“……”

“…”

“………?”

“…”

“…………!”

“…”

“I said I don’t want to fight right now!” You shout, closing your fists and putting your foot down!

“The hell are you yelling at, gingerbread?” You hear her ask, only… her mouth doesn’t move, and her voice doesn’t come from where she’s standing. It came from just beyond. While you’re busy trying to figure out what she’s doing, you notice at the top of the stairs as someone appears there. It’s… the girl? “You finish your morning reps yet or what?”

“Wha-, but you’re-… how are you-?” You point between the two girls, bewildered that there are two of them now. “How are you doing that?!”

“Calm down, numb-nuts. It’s a doppelgänger.” She tells you, fully ascending to the summit and standing next to her twin. “A Delusion I created of myself. Illusion Magic. I told you Rage had those sorts of powers. You saw me turn the sky to night, didn’t you?” As if to emphasize her point, the girl -snaps-, and whatever sort of tricks she’s been pulling to keep the top of the mountain perpetually at dusk vanishes, as though the sun rose in the span of seconds.

“Wait, so that’s not you?!” You say as you wince at the sudden explosion of light raining down upon your unprepared eyes.

“Nah.” She nonchalantly confirms, sending a fist hooking down through the back of her double, turning it into a plume of smoke with a single punch. “It’s totally fake.”

“So… you didn’t watch me all night!?” You begin to put the dots together.

“W-hahahaha, why would I watch you all night?” She explains everything you need to know, unable to keep from laughing directly in your face.

“W-… How long have you not been there!?!” You demand.

“Dunno.” She shrugs. “I watched you roll around for like… five minutes, maybe. Headed back down to the compound after that.”

“Fiv-…!!!” You pause, feeling like you’re about to burst a blood vessel! “WHY!?”

“Because I had a perfectly good bed waiting for me down there. I’m not gonna spend all night up here like an animal.” She laughs at the idea.

“Okay, I feel like fighting now.” You plainly declare as your nails dig into the palms of your hands.

“Eager today, are we?” The girl folds her arms with a sarcastic impressment. “You finish your morning reps, then?”

“Just finished two thousand pushups.” You brag, stretching out your pythons to highlight your work.

“No you didn’t.” She scoffs, walking past you into your sanctuary.

“Well, too bad you weren’t here to verify.” You remind the bitch.

“Didn’t I only tell you to do a hundred?” She glances back with a funny look on her face.

“Yeah. That’s just how I roll.” You explain, cool, calm and collected. “Above and beyond type shit.”

“Then sure, we can cut the formalities.” She says, turning around to face you. Looks like she bought it. Or… just doesn’t care, maybe? “Ring the bell, then, firecracker.” Extending a hand out, the girl holds a fist for you to tap with your own. Measuring her reach?

“Ding, ding.” You accept the challenge, knocking knuckles with the she-beast.

While confident in his newly found footing in his Aspect, we all know how this fight is going to go for Ryder. It’s probably best for his pride if we all look away for a little while.

 

***

 

Hours in the past, but not many, a young man exists out onto the balcony of his throne room, standing upon the perch and looking out at the kingdom before him. Biding his time long enough, he’s resolved to put his carefully laid plans into action, the moment to act finally arriving. Setting out into the wild, the young man dawns his cape and encloses his face behind his mask, a task long in need of taking care of at the front of his mind.

Perhaps this decision to act had come with the evening breeze, an invisible force calling him forward like a sailor beckoned by the siren’s call, letting him know that the time had come. Perhaps he just wanted to look out for a friend. Hm… No, not a friend. That word has a different shape than the one he needs. That word is utterly useless to him. The thing he needs now… is a pawn.

Regardless of motivation, the young man sets out still, for he has a debt to settle. And with a flourish of his cape, he leaps down, now a player himself on the board he orchestrates.

 

***

 

Hours in the past, but one less than the last time, a Page, a Heir and a Monk walked into a bastion courtyard.

“Hmhmhm.” Remmy chuckles to himself as you pass under the entrance in the rampart.

“What’s got you giggling?” Creed looks down to the Consort.

“Oh, nothing. Just a joke one of my brothers told me once.” He waxes reminiscent of his far flung lizard-memory.

“Funny that. I didn’t think you guys even had jokes.” Creed says as the three of you enter into the small camp at the front of the bastion. Small open shacks and tents sit about the courtyard, shielding tools and equipment from the sky. “I figured you would’ve considered them too grounding or whatnot.”

“Not in the slightest! In fact, my cenobium has quite the reputation for being host to a number of pranksters in our ranks.” Remmy elaborates. As those two chat, you keep an eye peeled on your surroundings, feeling as though you’re at the bottom of one giant pit down at the base of the bastion the way you. “There’s something about a Japer, or a bit of tomfoolery that lightens the spirits of those around you.“ The walls of the stronghold’s courtyard here tower over you effortlessly, forming a barrel around you, the unsuspecting fish and perfect targets of the would-be shooting gallery that’s crept in around you. You shake those thoughts off of yourself, though. You’re safe with Dallra looking out for you. If there was anyone there, she would’ve told you by now. You’re fine! Nothing bad is going to happen…

“That’s a really weird philosophy you boys live by.” Creed tells his companion while scaling up a set of steps to the barricaded doors of the bastion’s main fort. “Hey Boss, is this the place Dallra said we could stay at overnight?” He calls down to you from the top of the small staircase, taking your attention from the growing paranoia you’re feeling down in the courtyard camp. “Place is locked up tighter than Mrs. Claus’ room after Christmas…”

“What?” You glance up at the Heir as he fiddles with the barricade locks.

“Nothing, old joke.” He assures you while striking the top of the locks with the bottom of his Bat a few times. “Ay, Boss, give me a hand with this, would ya?”

“Just a sec.” You sigh, hurrying up the steps to where he and Remmy are. “To answer your question, though; No, this is just a crossing station. I don’t even think there’s any inside to stay at here, anyway. The castle we’re looking for is still a ways up the road from us. Maybe another hour or so left before we get there. Here-“ You explain before stepping in front of him and taking a swing at the lock with Bane. The first hit caves half of the lock face in. You give it another go, completely shattering the metal chains to pieces on the second swing. “Apparently the castle’s pretty nice, too. Huge moat, tall towers, comfy-looking beds.”

“D’s really talking the place up, huh.” Creed hums, sounding excited for the respite. You can’t blame him. Two straight days of fucking walking, it’ll be nice to have a bed that isn’t made of straw and dreams.

While he’s busy fantasizing about your soon-to-be accommodations, you unshackle the chains from the door, freeing it up and pulling them back towards you with the giant rings they’ve got as handles. Standing before you now is a large bridge stretching across an even larger cavern, connecting you with the last stretch of land before you reach your quarry. According to Dallra, there’s an entire continent on LOCAF separated by the cavern you’re about to cross, isolating it from the rest of the planet, connected only by these massive bridges across them. Said it looked like someone drilled into the surface of the planet then covered up the hole they made with an enormous lid. Must’ve been one hell of a war these Consorts had to do this to their world. Or maybe it just came this way when the planet was created, you’ve got no idea. You really wish your daughter was here to give you the scoop on the place. Actually, you just wish your daughter was here in general. You really miss the little tyke…

“This is quite the spectacle, friends.” Remmy says in awe of the sight, taking the first few steps out onto the bridge. The distant sound of rushing water echoes throughout the air here, with a waterfall on the far side of the divide pouring gallons upon gallons of the stuff from who knows where.

“We can sight-see later. For now, let’s just get to the other side of this thing.” You tell them, stepping out as well. Getting a closer look at the bridge now that you’re on it, you realize the materials that make up the structure are some kind of stone vines, as if the black and white floor of the chessboard Land was morphed into the roots of a tree and stretched across the gap separating the two sides of the canyon. A thick ivy covers the outside of the bridge and its railings, making the entire thing look like one big vine. “Weird…” You mutter, observing the unique architecture. “Wonder how they built all this…”

“Built? It probably got generated with the rest of the planet.” Creed tells you as he advances alongside the Consort.

“I don’t think it was…” You slowly follow after, unable to shake the hunch you’re feeling about this.

As the three of you continue on across the bridge, you realize the longer you go that it’s actually an enormous chasm you’re above right now. You’re two or three minutes into the cross and you’re still not even halfway there yet. Just as you’re getting to what you think is around the midway point, you hear a -ding- from your pocket. Looks like Dallra sent you a new message, probably checking in one last time before you get to your destination.

“Hey Boss, how far do you suppose that fall is?” Creed asks as you walk, grabbing your attention while you fish for your phone in your pocket. Looking over at him as your phone dings again, you see as he and Remmy are both glancing over the side of the bridge down at the dark abyss it hangs over, the Consort walking on the railing next to him with a surprising confidence. “I’d say a thousand feet… No idea though.”

“Haven’t got a clue, I’m not a good judge of distance.” You tell him as your phone signals another notification. “Dallra’s messaging me right now, I’m sure she’d know.” Just as you’re finish up with your little side tangent, a sudden flurry of notifications come pouring into your phone before you can unlock the thing, stunning you for a brief moment. At first you think you’ve somehow wandered into a service area in the Arena, and all the notifications that’ve been blocked until now have begun to arrive. You soon realize what’s actually happening when you see the first of the messages being spammed to you.

 

PESTERLOG:

-- quartermastersFallingdown [QF] began pestering senileMinor [SM] at 17:17 --

QF: Ja20n, reaching 0ut t0 let y0u kn0w I’m 2eeing G0dtier m0vement in y0ur general area right n0w.
QF: Her0 0f Breath, ab0ut 65 mile2 0ut fr0m y0u, but 2he 2tarted 0ut 0f n0where and 2he’2 m0ving fa2t.
QF: Be advi2ed, it l00k2 like 2he c0uld po22ibly pa22 y0u and Creed, maybe lay l0w f0r a few minute2.
QF: 2hit, ju2t c0mpared traject0rie2, Breath is 0n a C0lli2i0n C0ur2e f0r y0ur p02iti0n.
QF: DANGER CL0SE
QF: REPEAT, DANGER CL0SE
QF: JA20N L00K AT Y0UR PH0NE!
QF: ENEMY I2 C0NFIRMED HEADING F0R Y0UR DIRECT L0CATI0N
QF: 20 MILE2 0UT
QF: INB0UND LE22 THAN 2 MINUTE2!
QF: GET 0UT 0F THERE, N0W!
QF: JA20N!!!

-- quartermastersFallingdown [QF] ceased pestering senileMinor [SM] at 17:19 --

 

“Boss…” Creed stops, taking a step towards you when he sees the color drain from your face. “What’s wrong?”

“Run…” You mutter, the word as cold as ice as it leaves your lips. “We need to Run!” You burst forward, dodging past your Heir and snatching the Consort from the bridge’s barrier, throwing him over your shoulder as you break out into a full-tilt sprint to the other side of the bridge.

“Gracious!” The Anole cries at the sudden moving of his person.

“Boss! What the hell are we doin’?!” Creed calls after you, surprised at your sudden bolt forward as he hurries to keep up. “What did Dallra say?!”

“Breath Player! On their way here right now!” You glance back as you sprint, seeing Creed take long and low strides, easily catching up with where you are. “Arrival is less than a minute, they know exactly where we are!”

“Are they hostile?” He asks through a rhythm in his breath.

“Doesn’t matter. They can fly and we can’t!” You inform him of the score. “You wanna find out their allegiances while we’re still on this bridge?”

“…” You see from the corner of your eye as Creed looks over the side of the bridge once more, gazing out at the treacherous cavern below. “…ah, Christ!” He curses to himself, quickening his pace as he pulls ahead. Glancing from side to side, your attention scours across the sky, not knowing which direction the threat is coming from. The longer you search, the more you seem to panic, thinking they could appear from anywhere. And then, you spot them, South South-West from your position. They’re only a blip in the sky, but even from a passing glance, you can tell they’re fast approaching your position in an doubtless straight line, making a direct path towards your location.

“Damn, we’re not gonna make it!” You realize, still seeing an entire other half of the bridge before you get to solid ground once again. “Creed! Take Remmy for me and brace yourself!” With a swing, you toss the Consort from your shoulder over to your teammate’s back, freeing up an arm to cast with. Reaching forward with your reclaimed arm, you stretch your temporal influence across the expanse, activating a Complete Close Off and slowing the space around you to a complete stop.

“What the hell’s going on?” Creed glances back as the two of you tear through the greyed out world.

“I’ve stopped the local chronology around us.” You tell him, struggling to keep your composure as you run. You’ve only ever used this ability once, and it was while you were stationary, but judging by how quickly it’s draining your temporal reserves, you can’t imagine you can keep it up for much longer than a minute. “We’re gonna have to double time it, Creed. I don’t know how long I can hold!”

“Understood.” He nods, quietly pulling further and further ahead as you run. Man, he can really book-it. “How long do we have with this?”

“A minute. Two, tops.” You race onward, feeling yourself blow past the halfway point in your reservoir.

“…It doesn’t look like we’ll make it to the other side before then.” Creed notes, doing the simple math to calculate how screwed you are.

“No… it doesn’t.” You agree while trying to figure out how to temper the energy expenditure you’re experiencing. “Judging by how quickly the Breath player got on us, they’re ten seconds away, maybe fifteen.”

“That enough to recharge your stop-watch?” Creed continues to look for another angle.

“Not even close.” You shake your head, beginning to feel winded now.

“Then… we keep ‘em talking long enough until it is.” He resolves.

“That’s a big gamble.” You anxiously tell yourself, already more than familiar with how temperamental some of the psychos in the Arena can be. “But if it’s all we got, we’ll have to make it count!” You steel yourself in the final moments of your Close Off. “Get ready!” You warn as you reach the limit of your cast. Cutting off your ability just before it completely exhausts everything you’ve got, you save just enough for a few snares or dilation plays, and as the world comes back to speed, you begin counting, keeping track of the threat behind you.

 

One

.

.

.

Two

.

.

.

Three

.

.

.

Four

.

.

.

Five

.

.

.

Six

.

.

.

Seven

.

.

.

 

-BOOM-

 

They reached you earlier than you anticipated. The air around you seems to almost erupt with a super-sonic force as the entity pursuing you arrives on scene, breaking the sound barrier with what must have been remarkable ease, kicking up everything around you into a whirlwind in the process. Amidst the chaos, the powerful gales nearly sweeps you away, as if you were nothing before their might. You actually feel your legs lift up off the ground, and only by the grace of a split-second reaction do you not go flying off the bridge like yesterday’s trash when you sink the pick of Bane of All Mountains into the stone below you, anchoring yourself in place. Glancing over as the hurricane winds rampage throughout the area, you spot Creed and Remmy the moment they’re whisked from their feet.

“Boss!” Creed calls out to you.

“Shit!” You reach back, your good hand still holding firm to your pick while you trap the two of them in a Time Knot, anchoring them in place before they can leave your reach. With them taken care of, you hold fast to your pickaxe, praying to whatever the hell is out there that your grip doesn’t give out.

The whirlwind lasts another few seconds before it dies out enough to drop you back down to the bridge again. On stable ground once more, you look up at the individual responsible for nearly plummeting your team to their deaths, and you see there floating in the sky, the Witch of Breath, a cyclone coursing around her, keeping her aloft in her place above you. Shit…

Releasing your Time Knot, Creed and his Consort come spilling out, falling to the bridge beneath them with no propelling wind left to keep them up. Creed lands partially prone, catching himself by his hands before he can completely fall to the ground, Remmy still riding atop his back. He looks up at you, seeming to realize instantly what’s happened. You nod up at your opponent in the sky, and that frantic surprise on his face conceals itself to a neutral steadiness, understanding that the situation requires a level head.

“Boss…” Creed whispers to you, his voice barely able to break through the whipping winds dominating the area around you, swirling around the bridge like a wind tunnel. “What’s your recharge looking like?”

“Even slower than I thought it’d be after keeping you and Remmy in place…” You whisper back to him as he stands up straight beside you, looking up at the Witch. She’s a Troll. And by the look of those winds, you’d say she’s Highblood. Some kind of dark purple or violet color, long fin-like ears flapping at the sides of her head as well. “We’re gonna be cutting this close.”

“Hmhmhmhmhm.” You hear the Witch chuckle to herself as the winds die down enough for her voice to cut through them. “My, my! I wasn’t expectfin there to be so many of yas! That sea bass only mentioned just the one!” Hesitantly, Creed glances over to you, checking one last time before he does his thing.

“Who are you?!” He calls up to the Sea Dweller, neutral but firm in his tone. “…What do you want?!”

“My fronds, my name is Scylla Hardis, and I am here to whisk you away to your next Grand adventure!” She explains herself, slowly lowering from her hover in the sky down to the bridge before you all. “You see, I’ve been in dire need of carpanions just like you two buoys ever since my last little prawn got lured away by some angler beach in gold. You can even bring that scalebeast with you too! Whaddaya say fellas, you’ll kelp a gill out, won’t ya?”

“……Adventure?” Creed asks back after a moment of pause. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he doesn’t know what to make of the weird fish girl before you. However you do know better, and you’re willing to bet that he’s simply buying time for your reservoir to fill back up again with his slow-talker routine. With how fast she is, trapping her in a snare will be a bit tricky. If you can just slip past her, though, you could strife without worry of the thousand foot drop below you, giving you enough time to play the odds in a fight against her. Two-on-one with your roster would be tough against a powerhouse like a Breath Witch, but with enough strategy, you’re confident you could crack her defenses. It’s just getting by her that’s the problem…

“Yes, of course! I’d take you all across the Lands of this lovely cove we’ve all been marooned in, seaing the sights and vanquishing foes as we go!” The Witch continues with a chipper inflection, like she’s too excited to contain herself. “Our treasure? The last spot on the ship outta this lobster stand! Unfortunately, I’ll have to be the one to clam the prize in the end, but I’m sure you buoys will have a fintastic time up until then, right?”

“Is she… trying to recruit us?” You ask your Heir, a bit caught off-guard by her proposition. Please, God, tell you this isn’t how you look from the other side of things! Like some psychopath dropping out of the sky ordering people to join you…

“That’s… quite kind of you, and all, Miss Scylla. Really, we’re flattered you’d come all this way just to ask us, but, you see, we’re already with another group.” Creed begins, trying to turn down the girl’s offer without directly setting her off. “So unfortunately, we already have a previous commitment in regards to alliances.”

“Oh, I already know that!” She eagerly nods, like she’s heard this all before. “That’s how I know you’ll be useful! My ocean friend told me this one was quite the brawler. A boon to my efforts, he said.” Turning her attention to your side of the bridge, the Witch seems to focus in on you directly, bearing her razored teeth at you in some horrifying approximation of a smile. “One who could Move Fate itself!”

“Ocean friend?” You call over this time, seeing as you’re the apparent reason for her being here.

“A great and powerful fauna of the deep! A mutual friend of ours, I’m told.” She tells you. “The Dream Summoner.” The words echo throughout your mind upon hearing them. Dream Summoner. You know who she’s talking about immediately. You swear to god, you will fry that fish when you see him next! “But just because he only told me about Page-buoy here doesn’t mean you two can’t come along as well!” She turns to Creed again, with Remmy peeking out over his shoulder.

“If we’re already acquainted, well… perhaps we could travel together, then.” Creed suggests in a conversational equivalent to defanging a snake, er-… sea-serpent. “You see, our group is always looking for new members, and one who can travel as fast as you could save us a lot of trouble in the future.”

“Oh yeah?” The Witch tilts her head to the side at Creed, inthralled by his suggestion.

“That’s right.” Your boy nods.

“Now tell me, what is it exactly that your little school does?” The Witch continues, swapping the direction her head tilts in to her other shoulder as she looks on at him.

“Well…” He glances over at you, as if looking for approval to discuss the plan with a stranger. You agree without hesitation. “We’re preparing for an escape. Bringing people together who can figure out how to make it so we don’t have to kill our way out. We’re actually gonna be speaking with this Dream Summoner about possible solutions for problems with a rival group we’ve been having.”

“What, like a peace talk?" The Witch rests her fists against her hips. "Hmm… Nah, that sounds tidally boring. Let’s go do something fun instead!”

“Uh, this is… sort of an important thing we have to take care of, though.” Creed stumbles in his speech, caught off-guard at her ability to seemingly shrug off his suggestions. “Maybe on our way back, we could make a small detour?” He says aloud, looking back to you for support. “What do you think, Boss?”

“Boss?” The Witch responds before you can give your two cents. “Looks like you fellas have been adrift at sea too long. Sorry to break it to you chumps so abrupt-like, but I’m Captain of these waters. First Mates ain’t got a say in the direction we sail, the Wind takes us to our next Adventure! Those are the rules if you’re on my Crew.”

“I-… I’m sorry then, Miss Scylla, but if that’s the case, we’ll have to turn your offer down.” Creed gently breaks the news to the Loon. “Like I said before, we have important business to attend to ourselves, and unfortunately don’t have times for any adventures at the moment.”

“...I’m certainly sorry to be herring that.” The Witch sighs, her smile disappearing into a sulking frown. Is that it then? Is she really willing to drop her intentions, just like that?

“If that’s all… I suppose we’ll be going now.” Creed cautiously declares. “If you’d excuse us.” He gestures that he wants to get past.

“It’s a shame I couldn’t get you doofishes to come whalingly.” The Witch drifts off to the side of the bridge, wistful of some unseen ideal as she allows you to go by. Hesitantly, you both take a step forward, thinking everything’s resolved. “……Buuut…” She steps forward again, blocking your path. “In all honesty, I wasn’t reelly askfin'.” Regaining her smile, your opponent, and without a doubt she is an opponent now, invokes an insurmountable wind around her, the air surrounding the bridge exploding into furious sound and power!

“Boss, move!” Creed warns from beside you, dodging further back on the bridge. Before you can react, you feel the wind coil around you, its slip stream tightening across your body until it completely incarcerates you form in place, as though you were swallowed up by cement. To your side, you spot as Creed crouches down low, grabbing hold of the stone vines of the bridge to secure himself against the typhoon coursing against him. Suddenly, he throws himself to the left, behind you. In his place, a vortex of wind collapses in on where he was just standing before bursting out again in an explosion of force.

“What the hell… is happening!” You grunt as you try to force past the wind barrier surrounding you.

“I don’t know!” Creed says, diving past and rolling across the space in front of you, Remmy still hanging tightly to his back like a scared cat. Behind you, an explosive gust booms, slamming against your back and echoing throughout your chest cavity. Yeah, that’s probably gonna be some internal damage. Springing back to his feet, your Heir spins his Bat into a defensive pose, readied for the next vortex to come. “Whatever it is, it’s driving my senses crazy!” He continues, spinning around as he jukes to the side, out of the way from another attack.

Continuing to push forward, you manage to force your hand down to secure your grip on Bane of All Mountains, but beyond that, you’re stuck. It’s like you’re neck deep in quicksand! Unable to push past the wind, you’re helpless to watch as Creed dodges and dives, only just avoiding the incarcerating effect of the winds the Witch slashes at him. Behind him, Remmy looks surprisingly calm for what’s going on, a stoic expression on his face. You really can’t shake that monk, huh…

On one juke too late, your Heir pivots in place, seeming to know he’ll be unable to dodge out of the way of the Witch’s grasp. With a windup already built into his canceled-maneuver, Creed twists into a swing with his bat as he bails out of the juke, cracking the center mass of the wind itself, knocking it out of the park like a fly ball, nearly bouncing it back at the Witch! The hell is that Bat made out of? Evading her own attack, Scylla strifes to the left, completely off the side of the bridge while taking flight in a near seamless transition into the sky. Now mobile, the Witch races circles around your platform, spiraling around it like a corkscrew, trying to confuse Creed with the speed of her strafe. Keeping pace, Creed centers himself, focusing entirely on defending against the bombardment, repositioning only slightly when adjusting for the incoming attacks.

Zipping around you like a shark, or maybe more like a buzzing mosquito, the Witch bombards the bridge with air blasts as she soars by overhead. Creed is going at triple time keeping up with deflecting the attacks, evoking a strangely metallic -ping- every time he bats the vortexes away. On one particularly close dive, the Witch of Breath crosses too far into range of your team’s only combatant, and having foreseen this opportunity it seems, Creed bolts forward, finding the Sea Dweller just as she leaps over the bridge like a dolphin out of the water, catching her surprise with his presence before her and cracking her across the jaw with the firmest swing you’re seen from him yet. The momentum she’d been moving with carries her the rest of the way off the bridge, and you see her plummet into the ravine, not coming back again.

“Not…. Done…!” You rasp, finding it harder and harder to breathe with the winds whipping around you. Yet still, you press on, taking your second step forward since being locked down by the Witch’s Magic. Damn it! This is why you wanted to go alone! If it was just you here, you could’ve Checkpointed back to the monastery and called it mission failed, but with Creed alongside you, his presence in the jump would weigh you down and scrape you against the timestream. The first time it happened with Dallra ended up fine, but that was back when your Regeneration was still working at 300%, and even then Sara still had to heal you. Since waking up on LOCAL, your regen has been slowing down, taking days on injuries that should only be minutes at most. On top of that, you didn’t even bother setting a Checkpoint at the monastery after Creed proposed the Consort Idea. The only one you have in the Arena is back on LOPAW, days away from your Home Base! Whichever way you look at it, you’re fucked! Stupid, stupid, stupid! You fucking idiot, why didn’t you think of this?!?!

“Hold on, Boss! I’m gonna get you out of there!” Creed assures you as he arrives before your prison, taking a few heavy breaths as he looks over the winds coursing across your form. “Okay… okay, I’ll just…!” Reaching into the slipstream around you, Creed groans in pain as he attempts to peel the very wind itself off of you, the force of the ethereal chains ripping into his hands as he does so. At the same time, you fight against the effect keeping you in place, feeling as though the air around you was made of iron. Even Remmy pitches in, sacrificing the scales on his hand to help pull you free. After an agonizing few attempts, though, the three of you manage to disrupt the wind around your swinging arm enough to dispel the magic keeping it in place. Not much, but it’s a start!

“I tried being nice, but if that’s how you want to flay it, fine!” You hear echo on the wind. Oh no… “If you won’t come willingly, then I guess I’ll just have to force your hand.” Before you or Creed can get any other part of you free, a cascade of roaring winds explodes out from the chasm below you, ripping and tearing at everything around you until finally, the gales grow powerful enough to take Creed off his feet, sending him soaring up into the sky.

“Creed!!!” You call, helplessly watching him fly higher and higher until you can hardly see him.

“Agree to be my thrall and I’d be happy to catch him.” You spot the Witch as she floats up from the abyss, face bloodied violet and with a sour expression. “If not, well… you know where the floor is!” Oh fuck, oh Fuck! This isn’t good! Before realizing, you’ve already casted Time Dilation, stretching what little time Creed has out to its fullest. (45 sec. your time =1 sec. local time). Okay, you have room to breathe. Come on, Jason. Think! You’ve got to act fast! What can you do though?! Your swinging hand is free. That means…

Shakily, you jerk Bane of All Mountains back in your grasp, choking up your grip until you’ve got it by the neck. Carefully now, you bring it’s point towards you, carving into the wind and attempting to peel it from your frame. Come on, work… This has to Work! Shit! Even slowed, the wind is still coursing too fast! The force of it nearly knocks Bane from your hands as it kicks your pick back out. Come on, think! There’s a way… There has to be a way!!

 

***

 

Her fist collides with the bridge of your nose, and you go tumbling to the floor as your legs give out.

“Fuck!” You shout, grabbing your face with one hand while propping yourself up on the ground with another. She’ll be on you again, you have to get back up!

Looking back at your opponent to see where she is in her advance on your place in the dirt, you find the girl just standing there, looking down at you with a dissatisfied twist on her lips. She’s not going to attack again? What the hell, every time she’s got you on the ground, she usually follows up with a kick or a finishing jab or something. What's the deal now? Reaching up to her face, the girl wipes the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.

“I’m calling it there. That’s ten-and-oh.” She says with a sigh.

“Calling it? What the fuck are you talking about, I’m still ready to go!” You say, forcing yourself up to your feet again, throwing a few arcing jabs to stretch your shoulder out. “Look, see?”

“I don’t doubt that you’re a sufficiently adequate punching bag, Ryder, but since I’ve actually started taking our sparring matches seriously, you haven’t landed a single hit.” She makes up off the cuff, the lying trollop.

“Fuck you ‘taking it seriously’. You got lucky is all!” You inform her, putting the last few matches out of your mind. “I’m still ready to fight, so let’s fight!”

“....” She just looks at you, raising an eyebrow in smug judgment. Fuckin’ infuriates you!

“Hm!” You grunt, turning away from the bitch and dropping back down to the ground, cross-legged. So much for teaching you anything useful.

“Look, you obviously don’t have a good grasp on hand-to-hand combat, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still fight.” She says while walking over to you, coming around to your front and extending a hand to help you up. You glare at it skeptically before crossing your arms at her. Fool you once, can’t get fooled again, bitch! She retracts the ‘helping hand’ with a shrug. “How about we outfit you with something a little more easier to defend yourself with.” Taking a step back from you, the girl invokes some kind of glowing purple board to appear in her hands. More illusion magic? Suddenly though, she breaks the thing over her knee and the pieces evaporates in her grasp. Conjured then, as if summoned by her weird fucking hoodoo incantation, are three… samurai swords? Appearing upright in the air, the swords hover a moment before they fall blades-first into the ground, piercing into the dirt like the starting links of a fence at the space before you.

“…What the hell are those?” You ask in unimpressed annoyance after getting a closer look at the hunks of junk. They seemed cool at first glance, but on a closer inspection, you see they have these dopey hearts built into their handles right before they connect with the blade.

“Your new weapons of choice.” She declares with a smile.

“You’re fucking with me.” You conclude.

“Little bit. Pick ‘em up.” She orders, nodding to the swords. With a sigh, you get back up from the ground and glance across your selection of weaponry. You don’t really know how to use a sword, but it can’t be that hard, right? And if you have two, that’s like double the damage! Despite all three of the items being identical, you eventually determine which pair are the least fucking stupid and claim them for yourself, inspecting the blades in each of your hands. Seems sharp enough, you guess. “All of them.” The girl clarifies her demands.

“…” With a grimace and a sigh, you reach down to the third blade she’s stuck in the dirt and awkwardly grab hold of it with your already full right hand, struggling to hold the two at once. “How the hell am I supposed to wield this garbage?!”

“Fuck if I know.” She shrugs, her hands folded across her chest as she looks on at your struggle with amusement. “The person I got ‘em off of died before I could see them use it properly.” You look at her a moment, not quite sure if you heard her right. Did she kill some schmuck just to take their shit? “Figure it out.”

“Figure it out? The fuck is that supposed to mean!?” You grumble, looking down at the burdensome load you’ve been saddled with. She’s just using you to get rid of her garbage, isn’t she? “No one can use three swords at once!”

“Sounds like a you problem. All I know is you can’t be any worse at it then you are at boxing.” She smugly grins.

“It’s impossible.” You break it to the nut-job.

“If you think it’s impossible, then it is.” She rambles at you, not making any sense. “Listen up, buttercup; there’s alway a way forward. It might not be a straight path like you’re used to, it might not be the conventional way everyone does it by, but there’s always a way. You hit a wall, then bust right through it, but whatever you do, you keep moving forward.”

“Fine.” You concede to her nonsense, if only to shut her up. Turning back to the weapons, you continue to fumble with them as you try to cobble together some kind of technique to implement that doesn’t make you look like a total loser. “Hey, I don’t have a belt to hook these onto, so where am I supposed to put the swords when I’m not using them?”

“Here.” She tosses some kind of card at you, causing you to nearly cut yourself as you have to press the thing to your chest to catch it with the rest of your hands full. Once you compose yourself enough, you manage to grab hold of the card with the tips of your fingers in your one-sword-hand, taking a look at it. It’s a green card with a picture of three pixely swords on it, like it’s from a video game or something. The top of the card says strife specibus and the bottom says 3xBladekind.

“The hell am I supposed to do with this?” You look back to the girl, annoyed that she’s still pawning junk off on you. What is this, a trading card or something?

“For fuck’s sake.” She rubs the side of her head, turning to walk away. “Fuck around with your strife deck, see if you can’t think your way out of that paper bag.” She tells you while beginning to descend the stairs, raising her voice the further she gets from you. “Keep at that, I’ll be back in a few. And remember; if your first attempt doesn’t work, always look for another angle. And whatever you do, keep moving forward.”

“Another angle…” You mutter to yourself, looking down at all the crap you’re awkwardly holding. Fine, if she wants to give you a bullshit challenge, then you’re more than ready to kick the shit out of it! 3xblade Style, let’s go!

 

***

 

You’re running out of time. Even with your Time Dilation, the inevitable is on its way down in the form of your friend’s splattering death. There has to be a way! Looking around at what you’ve got still, you find that nothing’s changed! All you have is a single arm and your pick, but with how fast the winds are coursing, you aren’t powerful enough to… wait, Power!

Channeling a flooding torrent of Temporal Energies into Bane of All Mountains, the exhaust vents at its sides fly open, pouring out the burning fury of time-made-manifest. With it, the Pickaxe has entered an empowered state. The only problem being you were gripping your pick directly over where the excess heat is exiting. In other news… FUUUUUCK THIS HURTS!!!

Working fast before your own weapon can melt the skin off your hand, you take your now endowed armament and put it to task, stripping the wind imprisoning you like a hot knife in butter! You manage to free your chest and other arm easily enough, but between the energy you placed into Bane and what you’ve been using since the Witch arrived, you’re bordering extremely close to emptying your reservoir again.

Trying to hurry your progress as you begin to really feel the burn on your hand, you move on to the wind binding your legs. Peeling the magic from your thighs first, you only get so far into your left leg before you reach your limit, temporal energies running dry and kicking you out of Dilation, back into normal Time. As the world comes back to speed, you’re struck with a consequence you hadn’t anticipated up until now. While time was slowed, so too was the pain you were feeling from Bane’s exhaust vent. With chronology back to normal, the burning pain inflicted onto you over the course of minutes hits you all at once, and you’re left in shock of the searing scorch destroying your hand. And then it happens.

Your grip slips. And in the instant you let go of Bane, the winds it was carved into send it slamming down into the bridge below. In an instant, the Kinetic Energy that had built up inside the pick detonates, decimating the structure of the bridge and crumbling the stretch of platform you’re on to pieces. And as the ground beneath you falls into the dark below, the bindings on your legs keep you locked in place, floating high in the sky above. Too stunned to react, you watch as the fragments of the bridge, along with your Pickaxe, begin their descent down into the ravenous cavern, sinking into a nothingness that consumes them without thought. It isn’t until you hear Creed’s cry as he goes plummeting by that you snap out of it and realize you have to do something! You can’t let it end here! Everything lost in an instant! Think… Think! There has to be another way! Another Angle! THINK!

 

BOSS! FOR GOD’S SAKE

USE YOUR FULL TIME STOP!

 

You hear Creed shout as he plummets. Your body moves on instinct, possessed by a force compelling you to Act. Reaching down, you focus your influence across the air surrounding your legs. All of a sudden, the forces anchoring you in the sky evaporates into thin air, having been frozen in time.

“W-.. Woah, Shi-…” Your upper half is the first one to go, tipping over and flipping you out of your chains, leaving you in Free Fall. “SHIIIT!”

 

YOUR ROCKET GEAR! DEPLOY YOUR ROCKET GEAR!

 

You hear Creed call again, his voice echoing so loudly through the wind that it sounds like he’s directly next to you as he speaks. Without a second beat, you dive into your inventory, frantically searching for your supplies. Catalog #5; Rocket Boots + Gloves, Section 5x1 maybe? Shit, you hope this is right! Scouring the maze your Fetch Modus generates, you move through the labyrinth as though you already know the way to its end, the path coming to you as naturally as a bird’s flight south comes to them. Right, Left, Left, Right, Straight, Right, Straight, Left, Straight, it’s there! Thank Christ! You deploy your gear, the boots and gloves equipping to their proper places, causing you to wince as the gloves appear upon your scorched hand. You put the pain out of your mind for now, and focus on the extinction event before you.

Straightening yourself out, you blast down into the abyss, speeding ahead to Creed and Remmy before they can hit the ground. Swerving in and out, you dodge around all the debris of the bridge in the way of your fall, with some of the smaller chunks of stone being flung about by the wind the Witch has kicked up in the cavern. Rocketing down at the highest output your gear can accommodate for, you feel the inferno behind you as your boots and gloves spew pillars of hellfire to catch you up with your teammate.

“Boss!” Creed calls when he sees you giving chase, his Consort still clinging to him as they fall.

“Captchalogue Remmy and jump into my head! We’re getting out of here!” You order as you continue to push your gear to its limit. Glancing at the Consort, Creed files the lizard into his inventory without hesitation before turning back to you, the outlines of his shape beginning to spark and jitter as his body turns to Lightning. Arcing upwards, Creed’s electric form extends at his torso, stretching up to you and closing the gap as he reaches out to make contact with your temple. You feel the static run across your face as bolts of tiny lightning extend off his hand like a tesla coil, and you feel the electricity in the air as he merges with your-

I Don’t

/

Think So

A sudden slash of wind cuts between you, separating your party before Creed can enter your Mind as well as knocking him out of Electric Mode in the process. Spiraling through the air before you, Creed manages to stabilize himself just as you burst forward one final time, crashing into him mid-air. You’re nearly strangled at the momentum in which he grabs onto you, hooking around your neck with the bend in his elbow. However, you don’t have time to complain before another hurricane explodes from beneath you, the cavern becoming dominated by an updraft that flings the both of you flying upwards.

“Creed! The hell are you doing?! Get in already!” You shout, barely able to get your voice heard over the wind. You see from the arm he’s got hooked around you that Creed enters into his electric form once again, and yet he remains on your back as you fly. Doing your best to stabilize, you flail a short amount, directing your blasters every which way in an attempt to level out, but still you’re left at the mercy of the wind.

“I’m trying! It’s like there’s something separating me from your cognition!” He shouts back as the two of you are kicked up and up and UP into the sky, giving you an entire view of the chessboard Land. “It’s not letting me merge!” Finally getting a somewhat decent footing with your jets, you blast forward, landing against and latching onto a piece of bridge debris as it’s launched miles into the air alongside you.

“What do you mean it’s not letting you merge?!” You look back at the Heir on your shoulders.

“I mean it’s not lettin’ me fuckin’ merge!” He frantically repeats. “I’m locked out!”

“Fuck!” You say more for yourself at this point. Looking around, you try your best to find your opponent in the clutter of the sky, but come up empty-handed. “Where the hell’s the Witch at?! You see her?!”

“She’s down below still!” Creed tells you, looking down at the cavern you’d just come from. “She’s using the ravine like one enormous lung, pushing and pulling the drafts around! The force is too powerful to escape even at its zenith, she’ll have us dead-to-rights stuck in this current unless we do something!” As you search the darkness below you looking for your opponent, a sudden force suddenly jerks you to a near stop, before you’re hurled back down to the ground at an eye-watering speed. She’s changed directions, bringing you down again. Not good, she’s just toying with you at this point! As you’re busy frantically scouring your surroundings, looking for any angle that’ll get you out of this mess, a familiar shine catches your eye as it hurtles past you, caught in the downdraft. It’s Bane of All Mountains!

“We need more weight…” You say to yourself, realizing what to do.

“Boss?!” Creed says, just loud enough to hear over the wind.

“We need more weight to carry us down!” You tell him. “Hand on!” Leaping forward on rocket-propelled determination, you bound from bridge fragment to bridge fragment, advancing your approach until you catch up with your Pickaxe, grabbing hold of the armament as you catch it mid-dive. Now arms, you aim yourself straight down and kick your rocket boots into overdrive, further accelerating your descent into a straight on meteor crash!

“What are you Doing?!” Creed shouts at the top of his lungs, only coming in as a whisper between the wind whipping past your ears and the roar of your rockets.

“I HAVE NO IDEA!!” You bellow out as you pour a Mountain-Shattering level of energy into Bane, the exhaust vents flying open as jets of burning flames spark from its sides.

Down and Down and Down you go, until finally, you reach your destination, the top of the cavern and the edge of the continent you were crossing to before this bitch caught you with your pants down. With all your might, you swing down into the lip of the cliffside, right where that waterfall you’d seen began, and unleashed from your pickaxe is the Full Totality of your Power, cascading across the land and shattering the entire half of the chasm you’d struck. You burrow through the small ledge of rock you were originally on a crash course for in an instant, emerging out into the cavern once again. Plummeting down still, you hit the breaks, captchaloguing Bane and using all four of your thrusters to cut your descent! You still fall, pulled down by the Witch’s influence, but behind you, the entire shelf of the mountain you’d smashed through breaks off from the whole of the continent, a gargantuan weight that’ll carry you straight out of Sea Dweller’s clutches!

Catching up with you, the rock shelf almost gently matches your descent, allowing you to use it as a platform to maneuver with against the raging winds dominating the area. Hurrying along, you take a series of jet-propelled jumps forward along the bottom of the enormous mass, making your way to the eastern end of the Land fragment, planning to use the collision it creates as cover to break free from the cycling gale that’s been juggling you. Just in time for the impact, you and Creed get to the very tip of the behemoth as it slams into the bottom of the chasm with a crashing orchestra of shattering stone! You take off at full throttle on your rockets as soon as you feel yourselves carried past the wind barrier by the landmass, launching yourselves to freedom as you zoom across the small river that’s collected at the lower level of the ravine. A faint mist now blows against your face as you fly, chilling you as it’s kicked up from the waters below.

“Boss! You think you can keep this up until we get to the portal?!” Creed asks while still atop your back, referring to your flying with the rocket gear. You hadn’t realized it up until now, but you gotta say, you’ve been using these things a lot better than you ever have before. It’s coming almost instinctively at this point.

“I think so, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to program the portal fast enough!” You inform him, realizing he’s saying you should try and shake the Witch’s tail on you with the LOFASM Gateway.

“Then we won’t! It doesn’t matter where we land, we just need to put some distance between us and her! We can recompose ourselves wherever it is we end up!” He assures you as you soar above the river.

“Alright… alright, let’s make a break for it!” You nod, adjusting course and shooting straight up out of the canyon, a heavy inertia hitting you with the directional change. Once you’re out into open air, you search your surroundings, looking for where the castle Dallra had told you about is on the horizon. Spotting the structure off in the distance, you make haste, shooting forward towards salvation. It doesn’t last long, unfortunately.

“You guys are bein’ reel shellfish right now!” You hear as the Witch seems to catch up to you in an instant, reappearing in the strife for the first time since you brought the bridge down. Slashing at you, your opponent hurls a Cyclone, and entire Fucking Tornado at you as if it couldn’t even break a sweat for her. And while you’ve had a lucky bout of proficiency with your rocket gear up until now, you stand no chance against the rampaging winds that sweep you away in an instant. Creed nearly strangles you as he fights to hold on, and you’re helpless to watch as you’re blown miles off course in the span of mere seconds, the chessboard a blur of grey below you.

“SHIIIIIIIIIIT!!!” You shout in protest as the two of you are spirited away. Unable to compensate while still trapped in the cyclone, you’re at the mercy of the direction the Witch threw you in. And merciful it is not, crashing you down with the full force you were launched at, the skin of your elbows and shoulder scraped into a bloody mess as you slide across the ground, eventually slowing to a stop as the momentum wears off of you. Lying there what feels like an eternity, but you know to be only a second or two, you’re paralyzed by the agonizing pain coursing through your nervous system, letting out a few rasping gasps as you stare up at the sky. Your body didn’t even have the courtesy to send you into shock…

“You okay, Boss?” You hear Creed ask from somewhere beyond your sight.

“Yeah… Yeah, I think I just need a minute…” You call back to your teammate, disregarding the crippling vertigo tormenting your person. After a quick moment like this, you take a few quick and deep breaths in before forcing yourself upright. The pain is hot and panic-inducing. The type of pain your body uses to let you know something is indisputably damaged in you. That something vital is broken.

“Here, let me help you.” Creed says, appearing by your side as he attempts to assist you in staying upright. “We don’t have much time before-, Jesus!” He suddenly exclaims, catching your focus which had been slipping. “Boss, your arms!” Glancing down at what he’s referring to, you find that both of your arms are broken, your right with a compound fracture, and your left being twisted up like a pretzel.

“Oh yeah, look at that.” You say, realizing that your body actually did send you into shock, as you don’t feel these breaks at all. “Don’t worry about that, I think I did that when I caused the rockslide.” Gazing around in a daze, you scan your surroundings and find that despite being blown half a world away off-course, you’ve somehow ended up within the territory of a different feudal lord, with another castle off in the distance, maybe an hour’s walk from where you are right now. So driven to get to your destination, only to end up at the foot of another, not unalike in kind… You find it poetic, but that could just be the concussion talking.

“She’s gonna be coming after us, Boss. You won’t be able to fight like this.” Creed tells you as he looks off at the horizon you’d just came from, anticipating the Witch to come storming in any second now. You can see on his face as he runs through the scenarios, trying to find your best course of action to get out of this.

“Don’t sweat it.” You tell him, reaching over with your least mangled arm and invoking a Damage Turn-Back for your broken bones. Appearing before your hand is a cog construct, which you grab hold of, struggling to turn the thing as you begin to push beyond your limiter, digging into your vitality as the recoil bounces back on you, healing your exteriors as it eats at your inner core. The pain is groaning, sending your midsection into a spasming mess as you go further and further past your limits. By the rate it’s going, you’re not sure if you’ll be able to fully heal both arms before you give out… “You know,” You continue on as you watch your bones slip back into place with a calmness that surprises even yourself. “I think getting our asses kicked would be a lot less embarrassing if it wasn’t for the fact that our opponent was making fucking fish puns the entire time they did it.”

“By all means,” A voice booms. Suddenly, from the corner of your eye, you see as something is slipped over Creed’s head, hooking around his throat and snatching him away from your side in the split of a second. “If you have any other gimmicks you think I could pull off, I’m open to suggestions.” With a rising chill crawling up your spine, you turn in the direction your ally was taken in, finding behind you the Witch of Breath, hanging aloft in the sky above you like a shark in still waters, cold, dead eyes staring down at you. In the hand by her side, the Troll holds an Obsidian Rope, and at its end, wrapped in the tangling grasp, is the Heir of Mind, held in the air by the Noose around his neck.

“GAK! AGH!” Creed gurgles as the entirety of his weight is placed upon his throat, strangling the Heir. Below him, his feet kick wildly through the void as he tries to find footing in a bottomless eternity. Above him, he claws against his bindings, trying in vain to get a hand between the rope and his neck. And all the while, the Witch smiles razors at you, the wide, toothy grin of a predator.

“CREED!” You shout, your jets revving into an explosive rage. Standing up to launch yourself at the Sea Troll, you’re stopped in place as a Vortex encapsulates the area you’ve landed in, confining both you and the Witch within a spiraling madness of biting winds. As the squall hits you once again, it’s as if you’ve been struck with a harpoon, the air being sucked from your very lungs, leaving you a gasping, useless mess as you’re suffocated within the sphere. With no more strength left to fight with, you fall to your knees, forced to grovel upon the chessboard floor as nothing more than a pawn. You grab at the ground before you, the pathetic display of protest all you can muster as your spirit itself is ripped out of your body.

Looking up once more, you watch as your friend’s frame fluctuates, flicking back and forth from his normal body into his Electric form as he attempts to escape from his encroaching death, unable to fully transform with some unseen force trapping him within his mortal failings. And almost like a panicked animal being soothed by a tamer, slowly Creed’s thrashings begin to lessen, becoming weaker and less frantic, and a look of unknowing confusion comes across his face. In the unwinding of his fight, he lets a hand fall limply down by his side, the other only holding onto the rope around his neck out of what must be reflex alone.

“Moment of truth, buoys.” The Witch cackles as she holds Creed up next to herself. “You willin’ to play ball yet?” Every inch of you screams in agony as you try and fail to fight your way off the ground, lungs lit aflame and burning with the torment of breathlessness, the animal panic of something vital denied accelerating your mind to the point it can’t think straight. You try to freeze the air around you, to dispel the winds with a Full Time Stop once again, but you’ve expended everything. Your reserves completely dry, your vitality too decimated to draw from. You are helpless.

“ah… aah….” Is all you’re able to rasp out, using up the last shreds of oxygen left in your shriveled bellowsacs. If it was meant to be a curse against the Witch’s name, or a concession to her ownership over you, you know not. Advance or Abscond, Rebel or Bow Down, all you know is that it was all you had left in you. With nothing more, your head presses against the ground beneath you, and your senses are lost to the wind.

 

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*tap*

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*tap*

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*tap*

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*tap*

 

You don’t realize you hear it the first few times it comes, but a quiet tapping appears behind you, piercing through the overwhelming sounds of the whirlwind. Footsteps... Someone is… approaching…? From your prostrated place on the ground, you glance behind yourself, spotting a figure, upside down along with the rest of the world. A figure dressed in dark shades of red and brown, who wears a mantle and cape, and a jester’s cap beneath a rusty crown. Their face is covered, hidden by a mask bearing a Blood player’s Slash. With an effortless strut, the figure walks through the typhoon the way a gentleman would a pleasant park on a sunny day, unaffected by the wind that dominates the space. As if the mere implication that he should be restrained an insult to his stature.

“Huh…?” The Witch gazes down at the man, finally taking note of his presence in her dominion. Eventually, this stranger stops his stride when he reaches the space beside you, glancing down at your sorry display on the ground. Suddenly, a voice cuts through the gale, a whisper so quiet, his words should have never reached you over the sounds of the tempest. And yet, the whirlwind is drowned out over the presence of his gentle inflection, the world dampening to let you hear him.

“Seems you’re in over your head, huh, Pinky?” A familiar voice comes from behind the mask. Your eyes widen as you realize who it is who’s found you. Reaching up to the mask that conceals his face, the individual grabs hold of his disguise, removing the Blood-brand and dropping it to the floor beside you as he reveals his visage to the world. “Suppose I don’t mind helping out then.” Above you, it seems the Witch is just as surprised as you are, a shocked look on her face as she sees who it is that’s appeared before you all.

“…Fin?” Is all she can say before the Bard of Blood lashes out, a chain of pure midnight launched forward at the Sea Dweller, lassoing her by the neck as the metal of his weapon swings taught around her throat. With a powerful jerk, the Bard rips the Witch out of the sky, like a fisherman pulling his prey from the sea. She goes crashing to the ground, kicking up a plume of dust upon impact, one final burst of air created by her as the suffocating vortex around you dissipates, her concentration broken by the attack. Unrestricted now, you take a deep gasp in before hacking it back up again, your lungs unprepared to be filled so quickly. With his quarry on his level now, the Bard of Blood advances towards the crash site, finding the Witch in a compromised state as she tries desperately to remove the chain from around her neck. “H-hey, wait, Finny! D-don’t you recognize me? I-I-It’s me, Scylla!” She desperately holds a hand up seeing his approach, the growing nervousness on her face becoming more and more apparent. "I-i-it's Me! It's Me!"

“I know.” The Bard tells her before grabbing hold of the chain yoked around her throat and pulling it taught.

The struggle only lasts a few seconds, the Witch caught by surprise attempting to break the binding, the Bard only strengthening his grip and digging the chain into her neck flesh, making it clear escape has been closed off to her. And then, the fight is over. The Witch goes limp, and the Bard continues to choke a few moments longer, ensuring she remains that way, until finally satisfied that enough is enough, he loosens his strangle and untightens the chain. With nothing left to keep her up, the Witch of Breath falls to the ground, lifeless. You look on in awe of the scene before you, stunned as how quickly the Bard had dispatched your opponent, until the moment is broken when you notice your Heir just a ways beyond the corpse your savior made of the Witch. Hurrying as fast as your fatigued body can take you, you stumble over as you try to get up, settling for half-crawling until you reach Creed’s side. Looking him over, you find a corpse half-made himself, unconscious and with the Witch’s Obsidian Rope embedded partially into his throat. You remove the binding from around him, a few strands of blood sticking to the Rope as it’s pulled off. In it’s wake, a deep indentation sits carved into the Heir’s neck, blackened a dark red from the force placed there.

“Shit… Creed, can you hear me?!” You call to him, to no response. Okay, okay, you can still fix this. Mustering every bit of nerve you’ve got, you cast a Damage Turn-Back, summoning a cog to your hand, still with your rocket glove on. It didn’t take as much when you used it on him last time, right? Maybe it won’t be so bad… “Fuck.” You say before centering the construct over your friend, turning it back as you summon lightning to strike your spine, your mind splitting as you invoke your powers miles past your limiter. “Fff-u-hu-huck!” You spit out as your muscle fibers split and your bones grind against one another. You struggle to keep your sight focused as you turn further and further back, until finally you hear a labored cough escape from your Heir’s chest.

“hg… hg…” Creed breaths in as he opens his eyes again, immediately probing at his neck with a weak hand to examine his injury. “Boss?”

“Right here, Creed.” You tell him as you look over what you were able to put back together with him. While the laceration around his throat is closed, you weren’t able to completely heal the injury, leaving a large scar spanning around his entire neck region.

“What… what happened?” He asks as he sits up on his elbows.

“…He saved us.” You tell him, turning back at the scene behind you. Getting a good look at his face for the first time in weeks, it’s just as you thought. Standing there over the body of the deceased Witch is Finlus Renfik, the supposed-to-be-deceased Bard of Blood, adorned in jester pants and a Blood-Red Crown…

 

Jason, find out what’s Happening.

Chapter 66: > Interlude; A Story of Blood

It’s quiet now. The sounds of the raging tempest silenced by the rolling tide. You look down at her, your slain captor, watching as the violet hue of her blood fills the back of her sightglobes. Many nights you had thought about this very moment, imagining what it would feel like to stand over her corpse. How freeing it would be, how liberated you’d feel… Yet you feel none of that. You don’t feel anything at all, indifferent to the pain and suffering she’d caused you. You suppose you’re past all that now.

Your name is Finlus Renfik, and you are a Slave.

Your name is Finlus Renfik and yours is a Story of Blood.

A little over Eight Sweeps ago, you were born to the Mother Grub, Matriseille of the Upper Coastal Caverns of Central Alternia. Your Trials, what you can remember of them, were a brutal slog of culling and horror, blindly navigating the endless catacombs knowing every decision you made would decide whether you lived or died, knowing every step could be your last. It was days, weeks of restless half-sleep, too terrified to truly shut your eyes completely, lest you fall prey to the perils of the Cavern. The wild beasts who made the tunnels their hunting grounds, the disgruntled Lusii unamused with the offensive scent of the Lowborn, the Drones and Workers who’d keep the presence of the Lowblood at a controlled population. It was hell. You were born into hell. And you crawled, and you fought, and you endured, until… you met Him. Your Lusus. Microcosmus Marinus, an aquatic class Custodian who by all accounts should have taken to the scent of a highblood. And yet, he found you…

Had it been known at the time, you’re sure your Trials in the Caverns would’ve been ended before they even began, before you even took your first steps out of your hatching grounds. You are a mutant, your blood deviates from the norms of a typical Rustblood. Not in color or hue, no, you would have been culled long before you’d ever had gotten the chance to pupate with a larval body different enough to notice with the naked sightglobe. No, your blood had a different scent. You smelled like a Highblood. Smelled like a Sea Dweller.

He came across you when you had stopped by an underground spring to sate your thirst. It was a dangerous move, approaching a body of water without knowing what was at the bottom of it. You had seen countless other kids and wigglers make the same mistake only to be snatched up by hunters just below the waterline, never to be seen again, but… you were delirious then. You hadn’t had any liquids for three days and it was either that or die of dehydration regardless. As it turns out, there was a flooded passage leading out to the ocean that he came in from, and as fate would have it, you had come across his pool at just the right time to meet him. The shell he wore over his mantle globe breached the water first, followed by the upper region of his face. You were scared when you first saw him. Actually, you were downright terrified. Plenty of Highblood Lusii had approached you in the past, only to turn hostile when they got close enough to see the color of your blood on your cheeks, and you thought him to do the same. He grabbed you, wrapping a tentacle around your lobe stem as he drew near, studying what it was he had caught. Perhaps his sight wasn’t as sharp as the other Custodians, or perhaps his deep-ocean sensibilities had made him immune to the biases of the hemospectrum. Whatever it was, he chose you, forging the bond between Guardian and their Charge. You called him Krake Miren.

Things were… hard… for a while after meeting your Lusus. Better than it was in the Caverns, but it took a while before your Custodian was convinced that you were, in fact, not aquatic and could not breath underwater. Sure, he nearly drowned you a grabberful of times, but it was only ever done in earnest sincerity. Needless to say, though, you became a strong swimmer fast. Which isn’t to say you had to do all the adapting. Due to your unique arrangement being the finless charge of an aquatic guardian, a compromise had to be made in regard to your dwelling. Unable to tend to you on land and unable to stay by his side underwater, your Custodian eventually found a proper middle ground in the way of a small island just off the coast of the nearest subgrub to your spawngrounds. The islet was mainly beach, with enough land for the carpenter droids to build a hive on. It also had a cove leading inland with a half-flooded cave your Custodian could settle in, which was where you spent most of your time with him.

And that’s how most of your childhood went. Happily secluded on your little island paradise, not a neighbor in sight. Sure you were a bit isolated growing up with only your Lusus to keep you company, but looking back on it, that was something you were grateful for. Life in the middle of the sea wasn’t that bad. However, there was the problem of food. To your understanding, most Sea Dwellers didn’t require employment and kept to themselves for the most part, a luxury they could afford with the assistance of Imperial Aid granted to them by the governing powers. A privilege you as a Rustblood weren’t so lucky to have. Fortunately, Krake was an excellent hunter, and an even better teacher.

Under his guidance, you started to gather your own sustenance, deepwater diving with nothing but a harpoon and a deep breath in. You’d swim for hours at a time, and while not as fast as other trolls one might come across in the ocean, you like to think that you did the best one could in an environment your genetics didn’t hand-craft you for. Things were good, for a time, but like with all good things, there eventually came a snag.

Your Lusus had started changing. You were four sweeps old when it happened, and up until then, the mollusc had bore a cold Violet blood whenever something actually managed to cut him. Like most creatures of his blood color, he was tough. Ferocious even, under the right circumstances. Then one day, as if sliding down the Hemospectrum, his blood began to brighten. It was slow at first, going from Violet to Purple over a few months. However, by the time you were four-and-a-half, he had sunk all the way down to Rust Red. And with his hue, so too went his highblood fortitude. Gone were the nights he could reliably go out into the depths of the ocean and come back with a bounty to gorge himself on. Gone too were the nights he could sustain himself while only garnering a few scrapes and bruises. He could hardly venture out into the local reef anymore without sustaining some major damage to his person. On his last venture away from your island, he had come back with cuts and slashes all across his musculature, missing an entire tentacle. He didn’t dare leave the cave after that.

You were never certain on what caused the change in him, what spurred on the mutation, but deep down, you think you always knew. Krake must have had some sympathy gland that could alter his form, some evolutionary gauge that would match that of his Ward to accommodate the needs of their caste. Regardless of the reason, your Lusus couldn’t catch his keep anymore, and the job of keeping him fed fell on your grabbernubs. And after everything he’d done for you, how could you refuse?

It was a daunting task at first, feeding a creature as large as him, but his particular breed of aberrant only had to eat once a week. If you went out every day, you could scrounge up enough prey to keep him healthy long enough to get by, and so that’s what you did. Every evening, you’d venture out into the water to bring back dinner. Some nights were faster than others, finding large or numerous targets in your usual hunting grounds. Some nights… you could swim to the early hours of dawn and find nothing, but… you made do. For his sake.

It wasn’t until you and him were hit with a month straight of nothing but guppies that you ran into a problem. Your usual hunting grounds seemed to have dried up in the matter of days, nothing but a few schools of fish left in the area with no signs of any sea life migrating to repopulate it. Maybe you’d hunted a little too fervently, maybe it was just bad luck, but there was nothing left to you in the Reef. So naturally, you branched out to the surrounding areas in search for more bountiful enclaves to prowl. Had you known the series of events such a simple decision would kick off, you would’ve gladly fed yourself to your Lusus and let him recover from the sickness your blood had brought upon him.

Venturing so far out from your little island, you weren’t always able to return in time for sunrise. More than a few days were spent milling about in the caves of nearby isles or cays. After some time, you began planning around sleeping out there, able to get to fresh hunting grounds faster than if you swam there from your hive. Several nights in a row you’d be isolated out there, with nothing but your thoughts and the sounds of the waves to keep you company. Not a soul in sight. Until she found you.

Her name was Scylla. You remember the night- no, the exact moment when you first met her. You’d been exploring a new region far to the west of your island, towards the deeper waters searching for a large enough population of prey to hunt for the coming weeks. As fate would have it, Scylla was passing through that same reef that late evening. You remember thinking something was off at the time, out in the fringe. Years of swimming in open waters, you develop a kind of sense for knowing when something out in the dark is eyeing you up, and that’s just what you felt, that creeping sensation all across your skin. Something was watching you. At first you welcomed it. The ocean has a simple pecking order, anything bigger than you is your predator. And if something was setting its sights on you, more often than not, that would mean it would make for a sizable catch. So whenever dinner was willing to swim its way into your lap, you were more than fine with it. Saved you the effort.

However, the longer this went on, the more unnerved you became. Not a lot of things that can swim are patient, so when whatever it was that was watching you didn’t make their move, you knew something was wrong. You started making your way back to the cove you’d been staying at the past two days, looking to get out of the water for a while, at least until whatever was in there with you left. That’s when you saw her. Hidden partly in the coral of the reef, a Sea Dweller, just lurking there in the shadows, watching you hunt for who knows how long. You remember the way her hair drifted in the waters behind her… It haunted you. It make her look as if she were some pale phantom or ghastly sea witch, one that would curse you for trespassing into blasphemous waters.

You lingered upon seeing her, noticing as your sightglobes met from across the expanse. You felt something in that moment. Some sinking feeling of dread, knowing this was a bad thing. You didn’t know much about other Trolls, you hadn’t even seen one since your Trials in the Caverns, but you felt the danger you were in around this one. You knew you were weak, that your blood was of a lower measure. You had seen what it had done to your Lusus, and knew how it measured you to such a creature as the one before you. And so you made yourself motionless, harpoon in one grabber, net slinked over your stem with the other. You never found out what she was doing there. What business she had in those waters, or what kept her there long enough for you to notice her. Perhaps she found it amusing, a lowblood as proficient in the water as you. Perhaps she thought you a worthy enough fixation to observe in detail. All you know is that the moment she laid her sights on you, a storm was set on your horizon.

Despite attempting to wait the Sea Dweller out, the burning in your bellowsacs let you know you had to surface. However, once you did, by the time you got back down, she was gone. You had lost track of her, yet despite being hidden from you, you still felt that creeping sensation roll across your skin like a cold current. You hurried back to your temporary hive not long after that.

In the coming nights, you’d feel that same sensation wash over you every so often, your finned pursuer easily keeping pace as they watch you work from a distance. You didn’t like it. You were approaching the last night you could stay out before having to haul your catch back to your island and you had grown anxious that whoever it was following you would find out where your hive was. You didn’t want them around you and you didn’t want them knowing where you lived. As it would turn out though, your final night, as you prepared your haul for the swim back, your pursuer would emerge from the waters, standing out in the shallows of your islet’s beach as though she were waiting for you to meet her there. Exiting the cave you’d been sleeping in during the day, you came face-to-face with her for the first time since your meeting at the reef.

“What’s all that fish for?” She would ask after a silent moment where you remained motionless once again. You remember thinking her voice was pretty then. Alluring, even. You had never heard another talk before, just the gurgles and clicks your Guardian would make whenever he’d want to communicate something to you.

“…It’s a meal for my Lusus.” You said back, an unsteady shake in your voice, having not spoken for some months at that point.

“They can’t hunt for it themselves?” She would ask again as the gentle tide brushed past her steppingpoles, still stood in the water.

“They’re sick.” You told her, trying your damnedest to choke back the guilt eating at you, knowing you had been that cause of his hardships. “So I’m taking care of them in the meantime.” She gave you a strange look when you told her this, like she thought that idea was unusual.

“What’s your name?” She would continue on without comment.

“……” You felt unease about revealing anything of yourself to the girl, this stranger who’d gone to such lengths to track you down. Yet something in your thinkpan kept you from protesting. Some ingrained mechanism, an evolutionary insurance against the Primal Threat, the promise between the weak and the strong that resistance will be met with violence. And so you acquiesced. “…Finlus.”

“Hehehehe.” The girl had laughed when she heard your name.

“Why is that funny?” You asked, thinking you had done something incorrect.

“Finless, he says.” She’d continue to chuckle, disregarding what you had asked. “Listen up then, Finless. You and I are friends now… Get it?” You didn’t know what to say, what to think. You didn’t know what to do. So you did nothing. Just… waited there, hoping she’d leave.

“......Okay.” Was all you could come up with. Satisfied with your answer, Scylla, as you would come to know her name when she found you next, smiled at you.

“I’ll be seaing you around, Finless.” She said before disappearing back into the water. You found your way back to your hive not long after. It would be two weeks before she’d appeared again. Just long enough for you to think she was gone for good.

She came on a ship this time. A Sea Skimmer, considerably large but easy to man with one or two people. It scared the fish away when it arrived in the archipelago you’d been staying at. She sailed straight for the lagoon you were in when she appeared, as though she knew exactly where you’d be to find you. Looking up at the vessel from your tread in the water, the Sea Dweller girl appeared at the port of the ship, looking down at you.

“My name is Scylla Hardis!” She introduced herself with an bombastic zeal. She had come this time with a proposition. “Come aboard, Finless. We have a journey to embark on.” Supposedly, Scylla had discovered the remains of her ancestor some months ago, and with them, a map to where they had left their last mortal possessions. Initially embarking on the journey herself, she’d come across a dilemma with thieves corralling at the last chain of islands her search had led her to. She came to you in search of a partner, someone to man her ship while she ventured down into the depths. You’d initially refused, telling her you still had to gather food for your Lusus. “Nonsense.” She had said. “You’ll be back before you know it! Plenty of time to scrounge up grub for your guardian.” Even still, you tried to reject the offer. You were in no need for friends. You’d done just fine up until then on your own, and from what you could tell, a friend was just something that would get in the way of caring for Krake. You told her the answer was no, and thought that the end of it. However, the smile vanished from her face, fangs now bore at the edge of her talkshaft. “I’m sorry you eel that way, Finny.” She’d say. “But if that’s your answer… I suppose I got no choice but to report you to an Imperial Drown.”

“A Drone…?” You inquired, feeling the water around you go cold.

“That’s right.” She solemnly nodded. “I reely didn’t want to, but it’s my duty as a Royal to report these sorts of things. A kid with a dying Lusus is somefin they gotta know about. I could maybe overhook it if you were part of my crew, but since you’ve already decided you can’t come along, there’s nofin I can do…” You realized then your situation. You couldn’t say no.

You didn’t take to sailing well. Land is simple enough. Land doesn’t move underneath your balanceprongs. Being in the water could be complicated sometimes, with difficulties arising when the current is strong, but there was also control that came with it as well. Freedom of where you would go at the behest of your strokes and kicks. Sailing, though… Sailing was some horrendous amalgamation of the two that stripped both experiences of their positives. All the difficulty of dealing with the ocean waves, while forcing you to comply with the binding rules of dry land. Endless rocking and swaying, thrashing you about in even the calmest of waters. It was maddening.

Four nights you spent this way. Four nights it took you to find the island Scylla’s ancestor left their last Grub Given possessions on. When you arrived there, she had you drop anchor around a mile out from the shores of the landmass, convinced someone was on the island waiting to steal her ship while she was searching for her treasure. She climbed down into the water, and with one final word before swimming off, she told you to guard the ship. For the hour or so you were alone, you thought the precaution as well as your presence on the journey as a whole was an entire waste of time. However Scylla was right about one thing; there were other Trolls there. Only they weren’t on the island. They had dinghies out in the shallows of the neighboring cays, rowed up to your ship quiet-like on the starboard side while you were busy watching for your ‘friend’s’ return.

You aren’t sure which one hit you first, but you had been clubbed over the back of the nugbone, and it left you face down on the deck. When you looked up, you discovered there were four of them. Two Olivebloods and a Bronze, led by a Blueblood in a pirate hat. You went for your harpoon that had fallen to the deck with you, attempting to arm yourself for the fight. Before you could, one of the Olives, the one who must have clubbed you first, broke your grabberpole with a metal cuebat when you reached for it. As you writhed upon the ground, you felt something slip around your breathshaft. The Cobalt, who must’ve been the captain of the cutthroats, had taken a chain from the top deck of your ship and was using it to walk you over to the plank like some kind of barkbeast. He was musing about this being easier than he thought, of only having to cull one rustblood and the Royal Cruiser was his. You remember not being able to breathe as he lifted you to your balancepoles, standing you at the edge of the plank, just before the water. Though he didn’t realize, it was a meaningless gesture to throw you overboard. Even with the broken grabberpole, you were still strong enough of a swimmer to tread water or even defend yourself against any toothbeasts that might come along. The real threat was what Scylla would do to you if she came back and discovered her ship gone. You couldn’t allow that. Not with your Guardian waiting for you back home.

The Cobalt had left the end length of the chain swinging down by your side as he throttled your airways. He didn’t notice as you wrapped it around your knuckles and used it to crack him across his smug proteinfold, forcing him to drop you as he gripped his face. While he was busy cursing to himself about audacious lowbloods, you’d managed to get the chain around his ignoranceshaft yourself, reeling back as you put all your weight and strength into strangling the threat before his lackeys could stop you. As you dug deeper and deeper into the captain’s nugstem, you felt a piercing at the edges of your thinkpan. He was a psychic, trying to take hold of your mind. You could already feel the orders he wished to enforce upon your will, a thundering ‘STOP’ echoing into your mind. You pulled back before he could fully take control of your body, tipping the both of you crashing into the water.

The impact of the fall was enough to break the Cobalt’s concentration, and he couldn’t recover fast enough before you had the upper hand. Tightening the chain once more, you continued to choke the highblood, and in the midst of his panic, he had tried gasping for air, only to be met with a bellowsac full of seawater. There was nothing more he could do as the life left his body, now a still corpse floating through the endless drift. You climbed back on board with the highblood still chained up over your back. The rest of the thieves were horrified as you dropped their captain’s lifeless corpse onto the ship’s deck, standing before them all a heaving and wrathful mess, dripping wet and breathing heavy, with a harpoon clutched in one grabber and the killing chain clutched in the other. In that moment, you contemplated killing them. You had hardly caught anything on your journey to the isles with Scylla so determined to get there as quickly as possible, and with all their bodies, you’d have more than enough to give to your Lusus when you got back. Yet despite the struggle, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Whether the Blueblood had used his powers to make them obey him or if they came of their own accords, you didn’t care. You couldn’t kill another in cold blood. You didn’t even want to be here in the first place…

You told the lot to leave while you would still let them. They did so, tails between their legs. Scylla returned not long after, delightfully surprised at your work.

“I knew I kept you for a reason.” She told you while admiring the body you'd collected.

You inquired about what she had found while on the island. She flaunted a chest that bore her symbol. Upon opening, you discovered a few heavily faded documents as well as a journal and some kind of metal sphere that looked to be a globe of Alternia. And that was all. To say Scylla was disappointed would be an understatement. The journey back was a rough one, with the Sea Dweller in a foul mood over her Ancestor leaving her ‘nothing more than a drawer of junk’. She ended up dropping you off, or rather closer to throwing you off, a few miles from your island, where she had promised to take you. She went storming off on a southern wind without another word. You didn’t mind the swim, though. If it meant it got you away from her faster, you’d have swam the entire way back to your hive.

Krake Miren was glad to see your return, however he seemed perplexed by the bounty you had brought him. A Troll, among the paltry few fish you’d managed to catch alongside him. However, he was too famished to question it for long. Things went back to normal for a while. Going out to hunt, enjoying the day with your Lusus. It was maybe a month before Scylla returned, in a much brighter spirit than the one she’d left you in. You knew immediately this was bad news.

As it turns out, the chest of documents her ancestor left her was not, in fact, a worthless box of nothing like she’d thought. The metal sphere she had was actually something called a Codex Atlas. A device that would record the coordinates it was at and encode them within the sphere, only ever reveal the record when a proper decryption was entered into the sliding pieces on the exterior. Through a bit of digging, Scylla learned that her Ancestor had actually left the sum total of all the treasure they’d plundered throughout their thousands of years, buried all around Alternia in countless different caches, all recorded within her Atlas. It was then that you knew you’d never be rid of the Sea Dweller. She had come to impress you into some endless crusade of finding these caches as a manservant to her cause.

You tried refusing her. Tried telling her it was just a one time thing, but she wouldn’t hear a word of it. She was your better, she’d said, and that meant you were expected to aid her in her journey. However, according to her, she was feeling charitable. She wouldn’t keep you from your island longer than a week, and would allow you to gather food for your Lusus as you traveled, a perfect middle ground according to her. You were uneasy with this arrangement, but you had no other option. It was either this or have your little island turned to glass from a Drone’s airstrike. So you agreed. And she kept true to her word. You were allowed to return to your island to deliver your week’s catch to Krake. At least… for the first three or so journeys. Then, the voyages out began growing longer. Not to any extreme that could warrant a protest, a night longer this week, two the next. Then before you knew it, your little journeys across the sea became expeditions spanning two, three, four weeks at a time. You tried to remind Scylla of your agreement. Once a week returning to your hive so your Lusus could feed, yet your grievances fell on deaf hearducts.

“He’s still alive, isn’t he?” She’d say, not caring that every time you’d return, Krake would be weaker, more malnourished now forced to skip meals. You didn’t know what to do. It was Madness! You couldn’t talk reason into the Sea Dweller, it’s like your existence didn’t matter to her, a speck on her radar, your very freedom secondary to her fickle whim. You promised Krake that you’d find a way out of this, a way away from her, yet you could think of none. The most you had to hope for was the possibility of finding another island to move your Guardian to and escape this insanity, yet even that was just a pipe dream. Scylla’s status as a Royal meant she had resources you didn’t, imperial aid that she could call on at a moment's notice to chart any possible place you could've ran to. On top of that, she knew the waters you lived in like the back of her grabber, tracking you down would be nothing for her! If nothing else, she could simply tell the Drones about you and they’d hunt you down for her! You were trapped.

It broke your bloodpusher to see Krake lose more and more of himself to the hunger each time you returned from your journeys. Becoming so much less than from the mighty seafiend he had been when you first met. It felt like you were barely treading water anymore, with your returns to the island becoming further and further apart, bringing back less and less for how long you’d be out for. Pretty soon you wouldn’t be able to keep your Guardian fed. Just when you thought your situation couldn’t get any worse, Scylla placed one final damning curse upon your name, one final nail within your corpse box. She left you.

You don’t know why she did what she did, what spurred on such indifference to whom she claimed to be her friend. She simply… lost interest in you. Perhaps fate saw it fit to answer your prayers with a ruinous twist of irony, for had you known when you set out on that voyage with Scylla that it would be your last, you would’ve been elated. Long had you wished she would leave you be, leave you to your own devices, yet even when liberated from the clutches of the Sea Dweller, she had seen to it that you weren’t truly free. Not really, anyway. She abandoned you at port, some Three Hundred miles away from your island. She had you venture into the market for provisions, and when you returned to the docks, she was gone. Vanished like the wind. At first, you thought she’d just went downstream to the less populated harbor once the one you were at became crowded, but when even there you couldn’t find her, you knew she was gone.

With no money or means of travel, your only option for returning to your island was to swim for it. It’d be nights before you’d get back. Nights without your chain or harpoon, which Scylla had taken with her on her ship. Nights where you’d have to pray there’d be an island with a cave close enough to your last rest that you could find shelter in. A daunting task, but not one you weren’t willing to take. However, before you could take the plunge, a storm had rolled in over the coastal town, ensuring you’d be landlocked for the coming day. You were okay with that. You could survive that, stashed away in some drainage ditch you’d find within the city. Or so you thought…

It was on your way back into town that you ran into the worst scourge that would come upon your life. Worse than Krake Miren’s illness, worse than Scylla’s claim upon your autonomy, worse than anything you could imagine would befall you without reason. You ran into the Clowns. You’d learn later that the port city Scylla had taken you to was a known highblood stemcluster, crawling with a sect of Purpleblooded nutjobs who painted themselves in makeup and lived in Circus Tents. They descended upon your person like fangfiends the moment they saw you, cornering you in a back alley you’d blindly wandered through. There was no fighting against it, those monoliths of might and mirthful fury, the lot of them only half a sweep away from adulthood. They took you and you could do nothing about it. Brought you to a colosseum and stuck you in a cage. From one master to another, you were in irons before the sun had even risen that morning.

They had said slavery was outlawed on Alternia for a few centuries at the time of your capture, which was to say still allowed, but only up to a certain caste on the hemospectrum. And you unfortunately fell well below that socially acceptable line. You’d received a brand that day, a scorched mark placed upon the side of your breathshaft in the shape of your new owner’s symbol. After that, they threw you into the cell that would become your dwelling for the next sweep-and-a-half. The floor there had a layer of sand laid over it, self cleaning for when its occupants were sent to it beaten and bloody. Whatever discomfort your captors had intended to inflict with the arrangement was lost on you. Lying there in the sand, you were only reminded of home…

There were others in the cells neighboring yours, lowbloods like yourself. It was from them that you learned what your new life was made into. You’re a Gladiator now, they said. A fighter in the Threshpits, entertainer for the bloodthirsty patrons of the Dark Carnaval.

“I don’t want to fight anyone.” You told them.

“Then you’ll die.” They replied. You’d come to learn how true those words were the following night, when your first battle was to take place. They threw you into the arena with just your grabbers to defend yourself, said that you’d have to earn your weapon first if you wanted one.

There in the pit, you met your first opponent. An older Troll of Rust. A veteran of the strife, and first test for newcomers. You tried talking, tried telling her you didn’t want to fight. The conversation was short, and the floor of your cell had a fresh coat of blood soaking into it that day. Your next few battles went that same way, with your refusal to fight being met with a savage beating. All the while, the Ringmasters of the Threshpits thought they could incentivize your willingness to partake with a lashing after each match you refused to participate in. Yet despite the beatings, you somehow couldn’t bring yourself to rise up in anger. You thought it would solve nothing in the end. Instead you were convinced you could find a way to escape from that hell with enough time. However time was something you no longer had. It wasn’t until one of the other slaves, a Goldblood by the name of… by the name of… you…… you don’t remember his name… You forgot it. How could you forget his name?

…

It wasn’t until the Goldblood told you that there was a ranking system in the pit that you realized you were running out of options. He was the rightmost neighbor to your cell, and the closest thing to a friend you would ever have on Alternia. He was a psionic, however according to him, his battery had run dry a long time ago. The most he could do now was stun or confuse his opponents with a blast of mental energy, or if he exerted himself enough, he was able to heal minor physical damage he or another had sustained. A useful skill set in the Threshpits, and one he was kind enough to share with you after your more brutal fights. On the eve of your tenth night, he had shared with you why the others were so keen on fighting despite your refusal to partake in the bloodshed. Seven losses in the pit, of which you had lost five so far, and your opponent would have permission to end your life, a deed that would see them handsomely rewarded by the highbloods conducting this madness.

This Gold had also told you tale of past combatants who had earned their freedom through their combat, being let loose from the confines of the colosseum after winning ten of their matches in a row without fail. You knew then what you had to do. You’d get out of that hellhole no matter what, and get back to Krake before it was too late! It’d been four weeks since you last saw your Guardian, and the longest he could go without food was ten. It was decided then. You could not afford to lose anymore. You could not afford to be hit without rebuke. No more inaction. No more running away!

Your next fight was against a Bronze. A cocky bull who’d seen your previous fights and thought you an easy win for himself. He was thoroughly surprised when you nearly broke his jaw against your knuckles on your first swing at him. You’d say he was just as surprised when you took his right horn in the scuffle afterwards. Almost instantly, the atmosphere in the colosseum had changed. The boos you had grown accustomed to whenever you entered the pit became cheers of excitement and exhilaration as you stood there, over your defeated adversary. The highbloods were so impressed with your work, they let you claim your weapon right there and then. You chose the length of chain they had bound you in when you were first made a gladiator. You think perhaps this might have pleased them at the time.

Now armed with a weapon as powerful as your desire to be free, you tore through the ranks of your fellow combatants. One match, they even placed you against a Rustblood Lusus they had managed to capture. A large Feathered Scrounge-Hadger who’s wings they’d clipped to prevent it from escaping. You were sorry to put him down, but at the very least the poor beast would be tormented by your captors no longer. Your win streak would continue undisrupted and for all accounts, uncontested until your ninth fight, where your opponent, a Teal the highbloods had somehow kept without upsetting the local upper-mid populations in the city, managed to nearly cave your nugbone in with an enormous clown club she’d earned from the Ringmaster himself. It was only by the grace of the Sun did you manage to survive.

That fight was one of the few the highbloods organized to take place during the actual day. High Noon, when the rays of light would shine down into the pit, only partly obscured by the steel dome cage that hung over your arena. Patches of radiating heat hung down like spotlights upon the strife-grounds and made combat difficult to navigate without being burned, and unfortunately for you, the Teal’s club had more reach than your simple chain, easily able to swing past any strips of sunlight that divided you. A disadvantage that would result in a broken grabbernub and a fractured stephinge. The injuries left you laid out on the floor, at the mercy of your opponent, and judging by how viciously she’d wound up her next swing, you can’t imagine there would’ve been any. Acting before she could send her club shattering into your bellowcage, you reached into the closest patch of sunlight, using the metal of your chain to reflect its rays into the Teal’s left sightglobe. From what you know, the damage was enough to blind her in that one globe, leaving it red-scared in the aftermath of your match. And while she was busy clutching her damaged sensor in agony, you sent your chain across her face like a whip. She didn’t get up afterwards.

That was it then. The last combat before your final match. One final obstacle deciding if you’d be free of this lunacy. When they took you back to your cell, you quickly sought out the Goldblood in the adjacent holding pen, however he was nowhere to be found. You were distraught to find this, thinking the worst had happened and he was slain in his last battle. Not only that, but you were in dire need of his assistance. While victorious over her, the Teal did a number to your frame during the strife, fracturing and outright shattering a number of your calciumrods with that fucking club of hers. Without the Gold’s healing help, your next fight would be at a great disadvantage. It’d been seven weeks since you’d last been on your island, and you no longer had the time to start from the bottom again. It was now or never, you had to win this final round. For Krake’s sake. Whatever the cost, you told yourself.

You’d eat those words, eventually. Perhaps they knew the desperation you’d felt. The Highbloods or whoever else was in control of your fate at the time. Perhaps they knew what the result of this fight meant to you, and wanted to see how far you’d go. Maybe it was all just for a laugh. Who’s to say? One way or another, however, your final opponent would be none other than the Goldblood. The very friend who inspired you to fight in the first place. Your acidtubes sank when you saw him walk out from the other side of the pit, knowing what the ones pulling the strings were doing with this, knowing what exactly they had expected of you. And as you met him at the center of the bloodstained battleground, time almost seemed to slow for you.

“Fin, I have a plan.” He whispered from across the gap. “We can get out of here, together.”

“…” You could say nothing, feeling as though you’d vomit up the stale grubloaf the highbloods would give you as a meal between matches.

“Let’s tell them we won’t fight, and when they come in to try and punish us, I’ll blitz em!” He continued, not realizing you were spiraling. “And while they’re stunned, we make a break for it past ‘em! You ready?”

“…Yeah.” You agreed through a shaky voice. “I’m ready.”

He stepped away from you after that and turned to face the onlookers gazing down into your pit of ruinous rainbows from their seats above you. He shouted to them that enough was enough, and that none of you would take any more of this. That the gladiators would fight no longer for their entertainment. He said that a life, even as small as that of a lowblood’s, deserved a chance to grow, to find its roots and flourish just like anyone else. The crowd had begun to turn on him, and returned were the boos you yourself had faced when you tried to speak reason into this endless vortex of insanity. When you tried to find any sort of salvation from the eternal war between the strong and the meek. You listened on to the Gold’s words, knowing it was a fool’s errand to try and escape with his psionics. At most, he’d give one of the scrawnier of the Purples a migraine before they’d crush you like insects. And then that would be it. You’d be dead, and soon after, Krake Miren would follow. You would have failed him, dying forgotten in this pit.

“Whatever the cost.” You said to yourself before striking the Gold with your chain across the back of his cranium, whipping him to the ground a convulsing mess.

“W… w-why…?” He whispered so quietly, only one as close to him as you would’ve been able to hear it. You stood there, over your defeated foe, watching the honey colored blood leak from his head out into the sand of the Threshpits. It was over. It was finally over.

They took you back to your cell after dragging the Gold away. You couldn’t sleep that day. Gazing at the stone wall in a senseless fugue, you questioned if what you had done was really the right choice. Someone came to the door of your cell before you could decide. It was the Ringmaster. Your Owner. The one who’s symbol was emblazoned upon your neck. He came to personally congratulate you on your fight.

“Such coldblooded motherfucking brutality! Gladihater, you have my undying admiration.” He said with a chuckle. “You’d made a fine Subjuggulator if not for that swill you’ve got flowing through your veins.”

It was then that he told you that if this was how you treated your allies, then he couldn’t wait to see what you’d do to your next opponent. You asked him what he meant. You had won your tenth match without defeat, you were supposed to be Set Free, That Was The Agreement! He told you that you were right, that under normal circumstances, you’d be free as a chirpfiend right now.

“However,” He said with a malicious grin. “That Honeyblood still hadn’t lost his Seven Rounds. You didn’t have permission to kill him yet. You didn’t think that would go unpunished, did you?” He had opened your cage while you reeled from what he told you, informing you that your next fight was already arranged. He… he was dead……? No, no that couldn’t be, you didn’t hit him hard enough. That couldn’t be, he was supposed to be fine! It was just to win, you needed to Win! Or else…! Or else…!

 

You were never getting out of here

The words floated around the brine of your thinkpan like a lost corpse washed out to sea.

 

They were going to keep you here. They were going to keep you locked up. Chained within the undertow of their clown caravans, a spectacle of wrath and fury and bloodshed. A mindless beast that would do nothing more than bite and claw and heel when ordered. You are a Slave. A Clown to a Clown. A jester dancing within the muck, tainting the waters with the runoff of those you had killed, an Ocean of Blood made your kingdom. You had to get out. You had to GET OUT!!!

You had already been in motion before you realized what you were doing. Your balanceprongs were pressed into the back of the Ringmaster’s lobe stem, his behemoth stature more than capable of holding you up as your chain lay wrapped around his breathshaft like the reins of a wild mount you’d leapt upon the back of. He tried to buck you, shake you off every which way, slamming you into the cell bars behind him with all his might. You didn’t feel it. Not really, anyway. You were too focused on getting out of that fucking Cage. You remember your fangfold was filled with an overwhelming metallic taste in the middle of your grapple. At first you thought the inside of your cheek caught against your teeth in the thrashing, and you had cut open a stream of blood there. However you soon realized that you had reached over and bit into the Ringmaster’s right sightglobe, evoking a cascade of purple filth to fill your mouth.

He was screaming, even under the stranglehold you held over him. It was attracting the attention of the other slaves, and you were sure it’d eventually get the attention of whoever else was supposed to be watching you all. You had to get away before it was too late. You made your move when the Purple reached back to grab at you, trying to pry your teeth off of his face. Just before he could lay claim upon your person, you grabbed hold of the prongs on his grabber and ripped them apart, tearing the appendage in half. The screams grew louder. And as he tried to put the pieces of his grabber back together again, you took your chain and you whipped him with it, harder than he or any of his goons had ever done to you before. The force of the hit cracked like lightning against his nugbone, shattering his cranium right where his horn attached, atomizing the connecting base and snapping it off entirely. You struck him three more times, turning the calcium shield that guarded his thoughtsponge into a shrapnel field, until the giant finally fell, landing in the sand floors of the slave quarters. Even then, you couldn’t be sure the bastard wouldn’t get back up again. As you approached the bleeding mass to retrieve his keys, you took the tattered remains of his grabber and pulled off the smaller two prongs from his soon-to-be corpse, and with his own claws, you plunged the pointed daggers into his chitinous windhole, ensuring he’d stay dead.

Looking down at the destroyed person before you, it began to dawn on you what you had done. Once they found their Ringmaster, the Highbloods of the Threshpits would eviscerate you in the same manner you had done to their leader, if not worse. You had to go. You began to run when you heard a voice call out to you.

“Hey! Finny! Let us outta here, man! Unlock the cells!” The other slaves beseeched you. Down the corridor, you could hear someone already approaching to investigate what the commotion was. Your first instinct was to run while you still could, but… if the other slaves got out, the commotion could give you enough cover to escape... If they kicked up enough of a fuss, who’s to say it was you specifically who killed the Ringmaster? Any one of them could’ve ganged up to take him down. Acting fast, you removed the key to the entrance of the slave quarters and tossed the other keys on the ring to the Bronze who’s horn you’d taken. The rest was a blur.

You vaguely remember reaching a zig-zag incline that you knew would take you out of the Threshpits. It was at the top of these steps that you were met with an Indigo girl. You shattered her jaw as you slammed a chain-wrapped fist into her. Thinking back to it now, you still aren’t quite sure if she was a guard at the colosseum, or was simply passing by at an unfortunate enough time to meet you there. You don’t particularly care, though. She got in the way.

From there, you know you’d run into others along the way, because when you finally came to, your chain was stained an assortment of colors, all across the hemospectrum. You had made it to the docks by then, instinctually drawn to the sea. There, you’d managed to steal a boat small enough to man on your own. It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t anything, a metal troth with a motor attached to its end. But it was more than what you had.

In the aftermath of your escape, as you sped away from the carnage you’d incited in the pit, and as the mist carried upon the sea breeze cooled your face, a steady stream of tears began to carve down your face, cutting through the muck that’d dried there. Red and hot and carrying all the woe and sorrow you’d collected from your ordeals. It was over. You were finally free. And once you got back to your island, things could go back to normal again. Just you and Krake on your little drifting mass of paradise.

…but things wouldn’t turn out that way, would they?

It took you two nights before you were able to find your way back to your hive. Between finding your bearings out beyond the Highblood port to navigating the waters with just a pull-engine, you were certain you’d find your end out there. Perhaps at the hand of a rogue wave or simply succumbed to the elements. Yet regardless of the odds, you had made it. You had returned home. Your face became hot with tears once more upon seeing the sandbanks of your island, and you had to hold yourself from devolving into a sobbing mess as you grew closer.

“Krake! Krake Miren!” You called upon setting down within the shallows at the beach. And as you walked upon the shoreline, it wasn’t until a gust of wind blew past you that you noticed something was wrong. It was quiet. World-shatteringly quiet. Usually when you’d return, Krake would greet your calls with an acknowledging click or whale, but not this time… For some reason, your island was silent.

The enthusiastic rush that had brought you towards your Guardian’s cave soon died out, made into something slower than a crawl. Shuffling through the sand like some slinking mossbeast, you felt chills run across your body, too afraid now to arrive at your destination, dreading of what you’d find there. And as you reached the small channel of water that led into the island cove, your thoughtsponge went numb seeing the enormous trail of rust red blood leading out from the rip current, smothered more and more until vanishing into the dark ocean waters, as if it were nothing. Carried forward now as if on autopilot, you crept into the enclosure, walking on the small rock shelf you’d walked a thousand times to see your Lusus before, and quietly, you entered into Krake’s cave.

In the dim light, you saw him, floating there in the stagnant drift of the cave. Enormous gashes laid across his tattered form, the blood from which long since drained into the water below him, staining the very sea red. As you stood there, slack-jawed like the useless wretch you are, your sight began to blur, and a wave of vertigo hit you so hard, you’d thought gravity had lost any sense of meaning. It was you. You killed him. You and your fucking blood were a poison, one that ate at him until he was nothing but a wraith of his former self. You made him feeble. Frail. You made him less than. And something was able to kill him because of it. It was the same for the Goldblood. They trusted you, believed in you, and you killed them! The ones you hold dear are brought low by your hand. They are worse off when you are around. You are a Curse… A Plague. You are that which corrodes and rusts and destroys all that is cherished and good. You are a Destroyer of Worlds.

You’d collapsed to the cave floor at some point, kneeling on your stephinges for who knows how long. Your tears had become an endless stream by then, pouring down and evoking small little ripples in the water whenever they’d fall in, slowly adding to the Ocean of Blood that lied before you. Looking down, you saw yourself for the first time since this Hell began, reflected back at you in the murky waters. You looked different than what you remembered. Older, more tired, scars all abound your body. You had heard the phrase ‘I couldn’t recognize myself’ before, but it wasn’t until that moment that you understood what it meant. You knew who it was you were looking at, you knew the name of the Troll reflected in the water. ‘Finlus’, you thought. ‘His name is Finlus’. Yet who you were and who was looking back at you didn’t make sense. Finlus wasn’t a killer. Finlus couldn’t take another’s life in cold blood. Finlus was just a kid. Just a kid living a peaceful life with his Lusus, spending his nights swimming around on his little island home, away from all the bad in the world. Not a worry in his pan. But you? You were some mangy little thing, soaked in the blood of everyone you’d ever known. You were violent and ruthless. You couldn’t be Finlus. You couldn’t…

And as your sense of self fragmented, realizing you had no idea who Finlus Renfik truly was, there came a sound behind you. A -plunk- as something kicked a rock into the pool of the cave, sending its echo brushing past you in the water. Before you could look, something struck you in your lobe stem with enough force to send you to the ground, your face plunging into the river below. The sharp pain in your posturepole kept you from getting up, and before you could even try, you felt a grabber snatch you by the hair, pulling you up from the drink, filthy hair splattering down upon our face as you coughed up salty water. The attack had broken you from your stupor, but it was too late to try and ready yourself. The fight was already over.

“Well, well, well, would you look at that, chucklekfucks.” A voice had come from behind you. “Not so tough now, is he?” Through the blood-soaked hair hanging down over your face, you’d seen them. The Highbloods from the Threshpits. They had found you somehow. Tracked you here to your hive, to your Fucking HOME! You lurched at them, clawing and scraping and cursing the filth for thinking they had the RIGHT to set foot on your island!

It wouldn’t be worth much, though. The one with the hold on you would slam your cranium against the stone floor of the cave, rendering you nearly unconscious in one fell swoop. You’d thought they would kill you. Do unto you what you had done to their Ringmaster. You heard through the static filling up your thinkpan that they had other plans, however.

“Get this piece of gutter trash to the boat.” One ordered. A boat…? They were taking you… back to the colosseum? Twisting your chin up as the Purples dragged you across the jagged stone of the cave, you got one last glimpse of the mass floating within the water. No… You couldn’t leave him like that….! Adrift in a slurry of his own tainted blood, left for the crabs to pick at. ‘He doesn’t deserve this…’ You had thought. ‘He Doesn’t Deserve This!’

“krake…” You would rasp through a broken voice. “krake, i’m sorry…” Grabbing hold of the stone beneath you, you tried in vain to keep yourself from being separated from your Guardian any further. You couldn’t go… He needed you…! Why couldn’t anyone fucking understand that!? He still needed you! “Krake! Don’t leave me! Krake, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Your resistance didn’t get you far. Something struck you again, and your vision began to falter. “krake……” You whispered, bearing witness to Krake Miren for the final time in your life before everything went dark.

You woke up in chains, back in that same cell you thought you’d finally escaped from. A Highblood was there to greet you. You recognized her. A Purpleblood, one of the second in commands for the Ringmaster. And judging by the fact that she wore the dead man’s panlid, you’d say she had received a promotion from the ordeal. She explained to you that she was grateful to you for what you had done.

“I couldn’t stand the Ringmaster’s ass.” She told you. “Shufflin’ around, thinkin’ he was better than a motherfucker. Lookin’ down on us like the bulgemunch thought he was special.” She told you it was for this reason, and this reason alone that you were still breathing. Killing a highblood was a death sentence, but because she had bad blood with the guy, she was willing to overlook it. But freeing the other slaves? That was unacceptable. She’d look weak if she didn’t do something about it. So once she figured out what had happened, she sent a posse to round you up. You looked around at the other cages. They were empty.

You weren’t sure if they had escaped or died during the revolt. You didn’t care, though. You didn’t care about anything anymore. There was nothing left for you outside of your cell. The new Ringmaster talked to you a little while longer, but you didn’t bother listening. She left, and time went on with you in the pit. Despite her opinions of you, there were other Highbloods at the colosseum who were still loyal to the old Ringmaster, and they were furious at her decision to keep you alive. To alleviate their frustrations, she’d allow them to whip you from time to time. Through those beatings, they began to see that keeping you alive was the greater punishment, one that allowed them to make your life a living hell. And so they agreed with the new Ringmaster’s decision to let you live. It was more fun that way.

Eventually, you were put back in the pit once more. Your first opponent was a terrified Oliveblood, one they had just pulled in from off the street. The look on his face reminded you of how you felt your first night. And just like you, he refused to participate. He tried talking to you, telling you he didn’t want to fight. The conversation was short, and the floor of his cell had a fresh coat of blood soaking into it that day.

As the nights turned to weeks, and the weeks turned to months, the colosseum would replenish their supply of Gladiators, replacing all that had gone missing and then some. Lowbloods who were stupid enough to wander too close to port. Slaves, just like you. Some tried to talk to you through the bars of your cage, to find out where it was they had been taken. You would tell them. You’d make friends with them. It made them easier to handle when you were in the pit together. Easier to put down when they thought you were allies. Because of what you had done to the Ringmaster, the highbloods put a reward on your head. If anyone were to kill you in battle, they’d get their freedom, no strings attached. It didn’t matter, though. None of them were ever good enough to best you. Even if the highbloods roughed you up the day before, or stacked the pit against you three-to-one, none of it mattered. You would remain undefeated, the monster they kept locked in their dungeon, releasing you only ever to tear down those that thought they could escape their shackles.

That was your life. One spent chained to a wall. Once every other night or so, they’d let you out of your cage to fight. Afterwards, they’d put you right back where you belonged. The Ringmaster would stop by every so often to talk, sitting before your place chained up in the cell. You don’t know why. Maybe she felt bad for you, or maybe she knew you couldn’t tell anyone else her secrets, like you were a living journal she could confess to. If it wasn’t her, it’d be a different Purple, there to give you a thrashing for one reason or another. You’d be nearly Eight Sweeps old before a break in that routine would come. You were in the pit at the time, taking on a Bronze when you heard someone call out from above you. Any other night, you would’ve ignored whatever nonsense the crowd shouted your way, writing it off as the typical bloodlust-fueled chatter the highbloods cooked up watching you battle. However this voice was different. This voice knew your name.

“Hey, Finny!” They shouted from the stands. Looking up, all you saw was a figure, obscured by the dark behind the lights that shined down on the pit. You knew, though. You knew exactly who it was, her jagged smile piercing through the veil. “It’s me, Finny! Don’t you recognize me?” She continued. “It’s me, Scylla!”

“scylla…” The name floated out of your ignorancetunnel like a confused chirpfiend, and you gazed up at the Sea Dweller in befuddlement of what you were seeing. Just then, as you were too stunned to act, your opponent put her spear through your grabbernub, taking you to the ground.

With a firm jerk, the Bronze ripped her weaponry out of your flesh, evoking a waterfall of rust to come spilling out alongside it. Gritting through the pain, you hurriedly crawled away through the sand, trying to put enough distance between you and her to get back on your balanceprongs without being stabbed again. However, she kept on you, determined to claim her freedom through your flesh. And perhaps you would’ve allowed her to, had that ruinous cur not shown her face just a moment prior. Until that night, you had been numb, ignoring all the pain and noise around you. That was how you got by for so long, you simply turned everything off. You would’ve died otherwise. But when you heard that voice, those shrill fucking screeches of the one who had caused all of this, it was as if all the pain and suffering you’d felt over the sweeps was reignited like hellfire in your soul, and an unyielding rage was unleashed within you.

Before your opponent could pierce her spear through your bellowcage, you whipped around, flinging a splatterful of blood that’d pooled in your grabber at her face, blinding the Bronze mid-lunge. As she cried out in shock of the counter, she’d began stabbing wildly into the ground before her, trying to find you with her skewer. You wrapped your chain around the shaft of her weapon and tore it from her grabbers. Lurching forward before she could regain her sight, you appeared behind the Bronze, pressing your back to her’s and wrapping your chain around her breathshaft. With a simple bend forward, you lifted the girl off her feet with the curve of your posturepole, choking her out before she could do anything else. You dropped her to the floor of the pit once she stopped squirming. Looking back up to the stands with nothing but hate in your sightglobes, you searched for the one who damned you to this fate, but you found that Scylla was already gone. Nowhere to be seen in the crowd. It mattered not. You’d find your way out of this cage once again. And you’d hunt her down and do what you should’ve done all those sweeps ago.

The guards opened up the gates to the pit as the crowd continued to cheer. As usual, they brought with them the shackles for your cell. You allowed them on without resistance. You would need a plan if you were getting out of that place again, and you couldn’t let the highbloods know there was any rebellion left in you. As you were walked back to your cell, the guards continued on with the conversation they had started before cuffing you. One had inquired why the other was leaving port when business was booming.

“Haven’t you heard?” One asked the other. “It’s doomsday. All those motherfucking meteors that’ve been peppering the planet, it’s like the world is ending out there, my brother. If we only got a few nights left, then I’m gonna go spend them with my Lusus.”

“Didn’t think I was working with a cluckbeast.” The other scoffed, mindlessly jerking you forward by your chain. “So what. It’s a honking meteor shower, big whoop.”

“Suit yourself, chucklefuck. Die in this shit hole if you want, it’s a free empire.” The one shrugged off the other’s deridement before glancing back at you. “Well… mostly free.” They added with a chuckle. As the two of the Highbloods laughed at you, unaware of the rising anger that was boiled behind them, the Ringmaster suddenly appeared before you all.

“Get him to the front gate.” She ordered the stooges. When asked why, as they glanced into the cell they had just unlocked, likely planning to give you one last beating as a going-away present to the retiring guard, the Ringmaster looked at you directly with a smile, emphasized even more so by the one painted on her face. “Finlus here was just bought.” Your sightglobes widened hearing the news. Bought?

Acquiescing to the order, the two marched you along, away from the prison that had kept you for nearly two sweeps. As you walked, you felt… well, you aren’t exactly sure how you felt. You thought you should feel exhilarated, like the first time you’d escaped, but this… it was almost too easy. Like your freedom had simply been handed to you. Sure, you would have to kill whoever it was that thought that they could buy you, but that’d be a simple task. And after that, you’d be out. Free to hunt down-

“It really is you!” Scylla exclaimed upon your entry into the holdingblock, the sudden appearance of the Sea Dweller taking you by surprise. Seeing the vague shadow of her from the pit hadn’t done her justice. She was different from the girl you had first seen in the reefs. She was taller now, her fins longer and horns larger. It seemed as though the pigment in her sightglobes had begun filling out, a piercing Violet peering at you from behind them, and both her fangs and claws had doubled in sharpness and shine. She wore a lipstick that matched her fluffy coat, dressed for a big night out at the bloodpits. Though not as big as some of the Purplebloods in the colosseum, she stood over you easily. “I thought I recodnized you down there, but I wasn’t sure when you didn’t say hi back. You look so much older now!” Your bloodpusher was pumping itself into a flurry as she approached you, and your wrists began to bleed as you pressed against your chains, just itching to get at her!

“Are you sure about this, ma’am?” One of the guards asked your quarry. “He’s hardly worth the caegars you’ve paid for him.” Before she could answer, you raised your shackled grabbers before the one who sought to interfere, holding them in his face as you stared down the dead woman.

“Unlock them.” You ordered. If he could, you’d imagine the guard would’ve bashed your thoughtsponge in without a second thought for the way you spoke to him. He would've done it gladly had the Ringmaster not been present, watching him like a talonbeast.

“Rambunctious little joker, ain’t ya.” The guard muttered under his breath. Complying with your demands, he took the keys from his side and placed them within your irons, releasing you once more into the world. With your grabbers free, you nearly lunged at the Sea Dweller right then and there, feeling as if you didn’t take your shot now, you’d never get it again. However, with four highbloods in the block, you had more than enough reason to find pause.

The hand-off was unremarkable otherwise. The Ringmaster gave her final farewells to you with an unusual warmth, even giving you a wink with her guards brooding silently behind her. And then you were off, set free from the Threshpits without a single drop of blood spilt. Scylla led you out of prison as if it were the easiest thing she’d done that night, walking before you like she always had when bringing you along on her journeys. This was it then. The guards hadn’t had time to confiscate your chain before the Ringmaster appeared. You would take the killing blow here, and leave her body before the very Hell she had damned you to so long ago. With a quick wind up, swinging the end of your irons like a rope, you lashed out at the Sea Sweller, aiming for her ignoranceshaft.

Before your strike could land true, Scylla had extended a grabber out with an unexpected swiftness, catching your attack without even having to look. Your grip tightened around your irons, frustrated not only with the ease in which she’d thwarted your attempt, but at yourself for allowing your hatred to leave you so short sighted. You were a veteran of the strife, but Scylla was something more than just endless warfare. She was evolution. It had only been a few sweeps, but she was already bigger than you, stronger than you, her reflexes were faster, her killing instincts sharper. Her blood made her your better, and that was something you couldn’t overcome with a single sneaking attack. You would need to be smart. Be cunning. To slowly eat away at the foundations of what made her better than you. And to do that, you would need to play the role of the Clown a little longer.

“My, my, Finny. How ♠forward♠.” Scylla purred, mistaking your lethal intentions for something more Quadrant related. “Whoa, you’re still using bindingkind? Didn’t you also have a harpoon too, though?” She asked, instantly distracted when she saw what you had lashed at her with. “Oh! I have an idea! Let’s both use the same Abstrata!” She continued on, pulling a black lickerish coil from her strife deck. “Look, my ancestor left me this powerful lasso called the Obsidian Rope. It’ll fit perfectly in that specibus type!” You looked on at the shark with an unyielding rage only barely kept contained behind a false mask of contentment, and after hearing how flippantly the Sea Dweller thought she could treat you after everything she did, you had only just kept yourself from making it clear exactly how you felt about this situation.

“Sure, Scylla. Whatever makes you happy.” You nodded along with her nonsense as she brought you down to the port, to the exact same dock you had agreed to rendezvous at when first arriving to the city. And at that dock was that same boat she had back when she first stole your life away from you.

“Hey, so… I wanted to ask you something.” She continued on like you were the closest of chums. “The reason I came down to find you tonight was because me and some friends got a hold of this code to a computer game these bassholes online have been sayin' does some craysea shit. We were thinking of playing it ourselves, but… we’re an odd number.” She had said, stepping onto her boat and turning around to face you, still standing on the dock looking back at her. “I guess what I’m reely trying to ask is, well… do you want to play a game with me, Finless?“

“……” You had paused for what seemed like an eternity, contemplating what to do. A light breeze blew to your side, lightly swinging your chain out to sea, and for a second, you imagined your island. You imagined returning home and meeting Krake Miren in his cave again. You imagined swimming through the cay shallows, imagined things finally going back to the way they were when you were young. When you were happy. But that wasn’t going to happen, was it? There was nothing left for you there. There was nothing left for you anywhere. All you had left was the road to hell you’d drag this Royal Blooded Trash down. Her and all those Highblood friends she had. You’d sink them like a fucking ship if it was the last thing you’d do. “…Yes, Scylla. I would love to play a game with you.” You told her, clasping hands as she helped you onboard.

Looking down on her corpse now, left sprawled across the ground with a careless abandon, you recall when it was you first realized you’d be able to kill her yourself. You had just returned to the Land of Irons and Madness, coming home after a long hunt. You’d gone from Land to Land in your session, tracking down and slaughtering the Denizens of your co-players, one of many efforts you’d undertaken in your campaign against your teammates, all with the final goal of destabilizing the very planets they called their homes. You were on your way to kill your own Denizen as well, as to not arouse suspicion when yours was the only one left alive. It was on that journey to him that you stumbled upon your Sacrificial Slab and discovered the God Tiers. And with it, so to did you discover a means to ascend beyond the meager plot your blood had bought you in life, beyond what even Scylla’s royal ichor had granted her. A means to finally unshackle yourself forever...

Thinking back to this, a smile begins to form on your face, and you seem to finally feel something after seeing the death of your captor. You feel curious. Curious of what she would say to you if she could. Would she ask you why? Why had you killed her? Why did you sabotaged her session? Why would you go to such lengths just to put her down yourself? If she could, and she had… you supposed you would’ve told her that she was the one who started all this. You were just the one to finish it. And that was really all there was to say on the matter.

Closing your sightglobes, you look up at the sky, letting your face bask in the false rays of Light of the Land. Breathing in, you fill your bellowsacs and for the first time in Sweeps, you feel… at ease. Like you're finally closing that chapter of your life. Exhaling out, you open your globes once more, and that feeling of ease is then replaced with one of resolve, for before you sits your next quarry. Even with the fake atmospheric sky above the world, you see past the illusion, staring directly at the Blackhole at the center of the Incipisphere.

 

Hello there, Warden

The thoughts pass through your pan.

You and I are gonna be seeing a lot more of each other soon

 

Glaring up at him, snuggled away in that little burrow of his, that Guard Tower at the center of your Panopticon, you recall just how foolish you’d been to accept the deal offered to bring you here. The prick with the White Text offered you salvation, yet all you received was just another Cage. Another cell you'd be lock away behind, another set of shackles you'd be bound with. Another Arena to bloody yourself in. You had tried to convince the Council of Bards to join you in your fight. To rise up and break free from the chains that bound you all! Yet they wouldn’t listen.

“It’s inescapable.” They’d said. “Rather than fighting the inevitable, we should decide who is best fit to be this Chosen Survivor The Envoy told us about. We’ll orchestrate the win for them and ensure that they claim the Prize.” All that power at the tips of their grabberprongs, enough to bend the fabric of reality itself, and yet they would do nothing but roll over and accept their cell walls, waiting patiently for the date of their execution. It made you sick to even be in the same block as them. So you cut ties. Started putting your plan into motion yourself. Not without irritation, though.

“I’m sorry it turned out this way, Finlus.” One of the Bards had followed you as you stormed out of your last meeting. It was Vulcan, the Bard of Doom, that sniveling bucket of bolts. “I know you want to try and fight this, but it’s just not in the cards for us. We’re all supposed to die. The fact that one of us doesn’t have to is a miracle! I wish things were different too, but beyond that… only one of us will be getting out of here. I’m sorry, Finlus, but those are our options. I’d rather one of us survive than none of us.” You weren’t sure what he was trying to get out of that little speech of his. Perhaps he thought he could change your mind. Make you see his way of seeing things before you’d do what you did. Regardless of what he thought he could do, the result was the same. You turned him into scrap metal, and left his AI running long enough for all those 1s and 0s in his metal skull to process his own Death. You’re sure he would’ve wanted it that way. After all, he was resigned to die anyways. The least you could do is make sure he knew he got there in the end.

While Vulcan might have convinced the other Bards to give up the fight, you wouldn’t let that stop you. If you had no allies, then you’d make due on your own. You would not be trapped within yet another Prison. There was no negotiating this. You had decided that the moment you looked up in the Arena and saw that Slaver in the Sky, peacefully asleep as if you were no more a threat to him than an insect was to a giant. You had cracked the nugbones of those ignorant enough to believe this in the past. Now was no different. You would reach into the sky and slaughter this jailer, for you refused to be held. And if it was your fate to do this alone, then so be it! The others couldn't see it anyway. They didn't know. The price of Freedom is Bloodshed. You learned that during your time in the Threshpits. A lesson that would be etched into the linings of your soul for all eternity. A lesson that gave you your Resolve. No prison shall ever be graced with your presence again, you would allow no Warden to ever look down upon you. No collar around your neck, no slave’s brand to sully your skin! No captors, no Slavers, No Masters, No CONFINES! You refuse to be OWNED!!! You are the one to decide your destiny. You and No one else. For you are the Master of your Fate. You are the Captain of your Soul.

You are Finlus Renfik, Slave No More.

You are Finlus Renfik, and no Irons shall ever Hold you again.

Chapter 67: > Obligations, or: A Gauntlet Thrown

The howl of a cold wind echoes through the freshly minted battlegrounds in the aftermath of your strife, one final wisp bidding the Witch of Breath goodbye from this world. Before you stands the Bard of Blood, gazing down at his felled opponent with a mind lost in thought. He takes a deep breath in before turning up to face the sky with his eyes closed. Beside you as you kneel down next to him, Creed sits upright on the ground, rubbing his throat to feel the scars you were unable to rewind from him.

“Boss… who is this guy?” He asks through a weak voice.

“His name is Finlus.” You tell him as the Bard opens his eyes once more. “We met when I first landed in the Arena. He saved me from walking head first into a gunfight without knowing I could actually die…. guess he saved me again…”

“And we can trust him?” Creed continues on his inquiry, carefully watching the Troll as he stares up at the sky with an intense gaze.

“Of course we can.” You tell him as you watch Finlus straighten out before you. Focused straight ahead now, it seems he’s finally come to a decision with whatever he’d been contemplating.

“………Bum, bum, bum… another one bites the dust… Bum, Bum, Bum… another one bites the dust.” The Bard begins to sing, nodding his head to the beat he’d created in his mind. “And another one gone, and another one gone. Another one bites the dust!” Creed gives you a look.

“…I think we can?” You bashfully shrug, unsure if you were too hasty in your endorsement.

 

***

 

The blisters on your hands have finally stopped bleeding. You aren’t a doctor, but you’re pretty sure that’s a good thing. You did what that girl first did when you busted your knuckles and rubbed some dirt in it, and that seemed to do the trick.

“Ha!… Ha!… Ha!…” You grunt, taking swipe after swipe against the thick tree trunk you’ve claimed as your practice dummy with the two of your swords. Below you, the grass of the summit sanctuary has been littered with wood chips you’ve chopped off the mighty oak. You think you’ve got the hang of dual wielding, or at least your arms don’t feel like they’re gonna fall off if you keep swinging these damn hunks of metal anymore.

It was tough at first. After the first hour of practice, you could barely lift your elbows out, and you nearly threw in the towel for the day. But then you imagined what that smug little girl would say once she climbed back up to the summit and saw you nursing your arms like a bitch. The thought of her getting the satisfaction to laugh her ass off directly in your face was enough motivation for you to push through the pain. That’s just the training you’ve done with the two swords. You still haven’t figured out what to do with the third one yet, which you’ve currently got tucked into a waistband you fashioned out of your shirt, which you had to scrap to hold all these fucking swords. You’d tried to devise some kind of system where you would throw one of your two main swords and use the third as a backup, but it seemed too dumb of an idea to attempt with any sincerity. If you’re forced to use swords, that means you’ll be going over to your opponent to hit them with the swords anyway. Why the hell would you throw one if you're just gonna go over to them and hit them with the fucking Sword!? ……Gah! Why are there Three of You?!

“Yo, Ryder! You up here?” You hear called behind you, breaking your chopping rhythm. Glancing back as you breathe a few heavy breaths out, you spot just as Haugrr arrives at the top of the stairs leading to the summit, followed closely by Ragnaa who peaks out behind the maroon dress he wears. “Ah, there he is. See, Rags? Told ya he’d be here.”

“What? No you didn’t, Sara told us he was still training at the summit.” She looks at him sideways coming up beside him.

“Exactly what I said. Sara told us he’d be here.” Haugrr ignores her comment, walking into your dojo without even fuckin’ asking first. “Whoa.” He stops his approach upon seeing your ripped torso musculature, now unveiled due to the rising sword-holding demands of your outfit. “Bit more naked than usual today, ey buddy?”

“A warrior has nothing to be ashamed of.” You coolly declare while unwedging your sword from the tree trunk.

“Is that what you are?” He asks with a laugh. “Cuz from where I’m standing, the word voyeur comes to mind.”

“What the hell do you want, Haugrr.” You sigh, tapping the flat side of your sword against your shoulder.

“Sara said you were doing a ‘Mulan’ up here, so I guess really I just wanted to know what that meant.” He declares, taking a look around the sanctuary.

“Ryder… what exactly are you doing up here?” Ragnaa asks while closely observing your work slicing into the tree.

“What’s it look like? I’m gettin’ ripped.” You gesture to the machinations of your dojo. “Gettin’ tough, gettin’ hard.”

“Yeah we can tell.” Haugrr chuckles to himself, looking down at your outfit again. You sneer at him in return.

“Look, Ryder, if this is about what happened with the girl back on Local, you don’t have to prove anything to us. Even if you did, shutting yourself away up here with Mia seems a little… extreme. She’s kinda scary.” Rags tries to convince you. So that girl hasn’t told them she’s taken you hostage, huh? Figures. “We all know you gave it your all against the Page girl, but you really shouldn’t be messing with girls in the first place! Even a teammate like Mia. It’s dangerous, you know?”

“Fuck off.” You turn back to your chopping, seeing the two assholes just came up here to make fun of you.

“I’m serious, Ryder, I’ve seen a lot of boys get really hurt playing games for girls!” She doubles down.

“I swear to god and all that is holy, if the both of you aren’t off this mountain in the next sixty seconds, I will throw you down those steps myself.” You declare, looking up at the sky in exacerbation of the pestering surrounding you.

“Hey, so what exactly is a Mulan, anyway?” Haugrr disregards your warnings with colors flying so fast, it’d make your head spin.

“You’re a Mulan!” You snap, pointing your right sword at him.

“…I still don’t get it.” He grimaces back at you.

“Alright, visiting hour’s over.” You hear called from behind your hecklers. Glancing past them, you see that the girl has returned. What did Rags say her name was? Mia? Hm… Dumb name. “Beat it, dead beats. We’ve got some important training you’re getting in the way of.” She directs them towards the sanctuary exit. Haugrr shrugs before slinking on, walking past her. “And yes, dead beat as in dead beat.” She tacks on as he goes by.

“Ha-ha-ha, you’re so hilarious.” Haugrr dryly states, rolling his eyes. “Come on, Ragnaa. Looks like there’s no Mulaning to be had up here.” Turning to walk away, Rags stops a moment to look back at you like a sad puppy.

“Don’t overdo it, okay?” She tells you.

“Y-yeah… alright.” You passively agree, uncomfortable with the look she’s giving you. With that, she rejoins Haugrr as he’s going back down the mountain steps. “The hell was that about…”

“Oi, Little Red.” The Girl, Mia comes up to you, resting a hand against her side as she meets you. “Did I tell you to stop? Get back to… what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m building up muscle memory.” You tell her, getting back to chopping. “My Father would do it for boxing. He said the punches you throw on instinct hit the hardest. I figure a sword swipe works the same way.”

“…How long have you been doing that for?” She asks, watching as you shred more wood chips into the grass.

“Something like A Hundred hours.” You boast, flexing your progress.

“That’s funny, because I could’ve sworn I was only gone for five.” She grunts while watching you work. “A Hundred hours and you haven't been able to chop down a single tree? Sounds like you’ve been slacking.”

“Maybe.” You shrug, looking back at her. “You wouldn’t know, though, would you. You’ll just have to take my word for it.” A satisfied sneer comes across Mia’s face hearing that. “What the hell took you so long down there anyway?”

“Dallra was freaking out about something a little while ago, kept pestering me about going to play a game of chess with Jason or something. Seems she’s calmed down now though.” She sighs before reaching up and grabbing one of the tree’s branches, pulling herself up into the treetop. Oh haha, it’s safe to sit there because she thinks you can’t chop it down. How fucking funny. “By the way, what was that Doom Seer talking about when she brought up Local?” Mia asks from the branches above you. “Something about a Pagegirl?”

“It’s nothing…” You grumble, still sore over the matter. Cheating Vamp Tramp…

“If you say so.” Mia hums, opening a magazine she brought with her to read. With her busy, a quiet nothing overtakes the mountaintop, with nothing but the sound of your swords hitting the tree or Mia’s pages turning to fill the silence.

“……Hey.” You say after an awkwardness overtakes the quiet. “…Why is Mind better than Rage?”

“It isn’t.” Mia tells you, turning pages. “Mind sucks.”

“Then… then why was the Mind Page able to beat me so badly?” You ask, recalling just how far the divide between you and her was. Even if she used cheap tricks, you should’ve been able to power through them and beat her at a game you weren’t even playing! Yet she handled you like a rag doll…

“Because you suck even more than Mind does.” She nonchalantly declares without batting an eye.

“Wow. What inspiring words of wisdom.” You huff, seeing you’re getting nothing useful from her. “Whatever. I’m not even sure if she was a Page anyways.” You mutter as you get back to swinging. “She was wearing a skirt. Pages don’t wear skirts.”

“No, they just wear ridiculous purple thongs and elf shoes.” Mia snidely comments from above.

“Yeah, I didn’t choose this outfit, okay?!” You huff at her. “Not all of us are lucky enough to have cool fucking customization options like cloaks and actual cloths.”

“You would’ve if you had actually interacted with Sburb’s gaming U.I. at all.” You hear her mumble from above you, the snark so laden in her words that it practically drips down on top of you like a syrup, slopping onto your head. You grumble at the indignity. “So you got your ass kicked by some girl. So what?”

“So what is that she wasn’t even the worst loss that day!” You say, slamming your Sword like half a food deeper into the tree than your previous strikes had gone. “Some other prick showed up right after that damn vampire, the same motherfucker who broke my fucking Arm, and he beat my ass!” You exclaim while trying to retrieve your sword back out from its wooden captor. “And the worst part of it all was that just when I had gotten some traction in the fight, just when I was about to get my get-back, in comes Leah! Sneaking up behind him and blowing his fucking head off!”

“Stole your kill, huh?” Mia glances down at you, watching as you struggle to pry the fucking sword out of the god damn tree! “You hate to see it.”

“It was supposed to be a Duel!” You exclaim, giving up on pulling the sword out of the apparent bitch-of-a-stone-of-a-tree you’d lodged it in. Instead, you draw your third sword from your belt to replace the second and get back to chopping. “She had No Right!”

“Hmm…” Mia hums while watching you work. Suddenly though, she drops out of the tree again, and almost effortlessly, she rips the samurai sword out of the trunk like a hot knife through butter. “Alright, enough with endurance. We’re moving on to strength training.”

“But I was just getting a rhythm going.” You tell her as she returns your sword to you.

“It doesn’t matter how well you can program a swing into your reflexes, if it’s a shitty swing with no power behind it, you’ll be dead in the water.” She says, marching to a different side of the summit. “Captchalogue the blades for now, we’re taking a break from them.”

“Uh… alright.” You nod, turning down to your weaponry. Okay, you can do this. You just gotta… just sort of reach over… and… Aha! You got it! Items successfully Capture Logged! All you had to do was think about picking them up! Has it been that easy this entire time?!

“Here.” Mia stops, gesturing toward an enormous boulder. “Take your stance.” She instructs. You oblige, stepping up before the big rock.

“You want me to lift this thing?” You size up the rock, seeing it’s probably a couple tons and five times your size. How the hell would you even be able to get your arms around it?

“No, I want you to break this thing.” She informs you while walking away. This shit again… “You don’t have to do it on your first hit, but I expect it done by nightfall, so get punching, gingerbread.”

“How the hell is this strength training?” You yell back to her as she retreats to her tree again.

“We don’t exactly have a gym up here, dumbass. You’ll be training through accomplishments.” She calls back, settling into her treetop luxury while you work your ass off. “You pull off a Feat of Strength, your Mangrit will go up. How do you not know this?”

“haaa, fuckin’…” You mutter, facing the boulder you’re expected to break. Okay… okay, sure, you practically broke your hand against this the last time you tried it, but that was like two whole days ago. You’re way tougher now. Just gotta… strike out and *crack* “Fuck!”

 

***

 

Drifting off back to the Land of Chess and Foresight while Ryder throws himself against the tide that is breaking rocks with his bare hands, you set down in the middle of a Very Important Date.

You’re Creed Lederman again and you have no idea what’s going on. An hour ago, you were sent rocketing through the skies of a chessboard world and were subsequently strangled half to death by some cackling sea witch, and now you’ve having tea and crumpets with the King of the Blood Kingdom or whoever this Finlus guy is. Boss seems okay with him, but the guy is cagy as hell. Wouldn’t say a word to the two of you until you got somewhere ‘more comfortable’. After that, he led you both out nearly an hour back to the castle the Witch blew you to, up to the balcony dining area where you were met with a spread of teas, biscuits, jellies, those little finger sandwiches. There’s even a cake, placed at the center of the table.

“Gentlemen.” The Troll King looks between the two of you. “Comfortable? Could I get you anything?”

“We’re fine.” Boss impatiently answers, seeming like he’s got a million and one questions to ask.

“The tea could use a bit of sugar.” You quietly comment while taking a sip from your cup. It’d be rude not to partake, after all.

“Look, Fin, what the hell is going on?” Boss interrupts before you can get that sugar. “Who was that back there, a-and how are you alive?! Your pillar in the Archive went dark!”

“My what…?” Finlus looks at him while paused in the middle of a sip from his own teacup.

“Your-, there are pillars that track who’s alive in the Arena that I found on Lokat.” Boss quickly explains. “Not long ago, I checked and saw the Bard of Blood’s pillar had gone out, and I figured…”

“Huh… How peculiar. I’m fairly certain I’m still alive, but I suppose I could be mistaken.” Finlus tilts his head to the side while looking up, like he’s genuinely thinking hard. “It’s possible this pillar business you discovered could be busted…” He suggests with a hum. “Although… I suppose you could hardly consider me a Bard of Blood anymore. That might be why the light’s gone dark.”

“Anymore…? How do you mean?” Boss asks, pulling back in his chair.

“Let’s just say I’ve stumbled upon a kind of… exploit my Title made me privy to.” He nods from side to side, jingling his puffy jester hat balls. “I’m sure you’ve noticed a change in my apparel. I wear the Royal duds well, wouldn’t you say?” He asks with an enthusiastic laugh. “Well they ain’t just for show, chuds. They reflect the metamorphosis I’ve gone through, full-on pupation two-point-oh.”

“…” Boss glances over at you for a second, looking to see what you’re making of this. You glance back, somewhat curious yourself. “What was the exploit, then?”

“Connections.” He leans in close, as though whispering a secret. “I tore down the confines of my Title, and branched out to connect with its neighboring bodies. I jacked myself into the nexus that defines the Roles in the Arena, and found within it a wheelhouse of Classes to choose from. Merging with them granted me the powers and influence of those Titles, as though I myself belonged to their Factions.” Showing his hand to you, Finlus confidently sits back in his throne with the confidence of a man who knows he’s got a Royal Flush.

“How many?” You ask, trying to wrap your head around the mechanics of what he’s done. How the hell would one even go about doing that? Accessing the metatextual structures of existence and to then simply destroy the foundations that divide concepts like Class? What would that even look like? “How many Classes have you merged with?”

“Five.” He says like he’s answering the simplest of questions. “With my Title of Bard included, I make Six. Three active, three passive.”

“A Master Class…” Boss mutters to himself, catching your attention. He knows what this is?

“Hmm, not quite Master.” Finlus hums, stroking his chin in contemplation. “More like Half-Master… but Twice! A Double Half-Master.”

“What do you call it?” You ask again, intrigued on a conceptual level at this point.

“Call what?” Finlus turns. However when he looks at you, it feels… off. Like he isn’t actually looking at you, but almost through you. Like he’s only focused on the direction your voice had come from, and not the person. The same way a blind man would focus on a noise they heard.

“Your… your class.” You clarify, slightly put off by the look.

“Ah.” He nods, turning forward again. “I’m not sure what this array would be called. I was partial to calling it a Jack. As in, Jack of All Trades.”

“Or maybe it’s closer to a Joker.” You say to gauge something in the Troll. He only turns partly towards you this time, as if he heard something in the distance that only partially grabbed his attention, looking with a stern expression on his face.

“Maaay-be…” His lips suddenly curve into a smile. “What’s your name, friend?” He asks while still half-turned towards you.

“This is Creed.” Boss answers for you, seeming to pick up on the strange hostility that’s appeared over the evening tea. “He’s my right-hand man.”

“Really!” Finlus exaggeratedly exclaims, the way an old friend you’ve lost touch would when you tell them you’ve gotten married since you last met. “Well, good to meet you then, Creed.” He extends out a hand over the table to you, and your synapses go haywire. “Put’er there.” He smiles, still focusing behind you like he’s staring a thousand yards past where you are. You don’t move a muscle, his hand slowly morphing in your mind’s eye to look like some Devil’s Pact meant to swindle you of your Soul. “Come on… Won’t you shake this poor sinner’s hand?”

“Sorry,” You begin to say as you crush the scone you were going to eat underneath the table. “but the hand’s are a bit sticky at the moment.” You tell the Master while showing off your jam-covered palms.

“Ah, no worries.” He says as his smile curves a little more upward, retracting the hand from you while you’re focused on him. “Anyway, I don’t exactly like showing off my new a-fflic-tion too much. People tend to get all up in armaments about it, questioning the fairness and legality of such a battle-array. Some real piss and vinegar type quarrels out there. So a commonly agreed upon colloquialism has yet to give my Title an official dubbing.”

“How strong exactly would you say you’ve gotten, then?” Boss questions him. You can tell by the tone he’s asking that he’s tossing around the idea of recruiting this guy. You’d be on board if not for the fact that he doesn’t seem very fond of you for whatever reason. It’d be foolish to try and interject yourself into such an endeavor, meaning the Boss will have to do all the legwork if he wants a new member here.

“Strong enough to put down wicked little fish-witches, that’s for sure.” Finlus jubilantly laughs through his cheshire smile. “I haven’t had a true measure of my strength yet, so I can’t say for sure as to what my upper thresholds may be, but I’d say the rise in power is… considerable.”

“You know, our group is always looking for stronger members.” Boss begins his sales pitch, glancing over at you to signal a tag-team. You subtly shake your head ‘no’ indicating he not tee you up for any persuasive plays. “I know you said no the first time, but maybe once you hear what we’re doing here, you might change your mind on teaming up?”

“Haha, I’ll have to stop you right there, pinky.” Finlus grins with a chuckle, holding a hand up to indicate Boss not waste his breath. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ve currently got far too many irons in the fire to to be pledging allegiances right now. I simply don’t have time to go galavanting about the place with a couple of hornless humies. In fact, even as we chit-chat here, the line of dominos I’ve been setting up has already begun to fall. So we’ll unfortunately have to part ways once more after this.”

“Are you sure…? I think you’d really want to hear what it is we’ve got going on.” Boss persists with his tactics. Finlus simply gives him a stern but solemn nod. “Well… the spot’s always there for you, if you’d ever want a group to run with.”

“Hmhmhmhmhmhmhm.” He heartily chuckles, as though trying yet failing to keep himself composed. He glances off to the side, out towards the purple and gold cruisers that patrol the skies to organize himself. “I don’t doubt that for a second, my friend.” He smirks before turning back to the Boss. “So pinky, tell me about this group of yours then. I saw you were messaging someone right after you landed. Suppose that means you figured out how to get past the communication barrier in the Arena, right?”

“Uh… kind of…” Boss shrugs, glancing down at the phone in his lap. “There was a group we got into a scuffle with. They had a piece of tech with them that could get a signal out, and we got a hold of it before they could get away. We only have the one phone that can send messages, but it’s with someone who can watch over us regardless of where we are.” Boss is certainly being lenient with the info he’s giving away… Are he and this Finlus guy really that good of friends?

“Ah, you mean that Seer of yours. Dallra, was it?” Finlus comments, nearly causing you to choke on the tea you sipped an entire minute ago.

“I-… You know Dallra, Finlus?” Boss asks him, sounding caught off guard by him mentioning her by name. Seems he realized as well, neither of you had mentioned D this entire time. If you were to guess, you’d say Boss is just now realizing that while he might be familiar with the man before him, he has no idea who he really is. Regardless of how friendly he might seem, the player before you is not a member of your team. That means he is an adversary, a potential risk to your entire operation.

“Well of course I know her! She’s the centerpiece of your escape plan, isn’t she?” The Master innocently smirks after taking a sip from his cup, holding it before his chin like a posh gentleman.

“……I don’t think I ever told you my plan.” Boss tells himself. “We parted ways before I even knew what I’m attempting was possible.” Finlus pauses a moment, as if reviewing his statement to check for inconsistencies without realizing what the Boss was implying.

“Yeah, that timeline checks out.” He nods, corroborating the statement.

“…How much, exactly, do you know about our plan, Finlus?” Boss straightens out upon asking the question, hesitant as to if he even wants to ask it at all.

“I know you certainly wouldn’t have gotten as far as you have without my assistance.” The Master raises his chin as he speaks, a confident aura radiating off of him upon his declaration. You notice from your peripheral as a chill rolls across the Boss’s form, looking like he’s on high alert now. “You have to have realized something was off about your little group, haven’t you? Known each other a grabberful of days and it already feels like you’ve been friends since you were young? I did that.”

“Explain.” You jump back in, only getting a slight glance from the side of the Troll’s eye this time.

“How long ago did you meet the people in your group, Jason?” He asks, seemingly answering your question to the Boss instead of you. “A few Nights ago? A week or two? Perhaps even a month? Yet you all seem so close, like you’ve been friends for years. Why do you think that is?”

“What are you saying, Finlus?” Boss comes out and asks directly, trying to cut through the cat-and-mouse game the Troll is trying to play.

“I’m saying you’ve been making good use out of the gift I gave you.” He explains, raising a hand up to his side, flourishing his fingers like he’s waving with them. “The Acquainting Shake. Any action to make yourself acquainted with another binds you to them upon contact. With a simple handshake, hug, kiss, heck, even a fist-bump, and two strangers who’d never known each other a day in their lives will be as tightly knit as allies who’ve been by one another’s side for decades. Surely you remember, don’t you?”

“The first time we met…” Boss seems to realize, thinking back to whenever it was he first ran into this nut case. “Right before we went our separate ways, you offered me your hand to shake.”

“I did indeed.” The Master nods.

“And that…” Boss glances down at the presumed hand in question.

“Bound us.” The Master finishes for him. “Thick as thieves, you and I. The Closest of Allies, wouldn’t you say? And ever since then, you and anyone else you’ve ever had the pleasure of formally greeting have all been welcomed into the family. Each a link in an ever expanding chain.”

“But that’s… But how-…” Boss mutters, trying to wrap his head around the Revelation.

“What, you thought a group of total strangers could get along as well as your team does?” Finlus asks him with a smirk. “Unity is something one can only achieve over time. Yet your team trusted you at the drop of a panlid. Suspicious, isn’t it?”

“I don’t get it… I thought you wanted to do things on your own?” Boss asks in an attempt to invalidate the information being given to him, not wanting to believe it to be true.

“I still do.” He nods. “However, if I’ve learned only one thing in this life, it's that it doesn’t matter how tough you are on your own. The Many outweigh the Few, and the Hoard will devour the One in a heartbeat. The only way to ensure yourself against this inevitability is through the connections you forge with those around you.”

“But… why not just join up with someone then?” Boss counters, extending an open hand atop the table, seeming to physically offer up the notion to the Troll.

“Why go through all the hassle of earning another’s trust when you can simply forge the connection yourself?” Finlus asks back. “It’s artificial, I’ll give you that, but that’s far more preferable than the superficial bonds some of the scum in this Arena make with one another. Partnerships so flimsy and conditional, you’d be hard pressed to call them anything but enemies. Enemies who’re simply too busy slaughtering others to turn their blades on one another. This way, I can be certain of a friend’s loyalty, if nothing else.” He tells you both while placing his mask back upon his face. “And besides, it only works if both parties are willing to meet with one another. It’s not like simply touching another contracts them into servitude. It simply makes them more open to cooperation. The way a proper ally should be. And speaking of which…” He declares while rising from his seat. “I have a favor to ask of you. Friend.”

“A favor?” Boss asks, a faint air of nervousness in the undertow of his voice.

“Of course.” You can hear the smile from behind his mask. “What good is a Network if you can’t call upon those who make it up? Why have friends in high and low places otherwise?”

“……Okay.” Boss concedes. You can tell by the look in his eye that he’s struggling with the decision, clearly wanting to refuse. It must be the Shake ability Finlus had mentioned, binding the Boss to him like a tether. Perhaps because of it, even after everything he’s admitted to, the Boss still views this guy as an Ally. After all, it’s always hard to say ‘no’ to a friend. “What is it you need…?”

“I need a message sent Back in Time to my younger self.” He informs him.

“I’m sorry Finlus, but… that’s impossible.” Boss shuts him down. “I can’t make any Jumps. No Time player can. There’s a gridlock on the timeline in the Arena, there hasn’t been any activity at all.”

“And who told you that restriction couldn’t be broken?” Finlus asks as if the idea were ridiculous. “Restrictions only apply to those who can’t figure their way around them, Jason. A Rule can only be enforced so long as those under it don’t attempt to break it. Accept no Rule and you’ve broken free from your chains, but Circumvent the Repercussions and you’ve truly Liberated yourself.”

“I’m not sure if I completely follow…” Boss hums, getting lost in the Troll’s ramblings.

“You saw a barrier and assumed it insurmountable. That was the fatal error that’s trapped you.” Finlus elaborates while walking around the table to meet the Boss. “And perhaps everyone else has as well. Perhaps only I can see this Cage for what it is… I can’t stand barriers. Limitation is just another word for Prison. To accept the bars of your cell as factual is to accept death. And so I refuse such notions.”

“That’s all well and good, but the fact remains, Finlus, I can’t access the time flow.” Boss tries explaining once more. “Even if I could, there’s been no versions of Me from the Future running around the Arena. I have no Causal Time Loops to operate out of.”

“Who is to decide where the lines of our powers are drawn? A man who hides behind invisible words? A serpent who swims through his troves of gold? No. We do. We decide.” The Master declares while standing before the Boss, resting his hands on the arms of his chair. “So a word of advice for you; if you ever feel as though you’ve hit a wall in what your abilities can accomplish, perhaps try a different approach. A new factor to spice the hell out of that bland ass recipe you’ve been peddling. Who knows. With the right combination, anything is possible.”

“The right combination…” Boss repeats.

“So what do you say then, hornless? Wanna take a crack at it?” The Master offers yet again. Boss looks at him a moment, contemplating whether he should. With the way he’s spoken about the rebound of his Time Jumps before, it seems like the recoil could cause some serious damage… Is this really a good idea? Regardless though, Boss gives the Troll a confirming nod. “Love to see it. Before all that, we still need one more missing piece.” Suddenly then, Finlus turns to you. With his mask on, you’re unable to be sure if he’s looking though rather than at you still, however you think it’s a safe bet to say he’s barely acknowledging your presence at the table. “Creed fella. You’re a Mind player, yes?”

“Uh… yeah…” You hesitantly confirm, figuring the mint-chocolate-chip God Tiers would be a dead giveaway.

“You wouldn’t mind lending a paw to our efforts, would you?” He asks in… seeming earnesty. You linger a moment, feeling yourself being pulled away from the table in some ingrained instinct to run. “Aw, come ooon. No tricks up these sleeves, honest.” He assures you while physically raising his hands up, allowing his sleeves to fall slack a small degree. “I only ask because you'd smooth the process along. Your specific contribution would allow the messages I'm sending to be inherited as thoughts in the past. A pretty handy trick I’d appreciate you lending me. Think of it as payback for getting you out of that noose.” He gestures across his throat at you with a hooked finger, as if snagging an invisible line loose from there. “After that, consider us even-stevens.” Hmm… you… suppose… that’s fair.

“Boss?” You turn to your Leader.

“It’s up to you.” He tells you. Seems like that’s the most he’s able to protest against the arrangement while under the Master’s thumb.

“…Alright. If it means this tea party ends faster, I’ll pitch in.” You tell him, joining Boss by his side while he sits in the chair. “So how do we do this?”

“The process is a simple one.” He tells you, placing a hand on both your and the Boss’s shoulder. “Activate your abilities like you’re powering up for a Fraymotif. I’ll do the heavy lifting beyond that.” You give the Boss one last look, as if to ask if he’s still sure about this. He looks back, making it clear that he isn’t. That’s when you take the dive, opening the channels and coursing Lightning through your veins. Just then, you feel an overwhelming presence wash over you, like you’ve been swallowed up by an ocean wave…

 

***

 

“Tch…! Fck…! Gah…!” You grunt each time your fist collides with the bolder wall. Your body might have gotten tougher the last few days, but you’ve just about worn your knuckles down to the bone at this point. Even worse, you haven’t so much as put a dent in this fucking rock. “God…! Damnit…!” You place one last stamp against the stone, leaving a bloody knuckle print among the sea of red you’ve painted upon the surface. Taking a few heavy breaths in, you try to think your way out of this. There has to be a trick you can pull, right? Mia said Rage guys have tricks and stuff… Maybe it’s just at the angle you hit it at? Or maybe you have to fold it in a special way, like those guys who can rip phonebooks in half because they crease it! Now…… how do you do that with stone…? “Alright…” You say to yourself, leveling another punch aimed at the rock. “…… Damn it.” You huff, dropping your stance one again. This is hopeless… Glancing back, you turn your attention to Mia, who’s moved spots from her treetop over to that rock by the entrance. “Hey! You’re supposed to be teaching me stuff, right? How about a damn tip?” You call over to her as you step away from the rock.

“…” She doesn’t answer.

“Helloo?” You try to get her attention, walking up to her now. “Hel- god damn it.” You huff, realizing that she’s ditched you again and left that doppler-gangster or whatever. “Fuckin’ Mirage.” You scoff at the illusion before walking past, towards the stairs. You’re gonna go get a fucking snack. However, before you can get any further past that first step, your goals of Ultimate Snackage are suddenly thwarted as you’re cracked against the side of your face. “Ah!” You roar in anguish at the sneak attack, gripping your head.

“Still me, dumbass. Get back to training.” Peering over to where the attack came from, you discover Mia there, the staff end of that spear she’s got extended out towards you.

“You’re still here?!” You shout at her as she brings her pokey-stick back down.

“Of course I am.” She nonchalantly confirms like she didn’t bail on your all of yesterday. “You think I leave doubles of myself everywhere I go? Delusions can be handy every now and then, but it’s not a skill I use very often.”

“Your rock is a whore.” You tell her, ignoring whatever the hell she’s babbling about to get to the main core of your issues.

“Is he now.” She asks with an unimpressed gile.

“It won’t fucking break. It’s made of titanium or some shit!” You inform your psychotic teacher. “I’ve hit it ten thousand times and I can’t even chip it!”

“Because you’re doing it wrong.” She plainly declares.

“What the fuck do you mean I’m doing it wrong?!” You burst at her, instantly pissed off. “I’ve been punching this thing for fucking hours now!”

“Then you’ve been doing it wrong for hours.” She continues with her declarations in an equally plain manner.

“H-… How am I doing it wrong!?” You shout more to your surroundings than your teacher. You’d probably get better advice that way, on the off-chance that someone who actually knows what they’re taking about happens to be passing by.

“Aah.” She refreshingly exclaims, having just taken a sip from a bottle of water she’s somehow manifested to her side. You are nettled to no end. “Because you’re punching it as if it were unbreakable. You think just because it’s hard and hurts when you hit the surface of it, this boulder is an immutable wall for you. That no matter what you throw at it, you’ll never be able to push past its barrier.”

“Oh well la dee da, you have any way of saying that that makes actual sense?” You humbly request for the translation.

“Come on, dumbass.” She rises up from her spot, strolling over to the boulder with you grumbling in tow. Meeting her there, she looks between you and the stone. “Tell me. What is it that you see before you?”

“What do I see? It’s a fucking rock.” You huff, getting tired of this wax-on jag-off bullshit.

“Wrong.” She immediately shuts you down. “It is nothing.”

“What the hell are you talking about, it’s literally right there, it’s a fucking rock!”

“So you see a wall. Is that it?” She asks, setting an open palm against the boulder as she leans partly on it.

“Uh. Y-yeah, I guess you could call it that.” You nod, confused where she’s attempting to take this.

“Why stop there then?” She tilts her head at you. “You think the rock is the first thing lying before you. It’s not. What’s truly before you is the air. Countless molecules of oxygen, septillions upon septillions between you and what you think is before you. Yet you disregard them. As if they weren’t even there.”

“I mean… they might as well not be. They can’t stop me if I go to move through them.” You tell her, still lost in what she’s trying to tell you. Is there really a lesson in all this…?

“But the rock can stop you?” She pushes off the boulder, switching to your other side as she walks behind you.

“…” You remain silent, glancing down at your bloodied fist, trying to grasp what she’s saying. Aaagh! Why the hell does she have to be so cryptic with her explanations?! Nothing is making sense!

“Air is nothing, but the rock is an obstacle?” She asks again. “If you were anybody else, you might’ve been right. But you’re not anybody else, are you?" You glance back at her behind you. "Who are you, then?” She nods her chin at you.

“…I’m Ryder Von Wolfhart.” You say while facing forward, feeling a strange stillness in your chest.

“And what brand do you bear upon your hide?” She continues on.

“That of Rage.” You answer.

“That’s right.” She nods, meeting you on your other flank. “And nothing is an obstacle to those of Rage. If you meet a wall, you don’t stop. You don’t go around, you don’t go over, you don’t go under. You go right fucking through it. Because a wall can’t stop you any more than the oxygen that rattles through the void around you. A wall is just a congregation of molecules, no different than air.”

“…” You contemplate all that she’s telling you, actually seeming to get it now.

“Take your stance.” Mia instructs. You do so. “Now. Don’t punch the rock. Punch past it, to the other side where your real target is. And remember; the edge of this boulder isn’t a barrier for you, it’s just where the rock begins.” Easing the weight of your body to your side, you cock back your shoulder, ready to put your full force into the punch.

“Stop.” Mia holds up an open palm to halt you. “Other hand.” She instructs, causing you to glance down at your casted up arm.

“B-… But it’s broken.” You tell her.

“So?” She grunts. “My legs have been broken for the past week and a half. You think I’ve let that slow me down any? Use your other hand.”

“…Hm.” You switch sides in your stance, readying your broken arm for the punch. Standing there now, though, you feel yourself hesitating, too much of a wimp to take the swing with a bent-up wing.

“…Tell me something you hate.” Mia says once she notices you haven’t thrown a punch yet. “Something that really pisses you off, that makes you want to sock it right in it’s fucking jaw every time you see it.”

“……” You glance down at your cast once again. “…That damn Heir.” You tell her, recalling when you first took a crack at that freak, and how he nearly tore your arm off afterwards.

“Alright then. I want you to picture that Heir of yours on the other side of this Boulder.” Mia coaches, tapping the stone in front of you a few times for emphasis. “Now, I want you to hit him.”

“…Okay.” You nod, breathing out as you ready yourself once again.

“You might not have heard me right.” Mia states, facing you directly now. You glance over at her yourself, confused what you did wrong. “I didn’t say destroy the boulder so you can get to him, I didn’t say punch him through the boulder. I want you to hit him. The boulder isn’t even a factor. Pass through it as if it were no more consequential than the oxygen in the air. The rock will do the rest.”

“…” You say nothing, but nod all the same. Facing the boulder now with your task at hand, you shut your eyes and imagine him there. The Frothing Madman, twitching and snapping like a rabid dog. You recall just how you felt seeing him stomping through the fields towards you and the girls. The urgent call for you to get between him and them, whatever the cost! And as you imagine that scenario, living through it once again, you feel a burning roar bursting through your chest! “RAAAAAAH!!!” You shout, pivoting your shoulder forward as you plunge your fist into the Heir’s stomach!

-CRACK-

“How bout that.” Mia whistles in impressment. Opening your eyes again, you find the boulder that had just dominated your way forward has been eviscerated, a split down it’s center dividing it into halves like an entire ‘V’ shaped chunk was just ripped from the stone. Extended out still is your fist, a faint trail of dark smoke drifting off the knuckles of your hand. “The kid’s a natural.” Pulling your fist back, you notice that your cast was practically destroyed in the process, torn halfway off your arm from the impact.

“It… It didn’t even hurt…” You mutter as you observe the destroyed bone-binder. Completing the process, you grab hold of what remains of the cast and pry it off of your arm, studying the damage. It appears the material was ripped into six different vectors when you hit the stone, leaving it looking like the result of a gun barrel when it explodes. “Shit was easy like sunday morning…” Probing your punching hand closer, really scrutinizing it for any injuries you might’ve re-inflicted with the hit, you notice that your arm is not only uninjured, but it feels as if it’s completely healed now. That Mary chick said you still had weeks before it’d be ready to come off, yet here you are, castless, and yet you’re in better shape than before the arm was even broken!

“Looking at that boulder now, I’d say that’s Feat Accomplished, Ryder.” Mia tells you, snapping your attention away from your regained appendage. “If you check your Echeladder, you should find that your Mangrit has gone up now.” Upon her suggestion, you begin navigating through your Status Array, somewhat more familiar with the interface now. As soon as you open your systems, however, something slams into your face, just below your Nose!

“Gah!” You yelp, stumbling back as you clutch your face. Looking back up again, you’re able to see just in time as a cannon’s worth of technicolor confetti-bricks erupts into your face, knocking you to the ground. “Ahhah…” You roll onto your side, feeling your nose absolutely gush with blood. Sitting back up again, you look over to Mia. “What the Fuck Was THAT For!?!”

“I didn’t do that.” She tells you before looking back to your display screen. Sitting there, among a pile of rainbow-vomit ingot looking thingies, is some kind of enormous multicolor Fist with a strange ฿ symbol on the back of it’s hand. “Whoa… that’s a Jewel Encrusted Boongauntlet.” Mia says once she’s taken a long enough look at the thing.

“A what?” You ask in an unimpressed tone, getting back up as you try to pinch off your nose-flow before you fucking bleed to death.

“It’s one of the rarest treasures in all existence.” She elaborates, actually sounding somewhat interested in seeing this thing. It’s about the most emotion you’ve heard out of her yet that hasn’t been directly related to her kicking the shit out of you. Truly the revelation of the century. “This thing has to be worth something like… six-hundred-and-seventy octillion boondollars.”

“Is that even a real word?” You huff, walking up beside her to ogle the doggle. Getting a closer look at the thing now that it’s no longer being slammed into your fucking mouth, you notice the fist has these jewels built into it’s fingers, like diamond god damn knuckledusters. Must be why you can’t fucking taste anything right now.

“You could buy an entire galaxy with this thing, and still have some left over for a string of planets and moons to go alongside it.” She crouches down to poke at the fist with a bird-like curiosity upon seeing the shiny trinket. “According to legend, each gem on it’s knuckle has the grist equivalent of a Denizen’s Hoard.”

“And how exactly do you know so much about this thing?” You ask her, finally seeming to stop your nosebleed. “And why the hell did my damn digi-thing ram it into ma god damn face?!”

“The Consorts of my Land would talk about it sometimes.” She explains, picking the thing up to weigh it. “Apparently a pretty renowned marauder on my planet created one after he combined his entire treasure stockpiles into one piece of loot. Left it hidden somewhere in the Land. Half the armies on Lomaw were after the thing, and just about every mercenary knew about it. As for why you were given it…” She glances over at your Echeladder screen. “Seems like it’s a special gift, for rising up so many Tiers and Rungs all in one go.”

Turning your attention over towards what she’s referring to, you spot that, not only have you apparently rocketed up to the very top of the Echeladder, earning your little avatar a sick new renaissance hat with a fat-ass feather, but you’ve also soared up quite a few God Tier on top of it as well. There you are on that display screen, standing on some epileptic flashing platform with your new rank below you. Speaking of that new rank, what the fuck.

“Robot Clown Show; Rooster Illusion?” You read out to yourself, unsure or not as to if you’re having a stroke.

“Looks like you managed to just clear your last Rung, Snake Oil Squawk Box.” Mia notes, walking up with the money-fist still in her hands. “That’s pretty lucky. Tiers are a lot more fickle than Rungs, so you can go a long time without gaining any experience, not even anything small that would push you that short bit over the edge to your next level up.” While still trying to decipher what the hell these levels mean, you notice the Tier you’re scheduled to reach next.

“Made Fearful the Tyrant…” You read it out loud, practically mesmerized by how cool it sounds.

“Yeah, every now and then you get a halfway decent sounding one.” Your teacher informs you while inspecting the Boongauntlet more closely, rotating it to look for imperfections. “They’re few and far between, though. So don’t get used to it. Most of them a dumb as shit, as a rule of thumb.”

“Hm…” You hum, taking a look at your stats again. Gel Viscosity has gone from 5 to… 7,250… whoa… Scrolling to your Mangrit, you find it’s gone from 10 to 10,750?! Glancing down at your hands, you look over your meathooks, gazing on at them in awe while wondering if they‘re actually as strong as your Status Window says they are. Curious, you wander over to your partially decimated boulder, grabbing hold of the left half of what’s left there. What should be close to a ton, the rock is lifted like it weighs ten or twenty pounds at most.

“Huh… hey, Ryder, I think you got ripped-off actually.” Mia tells you while you’re still in astonishment of what you’re doing right now. “Your gauntlet is a fake. It’s probably only worth a couple quintillion. Maybe seven-point-two, seven-point-three, around there.”

“Did you know about this?” You turn to her to ask.

“What, that you’d get a bogus reward?” She asks while placing the fist down, unaware what you’re inquiring about. “Nah, that actually kinda surprised me. Usually level-ups have pretty consistent quality control for what they hand out. Although with the amount of Boonbucks it spat at you, maybe your system figures you’re even with how much cash it dispensed.”

“Not the money thing, I mean this!” You hold your half-boulder up with ease to clarify what it is you’re talking about. “Did you know that I’d get this massive power boost if I just opened my Management Window?”

“Well, duh.” She folds her arms. “It was obvious you’d been gaining experience as we went along. It wasn’t until you just checked your Echeladder that you were able to claim it all as one big level-up, though. Why the hell do you think I placated your dumbass claims that you ran a thousand miles in two hours or did five thousand crunches as a warmup routine?”

“Uh… because… it was something a badass like me would do?” You suggest, believing that your admittedly slightly-exaggerated feats are still believable under the right circumstances. She smacks you on the back of the head.

“No, numb-nuts, it’s because by the act of someone agreeing with your bullshit assertions, what you were saying gained an air of validity.” She corrects your assumption. “When you said you did a thousand pushups, after I agreed with this statement, you gained the experience you would’ve had you actually put the work in. Rage has heavy ties to Skepticism, so by the fact that what you were saying wasn’t challenged, you had essentially commanded another’s skepticism away from what you’d declared as reality, allowing the statement to partially become true while otherwise uncontested.”

“Then why the hell did you have me break the damn rock before I got a strength buff?!” You demand to know, tossing your boulder aside like a frisbee.

“Because then you would’ve never known if it was You who broke the rock, or just your Mangrit.” She easily explains.

“I-…” You go to protest initially, but stop when you realize what it is she actually said.

“Strength is wasted on those without the will to use it.” She continues upon seeing your pause. “If you broke that stone with just your physical capabilities alone, you would’ve never understood the extent of your reach. This way, you understand what your powers can do on their own, and know that you can rely on them regardless of what becomes of your [physical self].”

“Well-... I-..." You pause a moment, feeling that impulse to protest slowly disappearing from your chest. It was all... just to help you...? "……Thank you… Mia…” You tell her, actually… grateful? For her help???

“That’s Sensei to you.” She declares, tilting her chin up at you. “And yeah, well… as useless as you are, you’re still my pupil. I’m not gonna let you go around without knowing what’s what. Now.” Turning around, she begins to walk away, towards the stairs again. “Get back to sword practice. You still need to figure out a technique for the three bladekind.” Turning back around before she descends the stairs, she adds one last comment before leaving. “Practice into the night if you need to. Until you master the Abstrata or until you collapse, whichever comes first.”

“H-hey, can you turn the night back on before you go?” You call after her as she vanishes.

“Figure it out yourself.” You hear her voice echo back to the summit. “Welcome to the God Tiers, Little Red.”

“Damn it…” You huff, looking up at the bright light above you, knowing you won’t be getting any sleep tonight. Glancing over at the tree you were using as a training dummy, you think you’ll have to find something a little more sturdy to hack at now, with your strength stats through the roof. Master your technique, huh… You supposed you could do that.

 

***

 

Slicking off of you like hot tar, the sea of blood that had enveloped you descends as though it were low tide, leaving you feeling stained despite no visible evidence of what had taken hold of you being left on your body. Standing in the aftermath, you take a gasping breath in as the process of connecting with the Double Half-Master ends, and you’re freed from his grasp once more. Before you, the Boss sits in his chair still, left in a similar state, taking deep breaths in while he tries to decompress after what you both had experienced in there.

As your sense of self begins to readjust to the moment in time you reside in, you reach out to the middle of the table, quickly swipe a finger’s worth of frosting from the cake there. With it, you transcribe the last message that you saw to the best of your ability while it’s still fresh in your mind. It was in Alternian, leaving you uncertain if the symbology of the alien letters you’ve smeared upon the tablecloth is legible or not. Regardless, it’s all you can recall. A single statement, incomprehensible to you. Fully coming to your senses now, you realize your situation, and your eyes dart from side to side in search for the possible hostile that’s backed you into this corner in the first place.

“Much appreciated, humans.” You hear from beyond the glass doors of the balcony, leading into the castle. Zeroing in on the presence, you spot Finlus there, walking away without a second thought. “Feel free to claim the royal hive for yourselves when I’m gone. I have business elsewhere, so I won’t be needing it anymore.”

“Finlus, you bastard!” You call after him, stomping around the table to look into the room the balcony connects to. “You knew that Witch was going to attack us! You built the damn bridge we were ambushed on!” Hearing your accusation, the Troll stops in place. The memories you have of delivering Finlus’s messages are murky. It was like you were at the bottom of the ocean, stuck in this red haze that weighed an unrelenting pressure on you the entire time, leaving your body to ache and bay with even the smallest of movements. You saw flashes in the dark above you there, hanging over your space in the haze like a jumbotron over an arena. It was playing glimpses of the Timeframes Finlus had accessed through the Boss’s aid. You were given messages to deliver, all written in Alternian that you were to transmit back through the Window in Time to the Master’s younger self. It was all going too fast to keep track of, countless images of different locations in the Arena, different scenarios Finlus was giving himself the foresight to account for, pieces of the puzzle that make up his plan all being put into place by the three of you. One image, however, you saw in crystal clear detail. It was of the bridge you and the Boss had been caught unprepared on by the Witch, Scylla Hardis. He had appeared there days prior, back when the Land was whole. It was him. He twisted the very face of the continent like he was unfastening a screw, forming the chasm you had plummeted into at its edges. He had created the bridge you were caught on, turning the very ground into vectors of Living Stone that extended across the divide, connecting his creation back to the mainland. He had orchestrated the entire thing… reached back in time to make sure both of you were delivered to him, his willing pawns.

“…Oh?” Finlus smiles behind his concealing veil, turning halfway back to face you. “Sorry to do it to you fellas, but a good fisherman always knows when to use the right bait. It just happens that you two unfortunately fell into just such a category.” He goes on to explain with a cocky arrogance you’re beginning to think is typical for the guy. “My target was elusive. Without an opening, I never would’ve caught her. So I had to be tricky, and strike when she least expected it. And for a predator like her, that opportunity only comes when she’s focused on pouncing upon her prey, leaving herself wide open for shock and awe. It’s a tough break that you just happened to be the perfect prey for her.”

“And what the hell happened to all that talk about being ‘thick as thieves’ with the Boss, huh?!” You shout this time, feeling uncharacteristically passionate against this prick. The god damn judas… There’s nothing more low than stabbing a friend in the back! Seeing it happen in real time to the Boss has struck a fucking nerve! “What kind of bastard does that to someone they call a friend?!”

“Hmhmhm.” He chuckles to himself, unbothered by your bellows. “Suppose now would be a bad time to let you know dear Scylla was actually my oldest acquaintance?” He laughs as he informs you, leaving you too stunned to press him any further. His oldest acquaintance…? And he sent them after you… Does that mean… it was all a ploy…? Did he arrange the scenario of saving you both just so you’d be more willing to help him send a few messages to the past…? At the expense of a friend’s life!?! “I’ll let you chew on that for now. Perhaps ruminate on the fact that if this is how I treat an ally, then you should really find pause when considering becoming an enemy.” He warns in simple terms not to get on his bad side.

“Finlus!” Boss comes up behind you, seeming to finally find his voice, having been too stunned to act up until now. Grabbing the Troll’s attention again, he turns entirely around to face the Page this time. “…What are you planning? What is it you’re trying to do with all this?” He demands the answer.

“……” He looks on at the Boss with a neutral, even bored expression behind his mask, seemingly debating with himself as to whether he answers him or not. “…I’m proving a point.” He vaguely explains before turning to walk away once more. “For what it’s worth, Jason… I hope you’re successful in your Prison Break. Get out while you still have the chance. Spread your wings and fly away, if you can. Peace.” With two fingers held out his side in a 'V', he exits out of the room, closing the door behind him as he leaves the two of you behind.

“…Finlus doesn’t have his wings anymore.” Boss says to himself. You look over at him, confused that that was what he took away from all that. Yeah, you guess it’s a tad odd for a Troll in God Tiers to not have their wings, but you really felt there’s more pressing things to worry about in all this! Before you can comment on it, a sudden -ding- drains the silence that’s filled the room. Snapping the Boss out of it long enough to remember you’re still on a field mission, he pulls his phone out to check the message. “She wants to know why you were staining the table with chocolate scribbles.” He tells you while looking back up after reading the text.

“Ask her to translate it.” You request, heading back outside to the tea party. “It’s the only one of the Bard’s messages that I was able to memorize before he spit us back out from his time tunnel.”

“On it.” He starts typing into his phone. “This was the only one you got, huh?” Boss huffs, sounding exhausted. Fair enough. It’s been a long day…

“Unfortunately.” At the table again, you look down at the mess you left there. Trolls sure do have a sharp looking language, you’ve noticed. “He was acting fast in there. I only got the chance to memorize his last message.” You explain your shortcomings, hoping this is at least something somewhat valuable. “Even with all that talk about deciding where the lines of his power were drawn, it didn’t seem like that portal through the time barrier he created wasn’t stable enough to be up more than a minute or two.”

“It for sure wasn’t lasting long.” Boss agrees with a sigh. “Nearly burnt myself out powering the temporal aspect of that time-capsule.”

“Apologies, Boss.” You say while sitting back down, dissatisfied with your performance today. “I should’ve tried harder to get more info from him. In the end, I could only get the first few words of each message before he’d moved on to the next, skipping through timeframes. Barely even gave me time to transmit the words into his head to begin with, the impatient bastard.”

“Wait… you spoke in his head?” Boss looks up from his phone upon hearing this.

“I didn’t speak directly, but I accessed his cognition in the moments he brought me to.” You explain the distinction. “That’s how I deposited the script he had wanted sent to his younger self. Although I guess I could’ve spoke to him had I wanted to. Not that I did…” Boss looks down to the floor in contemplation upon hearing what you’ve told him, seeming to instantly lose himself in thought over something. Just when he opens his mouth to say something about it, another -ding- comes from his phone.

“Ah.” He says while reading through the text. “She says it’s sloppy and hard to read, but it says-…” Stopping suddenly, the Boss catches your full attention with what he’s been sent. Whatever it is, it’s enough to sit him back down at the table as well, placing himself down with a unceremonious plop, staring blankly at the screen in his hands afterwards. Quizzically, you extend a hand out, gesturing for him to lend you the phone to see yourself. He looks at your hand with a strange expression a moment before eventually surrendering the device, allowing you access to the pesterchum.

 

PESTERLOG:

-- quartermastersFallingdown [QF] began pestering senileMinor [SM] at 18:40 --

QF: Hey 20, 20rry t0 interrupt y0ur gentlemanly leaf b0il cerem0ny, but I’ve g0t t0 ask.
QF: Why the hell did Creed 2tart 2mearing grubcake fr0sting all 0ver the place?
QF: I think he’2 trying t0 write 20mething in Alternian with it?? But it’2 a me22.
SM: He actually asked for a translation for it
(not sent)
SM: Can you make out what it’s saying?
(not sent)
QF: Barely…
QF: 0kay, s0 20me 0f it'2 t00 2l0ppy t0 read,
QF: But fr0m what’2 legible, it’2 20mething ab0ut ann0ying s0meb0dy.
QF: Directly it 2ay2; “Gh0ul2 and Bar Car2 can be handled after Hardi2. Agitation of MAL remain2 2teadfa2t s0 l0ng as this is c0mpleted within 2even night2 after the F0rge.”
QF: Ja20n?
QF: Hell0?
QF: …
QF: 0h, hi Creed!

-- quartermastersFallingdown [QF] ceased pestering senileMinor [SM] at 18:43 --

 

“Oh…” Is all you can say, reading the words on the screen.

 

Creed, figure out a your Next Steps.

Chapter 68: > Burning Hearts, Roared Ablaze

Next Steps? Hey, the Boss is running this show, you’re just along for the ride. That, and also to be on standby to put out any fires that might happen to spontaneously erupt along the way. You’ll advise, but devising your plan from scratch is your leader’s responsibility. In short, it’s about time that the Big Man get the Rock. How about it then, Jason?

“Huh?” You look up from the phone again. “You say something?” Creed glances over his shoulder at you.

“Nothing.” He softly answers.

“Oh…” You mumble, turning back to your phone. You must be hearing things. You’re still in the aftershock of Finlus’s revelation to you. That apparently he’s roped you into some kind of chain of complacency beholden to him. And that apparently he knows about Mal…! Mal, MAL, Beware of Mal! The most important part of the message Lucas sent you, more important than a weapon that would fucking remove you from existence, a message he traded his last scraps of good luck for so he could get it to you, for christ’s sake! What does it mean?! And why does Finlus know about it? Finlus… it can’t be true, can it? Was he the traitor Ginnun was warning you about? Damn it, you trusted him! Or… at least you think you trusted him? Maybe it was all fake from the moment you shook hands. Shook… shit…! Your group, your entire team! You’ve shaken hands with all of them! Finlus said it himself, how could you have ever thought strangers with incentive to kill one another would ever get along like you do?! You’re in the middle of a Fight for Survival, a Battle to the Death and no one has even so much as hinted at going against the group! Esspin and Sara are like Sisters to you! You see the Triplets as if they were your Cousins! Dallra is-! Dallra is… is she even……… is it even real…? Or just a delusion brought on by this damn chain?! How can you even be sure of your own feelings after learning what you’ve learned? You thought Finlus was a dear friend, you fucking wept for him! A guy you only met him once! What’s that say about everyone else? How do you know if Anything is real?! Is it all… is it all……

“Boss.” Creed says, snapping you out of it for the moment. “What are our next steps here?”

“…” You don’t know what to say to him. All this time you’ve spent with him, and you still can’t be sure if he’s even really your ally, or if it’s just-… it’s just… Finlus didn't know who Creed was like he did with Dallra… He only knew Dal was a centerpiece for your plan, but not Creed, even though recruiting your members is just as important as locating them… Is Creed… not in the chain? Is he not… a member of your team? He’s not the traitor Ginnun warned you of, no he couldn’t be… You already cleared him of suspicion… unless he got inside your head at some point… changed up your memories…! Before you jumped to LOMAM, he rooted around your Mind! Could it have been then…? Agh! Damn it! No, it's not True! You’re spiraling again… “We bunker down for the night. Our goal is still for Lofasm, so we’ll head out as soon as we can. We have some ground to make up after being blown off course as far as we have.” You tell him as you get up from the table. “I’m… I’m gonna go lay down… I need some time to think…”

“…” He doesn’t say anything to that, simply watches as you turn to leave.

Exiting off the balcony and out of the throne room it connects to, you roam the halls of the castle, in search of proper quarters to rest for the night. You want to get up early to make up for lost time, but from how exhausted your body’s been left from the events of today, you can tell you’re gonna be out a solid ten, twelve hours, no doubt. This was only supposed to be a two day trip, but with tomorrow being dedicated to a hike back to your destination, it’s looking like it could extend to even four or more… Damn. This whole excursion’s turning into a huge waste of time. Even more reason you can’t go back empty handed. You’ll need something of value to make up for your losses here.

“Haa…” You turn your attention down to the phone as you walk. You want to talk with her, but… is it really okay to? If the only reason she feels the way she does is because of a fucking hand shake, wouldn’t it be wrong to continue down this path with her…? Would she see you the same way had you not shaken her hand?

Before you can decide the answer for yourself, your phone lights up with a chime, indicating you’ve received a new message.

 

PESTERLOG:

-- quartermastersFallingdown [QF] began pestering senileMinor [SM] at 18:56 --

QF: I2 that black 2creen just really intere2ting, 0r were y0u thinking 0f me22aging me?
QF: If the latter, feel free t0 c0ntinue 0gling.
SM: No I was just thinking of what to say haha
(not sent)
SM: um
(not sent)
SM: How are things going at home base?
(not sent)
QF: Well a2ide fr0m y0u nearly 0verl0ading my bl00dpu2her…
QF: All quiet 0n the m0untain fr0nt.
QF: But that’2 n0t all y0u were reaching 0ut ab0ut, wa2 it?
SM: ah… no
(not sent)
SM: I wanted to talk, but
(not sent)
SM: Not over a chat log
(not sent)
SM: In person maybe? When I get back?
(not sent)
QF: 00h, i2 it s0mething juicy?
SM: No, not exactly the way I’d describe it
(not sent)
SM: uh, I’ll tell you more about it when we get back, until then just
(not sent)
SM: Think about us? I guess
(not sent)
SM: Like if you’re sure you’re okay with it
(not sent)
SM: Or if it’s too taboo to be with a human or violates some ancient Jade laws or something
(not sent)
QF: Pff- You’re 2uch a d0rk~
QF: 2ure then, I’ll think ab0ut u2.
QF: Until then, I can’t wait till we can have thi2 talk in per20n.
QF: I mi22 y0u!
QF: 0h!
QF: I2 that blu2h I 2ee, Page Ja20n?
QF: I had n0 idea I wa2 in c0rre2p0ndence with 2uch a demure maiden!
SM: Okay I’m headinhg to bed now os you shoule make sure creed doesn’ tget himseld into trouble okaty goodnight!
(not sent)
QF: …
QF: Cute~

-- quartermastersFallingdown [QF] ceased pestering senileMinor [SM] at 19:05 --

 

Looking at the phone, you feel a strange churning in your chest. You want to feel happy, but something in you keeps you from it. That restless thought lurking at the back of your mind telling you it’s all fake. That it’s just a symptom of the chain. Finlus said it made you more cooperative, this synthesized unity between your group. It puts you years ahead of other groups in terms of how well you can function with one another. Can you really expect all the emotions that come along with something like that to be reliable…? Maybe you’ll figure it out tomorrow. For now… maybe it’s best if you just sleep…

 

***

 

Rising up the steps to the summit, you draw a long breath into your lungs, feeling a lightness to your steps here. You can knock Jay all you want, but if he was gonna bunker your group down and dip for a fucking week, you’re glad he at least chose somewhere with a decent view. Like a chill valley with a morning fog lying over the hills. At least, from where you’re standing.

You told the runt to finally figure his shit out last night, and assuming he’s at where you think he’s at in his training, you’re fairly confident he’s come up with something. Although he is a dumbass. Wouldn’t surprise you if he’s overcomplicating things in his head. Oh well, if that’s the case. You can think of a few more ways to knock something worthwhile into him.

Reaching the top of the mountain, you notice almost immediately that the garden’s been carved to all hell, with sword slashes engraved deep into the rock of the summit. A good sign he’s been busy, at least. You spot your lazy lout of a pupil in the center of it all, fast asleep on the ground, snoozing like it isn’t exam day. You should really work on his danger sense next, he really should’ve detected your presence at this point. Shame has been brought upon this dojo. It’s about time you fix that.

“Alright, firecrotch, up and at ‘em.” You announce, grabbing the runt by ankle and lifting him halfway off the ground.

“Uhgh???” He bumbles while still half-asleep, looking around through closed eyes while his face is smushed into the ground. “Wazat, washappinin?”

“It’s morning. Time to get back to the grind.” You tell him, tossing his leg out and forcing him to flip back, rolling off the top of his head before he lands on his back.

“Agh!” He grunts, looking around for the source of his contortion. Getting a solid look at his face now, you see that he’s got little pockets of smoke hovering around his eyes like goggles. “Who’s there?!” Huh… he put little illusions of night over his eyes. A bit pathetic that that’s all he can manage, but points for creativity, you suppose.

“It’s me, dumbass.” You say as he physically grabs hold of the smoke to remove it from his peepers, blinking a few times as he adjusts to the light.

“Jesus, you ever think about working on your bedside manner?” He asks as the adrenaline from being caught in his sleep works its way out of him, taking a few breaths to calm himself. “Aren’t you supposed to be a maid?”

“Not your maid, ya little shit.” You scoff at the presumptuous arrogance the boy has. “Now hurry up and get to your feet.”

“What for?” He grumbles while rising up from the ground. As he does, you summon forth your Polearm; The Raven. He didn’t have his swords by his side when you found him passed out, so you can only assume he mastered the 3x technique and put them away before collapsing. If not, then he’s in for a world of hurt!

“The hell you think for?” You ask him, cycling your weapon to your vanguard, flourishing it before you. “Put your dukes up, dickweed! Let’s see how long you last with those new buffs of yours.” Hearing this, the runt gives you a sigh.

“Fine, give me a minute.” He tells you while pulling up his strife deck. “How the fuck are you supposed to use this thing…?” Seems he’s still not getting it. Guess you’ll have to send a message then. You walk up and cut his menu in ha/lf. “Fuah!” He squeals while falling back to the ground, landing on his ass.

“The Hell you think you’re doing, rookie?!” You roar, standing before him. “You said you wanted to be a Boxer, right? So Box! A Rage player’s greatest weapon is their fists!”

“T-t-then why do you get to use a spear?!” He asks in a panic as he dives away to the side just as you stab down into the ground he’d just sat upon.

“Doesn’t matter! Now dodge!” You slash across at him.

“Jesus!” He exclaims while pushing against the ground to launch himself back.

“And it’s not a spear. It’s a polearm, you uncultured fuck!” You get after him, charging forward as he tumbles across his back, popping back up to his feet. Catching up just as he’s back on both poles, you bring your saber up and over, chopping it down at him like an executioner against a con’s neck. In an unexpected turn, the runt brings his arms up, forming an ‘X’ over his head with his wrists just as your blade reaches him. Slamming down on top of him, the feather edge of the Raven is halted at his dome, leaving him unscathed by the direct hit. Color you impressed. That attack had enough force behind it to cut him right down the middle. Cocky bastard was delusional enough to think he could stop that with just his flesh and bones. Lucky for him you weren’t using Heed No Warning. Regardless of how confident he might’ve been in his fortitude, that Polearm would’ve carved right through that paracausal bullshit without a second thought.

“If I’m supposed to Box… why’d you give me the fucking girly swords, then?” He growls, struggling against the blade still pressed over him like a guillotine as you add more pressure, trying to break his guard.

“Because it was funny to watch you use them.” You laugh, which seems to piss him off just enough to break the stalemate, flinging his arms out as he forces your weapon off of him. Before he can get too full of himself, you kick him square in the stomach, the force of which sending him back before the friction of his shoes scraping against the ground stops him.

Facing off, you swipe your polearm before yourself, flourishing its saber at your pupil. Like a matador taunting a bull, Little Red sees Red and charges for you. You ready your defense, leveling the tip of your blade for his advance. He takes a winding swing just as he reaches you, flying past the guard you had with a right hook. You easily juke back, causing his strike to go wide. As he’s still in the back swing of his attack, you pull your polearm in a straight line up like the stroke of a paintbrush, threatening to unzip his innards if he remains too close. The runt seems to have been anticipating that, likely taking note of your blade’s placement when he first approached, keeping his feet planted firmly back enough to where he can pull himself away just in time to avoid the upward rake. With your saber up in the perfect position for a sweeping slash, you continue on with the assault, seeing that Ryder can keep up with it now, bringing the blade down with the aim of slicing from collar to hipbone. Already prepared, Ryder halts the slash, reaching out above him to catch your staff, locking your attack in place and allowing him access behind your reach. Clever dick.

Before you can realize, your attention is forced to the right, as Ryder socks you across the jaw with enough force to turn your head. Is that what you think it is…? Has he finally landed a solid hit? It’s enough to bring a Tear to this old Sensei’s eye… Too bad for him that’s your cue to get serious now. With a pivot of your hips, you spiral into a twister, dragging Ryder’s dumbass along with you for the ride. With a firm flick of your wrist, the Page goes flying, launched into the small pond at the summit with a 2xSkip before settling, sinking like a rock once he does.

“Blgh… Fliblr…!” His drowning gargles bubble up from the drink. As you march over to the shores of the tiny pond, a thrashing splashes water about the place, and your pupil resurfaces, a fire in his eyes. “Fuckin’-!” Making eye contact with him still in the pond, you tap a finger against your wrist. Well? You’re waiting. Clock’s ticking, runt. “Hah!” He stomps forward in the pond, creating enough of a shockwave to raise a rapid veil of water up before you like a mini tsunami. Then, before you can figure out your next course of attack, out through the wave shoots Ryder, like a living torpedo. His form flips over itself as he spins into an ax kick, placing it squarely against your skull. Damn. Fucker really rung your bell there.

Slashing the bottom of your staff in an arcing motion above you, you crack him somewhere between his neck and his hip, knocking him away before he can get any more ideas being this close of quarters. Cycling your polearm to a proper stance, you repose yourself in the direction of your opponent. Managing to get up, the runt is only just to his feet when he notices you charging for him. Improvising from there, he quickly lurches over, grabbing hold of a smallish boulder before spinning it into a catapult toss on course directly for you. Facing it head on, you wait till the very last moment before you act. And just when the two tons of rock is about to split your face open, you slash across the expanse before you, carving a dark rift in space that you dive through. And as you’re bathed in a shroud of feathers, it’s only a fraction of an instance later that your form is scattered into a thousand pieces as the boulder your pupil hurled rockets through the space you occupy.

Still carried by the momentum of your dash, the fragments of you fly forward, blowing past Ryder’s positioning to his rearguard. It’s here where you reform yourself, being pieced back together one cascading feather after the other. Striking before he can realize what you’ve done, you rake your saber across his back in a diagonal slash, evoking a sudden cry of surprise from him. You’ve already pulled back and lunged forward with a stab by the time he’s turned around, gashing him across the right cheek just as he looks back, causing him to retreat out of your reach before you can place any more hits. And where the hell does he think he’s going?

“Gotta be more aware of your surroundings, gingerbread!” You coach as you lunge forward. You manage to stab him a few times around the shoulder and thighs as you lance forward towards him, peppering him as he jukes backwards away from you. “You’ll have to earn that opportunity to recompose yourself, boy. Until then, it looks like I’ve got you on the ropes!” You taunt as he continues to retreat.

Not paying attention to where he’s backing up to, Ryder eventually finds the end to that yellow-belly road in the form of a boulder he runs into, stopping his absconding where he stands. Taking the opportunity to fuck him up a bit, you continue your charge, shoulder-charging directly into the kid and denting a crater into the side of the rock behind him.

“Gah!” He gasps, having the wind jettisons from his chest. Not laying off, you pull back, twirling into a spin to gain momentum with a horizontal slash, whipping your saber around you like the accelerating ball of a pendulum until it makes contact, tearing through the stone like wet paper. Ryder is able to pull up a paltry guard just in time to avoid being bisected at his armpits, tucking both arms in to create a shield with his elbows. The blade of your polearm slashes across the flesh of his forearms, leaving a deep wound in its wake. Pulling the armament back into a readied position, you prepare to plunge it forward. Striking true, you aim to sink the tip into his stomach, however before your lunge can touch skin, Ryder claps his hands together on the saber of your polearm, clamping down on your weapon and keeping it from piercing any further. Testing his resolve, you push forward, seeing if you can break his guard. In the midst of you attempting to force your way past his defenses, Ryder surprises you, delivering a solidly performed headbutt against the bridge of your nose, sending you reeling back a ways. Nicely done, you have to say. With a solid follow up, he goes to place a left hood against the side of your head. You raise a right-hand guard before he can completely cave your skull in, neutralizing the blow of its damage. The momentum, however, is another story, with the weight of his hit sending you sliding across the ground, stopping yourself when you dig the balls of your feet into the dirt. Glancing down at himself, your pupil takes stock of the damage he’s taken so far, noticing how bloody you’ve left him. “Alright, fuck this!” He declares while quickly diving into his Strife Deck again. Still hasn’t figured out quick-summons yet, it looks like. That’s fine though. He pushed you a sufficient distance away from himself to fuck around with it for now.

“What, giving up on boxing so soon?” You taunt, waiting for strawberry-shortcakes to arm himself already.

“Hell no. But why the fuck should I let you set the terms of this fight?!” He booms, summoning his blades to him, two in his hands, one on his hip. Finally getting it, eh Daniel-san? You can’t help but smile. Striking a dumbass pose, Ryder combines a Hanging Guard with a sloppy Chūdan-no-Kamae, with his lower blade tucked below the elbow of his upper-sword arm. Alright ya mall ninja, let’s see what you got!

Breaking forward, you meet one another, blades clashing in an arcing explosion of sparks and fury. Parrying away your opening sweep, Ryder forces your saber off of his left blade with his right, taking a swing for your jugular while your weapon is down. Pulling your neck back as it goes by, you swing the bottom of your staff back around, cracking across your pupil’s face. Countering your hit, the boy kicks straight up, nailing you on the underside of your jaw. Exchanging bouts back and forth, you’re pleased to see Ryder more than keeping up with you, even if you’re not giving it everything you've got. It’s still a sparring match after all, you don’t want to kill the runt. Chopping away at you though, you can’t help but notice gingerbread hasn’t drawn that third sword yet.

“I thought I told you to get the hang of your Abstrata, whelp!” You chastise your disobedient student, making a play to carve into his forearm, which he skillfully blocks with an X-guard, using the two blades. “You been slacking off?!”

“Nah, I just figured I’d go easy on you.” He boorishly boasts, bolting forward past your flank as he takes a swing for your neck, only just missing you. “You clearly aren’t ready to handle this level of talent yet.” In that moment, you feel the faintest bit of pride in the cocky bastard you’ve turned this pushover into. However that pride is short lived, quickly extinguished when you notice a piece of you fall from your side, as he’s cut a chunk of your hair to chin length. Okay, spoke too soon. You’re gonna kill the runt.

As the little shit is busy chuckling to himself over his small victory, you appear beside him. And before he can prepare for the attack, you fly into a back kick, landing square against his chest. The force of the hit sends him flying, soaring clear off the summit. Oh he thinks he can run, huh?! Chasing after the runt before he can get away, you take long strides towards the edge of the cliff, and slashing another dark rift before you, you leap off the mountain while shrouded in an aura of raven feathers. Gliding across the sky with a hellish whistle trailing your course, you spot your pupil tumbling tail over teakettle, plummeting like a damn rock. Aiding him in the process, you narrow your formation in your free fall, transforming yourself into a missile that accelerates your downward. In a second, you’ve caught up with your student, slamming your heels into his stomach as you spike him like a volleyball.

While still stunned from the initial hit that knocked him off the summit, and further winded from your dive attack, you’re delighted to see Ryder still has enough mental faculties to defend himself in the midst of all this, landing a solid slash against where your face would be in the shroud. Very good instincts, Wolfhart. Crashing down, the boy slams into a small shelf on the mountain, splashing into a hot spring outlook that lies there, cracking its foundation upon impact. You land there not long after, dispelling the feathers from your mantle once your feet touch the ground. Cycling the Raven to a forward position, you approach the spring, noticing it’s begun to boil. Seems gingerbread is starting to get heated up.

Bursting out of the depths of the hot spring, a wave of scalding water cascades out, scorching the area surrounding the brim of the lookout as it pours down the side of the cliff. Slashing a single line forward, you part the sea before it can splash you, and standing beyond the veil in what little remains of the spring is your pupil, soaked to the bone with a pissy look on his face as the water sizzles off of him. Silently, he places the two of his swords in one hand, facing the blades in opposite directions, and with his free grabber, he reaches down to his side, drawing the third armament in his arsenal. Oh? Finally pulling out all the stops? You can’t help the sly smile that draws on your face, watching as raises the sword up to his mouth, grabbing hold of the weapon’s handle with his teeth as he bites the thing.

“You unbelievable dweeb.” You laugh, watching him place the two blades in his hands again, striking a pose, ready for battle now.

“Hmhumhmhumm.” He grows through the grip, unable to fully vocalize his shit-talk.

“You ready then?” You ask, facing your saber at him. He gives you a single nod. With confirmation he’s properly prepped, you burst forward, opening with an upward slash across his form. Guarding against it beautifully, Ryder deflects the attack with his left katana, quickly following up with a swing from both his right and jaw-held swords. You avoid his handheld sword easily enough, however the reach of his mouth blade surprises you with its range, landing a sizable gash across your shoulder. Whipping the bottom end of your polearm upward against him, Ryder blocks your staff with his handhelds, following up with a slash with his jaw. You have to duck away this time, twisting around into his flank as he goes swinging for you, deflecting his armaments when you cycle your own behind you, knocking the attacks away.

Leaping into a spin, you go to separate his shoulders from his torso, but the saber of your polearm is batted away with a roll of his jaw-blade. As you’re landing, Ryder slashes both handhelds out towards where your ankles would be once you touch down. Avoiding it, you tighten your core and thrust your hips upward, forcing yourself into a backflip and keeping your legs from being severed. Planting a palm against the ground, you flip yourself back upright and with your polearm still cradled in the crook of your left arm, you lance forward with the tip of your blade, stabbing forward for anywhere fleshy to carve out a piece of the Page. He dodges where he can, and on the attacks too close for comfort, he deflects your saber with the sides of his blades, but regardless of his solid defense, he realizes he’s still losing ground. Reaching his breaking point where he’s had enough, he slashes his handhelds outward again, forcing you back, and before you can get back on him once more, the clever fucker leaps into the air, summersaulting mid jump into a ball of blades spinning fast enough to make sound while cutting his way through space.

As the Page lands, one leg crouched and the other shooting out in a half-squat Horse stance, it takes you until the ground beneath you starts to move to realize that his cuts into the rock beneath you both were clean enough to sever the shelf from the rest of the mountain. Crazy bastard, you Love It! Leaping backwards, you retreat for a small corner of the spring area still hanging firm to the cliff face, and taking every opportunity he can, Ryder rushes after you, keeping you pressed as you bound from falling piece to falling piece of the outlook. Having to put in a bit more effort than you were expecting, the runt’s got you working overtime deflecting his 3xstyle. Suppose he really did master it last night. Guess that makes you a pretty damn good teacher.

Reaching the small corner of the former shelf, you’re left with maybe five feet of width in ways of fighting clearance, and maybe twenty or thirty feet of length to fight across. Beyond that, the rest of what made up the hot spring plummets down into the misty trenches of the planet. Hopefully there’s no villages down there or anything… However, you’ve no time to worry about hypothetical consorts being caught between a rock and an even more rock place, the student is trying to overtake the master right now, as your pupil is currently throwing out slashes and jabs like they’re cheap cigars! With the length of your weapon, you still have reach on him, but with a cramped maneuvering area, Ryder’s at the advantage with his multiple and smaller arms, leading him to gain more ground on the platform than you should reasonably allow. Seeing this bout won’t go your way up here, you decide to go on the defensive, skipping back until you reach the very end of the small strip of rock shelf. Before taking the plunge off, you tear at the space behind you, slicing open a dark rift there as you pass the ledge. Flying out now lightened by the feather shroud, you’re able to easily propel yourself along the side of the cliff, clawing into the rock to fling yourself upward across the mountain.

Not one to be left behind, Ryder starts tearing after you, taking large leaps and bounds from imperfections in the mountainside, trying to keep pace with your rising vantage. Each leap forward when he’s close enough, he’ll take a few slashes at you, still not realizing you’re semi-corporeal and he’d have to land a deeper hit than that to do any damage. Eventually reaching the lip of the cliff you’ve been scouring, you add an extra bit of Umph to your propulsion, flinging yourself soaring into the sky. Following suit like a little mimic copying your technique, Ryder launches after you. Only when he leaps into the sky, a sudden outpour of energy comes bursting alongside him, rampaging outward into the windy skies of LOMAM, singeing the very air it touches and turning the day to night with the presence of its unnatural radiance. Chasing after you, this boundless energy, this fury-made-flesh collates itself around Ryder, taking on the form of a Great Wolf, its maw ravenous and ready to snap upon your ravenish form.

Somewhat stunned, but mostly impressed with your student’s work, you’re a second too late to react to the Demon bounding through the air after you to avoid its bite. And as the hellish jaws open up to swallow you whole, you spot Ryder within the gullet, eyes aglow and blades aimed for you. As the hellhound snaps down on you, its teeth ready to free your head from your torso, you pull yourself from the Raven’s shrouded aura and reform your weaponry, positioning your polearm into the gums of the beast and forcing its jaw to stay open. Turning your attention down, you swing across the staff of your affixed armament and kick Ryder across the side of his head hard enough to break whatever spell he’d conjured up to summon forth his attack dog, leaving it to dissipate into the ether of the sky.

Reaching the peak of your ascent, you and your student then begin to become gravity’s bitch again, as the two of you hurtle towards the planet once more. In the middle of it all, Ryder manages to land a solid slash against the shoulder of your dominant arm, as well as two deep nick into the sides of your ribs. You carve a gash out in the center of his chest in return, blocking two more sweeps he takes with his handhelds he tries in retaliation. In the midst of your exchange, you notice a figure tearing through the sky towards you. It’s Sara, likely flying to you under the impression you’re in dire-trouble. Which, fair enough, a Demon Wolf just eclipsed the sun and you’re currently plummeting hundreds of feet to the ground.

Your Sylph goes swooping in with every intention of plowing straight into the two of you. The most you can do is shoot an open hand out, indicating she not get too close. With the amount of blades flying in your bout, there’s a good chance she’ll get turned to mincemeat if she tries to help. She suddenly shoots her heels out, grinding to a halt in the sky upon seeing your warning.

“Um…?” You hear her hum as you and Ryder dive past her. Close enough though, you feel her place some kind of spell upon you, and the terminal velocity you’d been falling at starts to decelerate.

Coming upon your destination, the ground, Ryder tries to go for a beheading move with the two of his handhelds. You block him, slamming your wrists against his before twisting your arm around his own with your open hand, anchoring him in for the headbutt of his life. And while he’s stunned, you pull back and deliver a two-leg drop kick into his stomach, launching off his torso just before you slam into the ground, using him as an impromptu springboard to recover into a halfway decent landing. Despite Sara’s aid in your decent, your fall had still carried with it a tremendous force, with you and Ryder both leaving sizable dents in the stone where you land, your student’s notably larger than your own, looking more in the likeness of a crater, having landed on his back, rather than his feet. Glancing around through the dust your crash has kicked up, you find you’ve landed in the front court of the compound you’re staying at. Suppose that saves you the walk back down the stairs then.

“You still alive over there, gingerbread?” You call over to your pupil, fairly confident he could survive that impact. It was a big fall, however, so you never know. Proving you right, a hand full of sword comes shooting out of the hole you put him in, slowly crawling back to his feet relatively unscathed. “Let’s see if you can keep it that way.” You tell him while raising your saber level with him from across the way. Shaking off the crash as he reposes himself, it looks like he’s about to retort your taunt, however before you can get a response from your student, there comes a distinct -click- from your right flank.

“Ya have about three seconds to explain just what the hell you think you’re doin’, chica.” Goldilocks coldly explains, seeming to appear out of nowhere in the smoke with her gun pointed straight for your dome. You glance back with a smug grin, somewhat amused by the display. Before you can make any witty comments about the cute toy she’s brandishing, your danger sense hits you harder than a truck. Slashing your saber upward, you knock away the katana Ryder had flung at Blondie before it can gouge her gun-hand. The sword spirals in the air before stabbing into the ground before you. And as you and the Knight look down at the armament, you both turn your attention up in unison at the boy who’d thrown it, standing there with a furious look on his face as he claws the blade free from his jaws.

“Put the gun down and walk away, Leah.” He calmly orders to the girl’s surprise.

“Ryder, I-“ She begins to interject, the grip on her revolver losing its firmness.

“Put it down!” He repeats, more firmly this time. “This is a duel between me and my Sensei. Don’t interfere again.” Hearing this, Leah looks from you to the Page, and with the likeness of a kicked dog, the girl uncocks her gun and meekly backs away. Hmm… Turning your attention back to your pupil, you see he’s still fixated on the Knight, watching to make sure she backs down completely. Looking over his condition, despite being so torn up, Ryder’s still keeping pace like he isn’t even phased. From the way he is now, with most of his outfit reduced to  what remains of his hood and his purple speedo, the runt looks like a painted warrior with all the blood and dust caking his body. A Total Animal compared to the loud little boy you’d seen just a few days prior. Taking a step forward, you stand before where his thrown sword hand landed after you deflected it.

“You ready?” You ask, drawing the katana from the stone below it.

“When you are.” He nods, a determination burning in his eyes. You toss the sword over to him, which he catches alongside his other handheld. Placing his jaw-blade back between his teeth, your pupil readies himself again, taking that same stance he did at the start of your spar, ready for Round 2. You take a stance yourself, angling your saber down as you hold a grip at the mid and bottom of your staff. One twitch. One twitch from your opponent and you’ll pounce. The real question is; who’s gonna blink first…?

 

***

 

The sun hangs hot against your brow. The merciless rays cooking you like an endless microwave, bombarding you with particle after particle of synthetic light. The dry strips of leather that were your lips smack against one another as you try to recall the last time water had graced them. You think you’ve reached your limit… You think you’re dying…

Off in the distance, piercing high in the sky stands your house-turned-tower, rising up to the upper echelons of your Land’s atmosphere, stretching itself to unimaginable lengths toward the impossible goal of Skaia it will never reach. Your memory is hazy, but you think you were on your way home… You had been out looking for your Dad… and on your way back you were… ambushed… That’s right, you were ambushed by a Derse Agent… he had snuck his way to your planet and nearly gutted you right there and then… You had managed to escape, but… glancing down to the sand, you see a trail of crimson, following you through the dunes for miles behind you. Looking to your stomach, you see the wound this trail originates from, a deep carve into your stomach, an unbreakable tether forever chaining you to the earth. The introduction into the Final Sleep.

That’s right… You die here. And Lexie finds you not long after. Lexie… why does that name feel so distant now…? Like you’re remembering it wrong. It’s not Lexie anymore, is it…… It’s too hot to think straight… You really have lost all your tolerance to heat. All that time down in the… down in the… Where was it you were thinking about? Whatever… you just wish you’d packed more water. With the heat raining down on you, and the bleed slowly draining you of all your facilities, you’ve been left feeling like you’re a raisin in the sun, helpless as you’re robbed of all your most vital liquids sustaining the beating in your chest. The oppressive weight of the heat presses you closer and closer down towards the dune that will be your grave, and each step sees itself weaker than the last, and… and-.. And-…! Hold on, Esspin’s waiting to talk to you.

“Hey, what’s up?” You ask through a gravelly voice as you reach the Troll’s place standing in the sand, putting your previous thoughts on hold for the meantime. Extending a hand out, she holds a bottle of water for you to take.

“Do take care to look after your health out here, friend.” She tells you as you accept the godsent. In an instant you’ve downed nearly half the bottle, feeling the divine grace of hydration revitalize your weary soul. “To my knowledge, humans aren’t genetically inclined to such harsh climates.”

“Thanks-!” You gasp, throat half-full of water still. Breathing heavily as you recover from your long drink, you look back to Esspin, noticing something strange about her showing up on LORAH. “Hey, so what are you doing here, anyway, Ess? I don’t think I remember seeing you here before.”

“Just stopping by to make sure you’re still in high spirits!” She smiles brightly. “Dallra informed me you and Creed were having a rough few nights on your expedition, so I thought it pertinent to stop by. Oh! And here!” She says before holding her hands out above your head. Suddenly then, a soft weight plops down on your noggin. Peering up at what she’s placed there, you see a small plush toy of a light grey lizard. “Your human scalebeast spawn!” Reaching up, you claim the plushy from your head and bring it down to look at closer. It’s a gecko with a little backpack on.

“Gretel?” You mumble, recalling the name of your Daughter. “…This is a Dream.” You declare, realizing why everything is so… off.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t know you hadn’t realized that yet.” Esspin quickly apologizes, straightening more upright.

“But you’re…?”

“Real? Yes.” She gracefully nods while beginning to stroll through your Land. You follow after her, and the two of you begin your small tour through your Land of Rust and Hourglasses, half sunken skyscrapers partially towering in the distance. You know it’s only a memory, but looking at it now, you’ve really missed the place since you’ve been gone. For as hostile as this clump of scorching hot sand and rusted pointy shrapnel was, it was your home for quite a long time.

“How…?”

“Chucklevoodoos.”

“Eh?” You tilt your head.

“Psychic powers that members of my caste might have.” She clarifies. “Though I’m afraid my rendition of this practice paints the tradition in too positive a light to convey just what this skill was infamous for. Most Orchids held the ability to inflict terrible nightmares upon those of the lower classes with their voodoos, even going so far as to warp their thinkpans, conducting them like puppets to act however they saw fit. This capability to dominate led many sects of Highbloods to orchestrate the cultures on Alternia into one of a more favorable climate for themselves. I likely would’ve developed a similar ability had I not been a mutant. Due to my particular genetics, my voodoos developed a tendency to shine more on the brighter side of things. I can peer into other’s dreams and leave them effigies to soothe their restless sleep.” She reaches over and taps plushy Gretel on her head. An Effigy, huh? Neat. “It also makes me resistant to mind control, which… I don’t think I’ve ever had to deal with before… “ She brings a thoughtful knuckle to her chin as she finishes her explanation, thinking hard to herself over her last comment. “Was that… because of the chucklevoodoos? Have people tried to invade my pan without me realizing? Hm…”

“That all sounds pretty intense.” You note, drawing the Troll from her thoughts again. “Hey, didn’t you say you didn’t have psychic powers when we first met?”

“Uh, a small… white lie. And I’ve really only just gotten the hang of the practice since we’ve met.” She awkwardly smiles, hoping to grimace past the subject. “A-anyway, I decided to stop by and check up on you boys. Tell me, how’s your journey going?”

“There’s been… considerable setbacks…” You sigh, glancing off in no horizon in particular. Actually… not no horizon in particular, the Forever Cavern is in that direction, you think… you think… It’s been a while since you’ve been back here.

“Oh? Well I’m sure you’re more than capable of handling it.” She encourages without missing a beat. “It might be hard to see sometimes, but you really are remarkable, Jason.”

“uh… Thank you?” You glance at her, unsure if that was supposed to be an insult or not.

“Sincerely. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone step out from the grave more times than you have, friend.” She continues on as you walk, doubling down on her sentiment. It’s in this moment that you feel it. The connection that’s bound you to her, that’s made her a sister to you. The chain that Finlus has locked her in. It sticks to your like ichor. “Regardless of what’s thrown at us, you alway know how to keep us above water. Lesser men would’ve let this posse fall apart after the trials we’ve endured, and well… I guess what I’m attempting to express is that… I’m glad that you’re our leader, Jason.”

“It’s not-…” You almost tell her then and there what you’ve learned. Of how it’s all fake, and how those feelings of admiration are nothing more than hallucinations. Yet the words can’t find their way out of your throat. You’re too close to your goal, you can’t let the team fracture now. “What if it isn’t real?” You instead ask. “What if the reason we’re only still together is because of some… momentary cohesion? Some passing limerence for one another that will vanish as soon as we make it over the hill? What if the only reason we’ve stuck together was to save ourselves…?”

“Hmm… I suppose it’s entirely possible. That our merry band has only made it this far through vested interests.” Esspin nods with a kind understanding to your worries. “However, I don’t believe that the circumstances in which a tribe is made close matters. It’s what they do with that closeness that is remembered. We are all here because we believe in the same thing; that if we give peace its time to prosper, then there isn’t any limit on where we can go. And if we are to part ways when all is said and done, then I can’t be more grateful for the time that we have been allotted with one another.”

“…” You feel nothing but guilt and shame hearing Esspin speak, knowing the only reason she feels so passionately is due to your careless fraternizing. That you’ve bound her and all others to a will beyond their own.

“You are someone I cherish, Jason. I mean after all, you are my Moirail-in-Law. Yet it drives deeper than that.” She continues on. “Seeing you do the things that you do, all in the name of what you believe in… It invigorates my hope that not all is lost. That there is a coming back from the dark places we’ve all crawled our ways into. You let me know there’s still time for us. For all of us.”

“…All of us, huh?” You mumble while looking down at your plushy effigy, reminded of what Gretel first thought of you. That you would save everyone. And for some strange reason, you’re reminded as well of the story Samantha told you. The one of your older self, the you who sacrificed his life for the sake of his son and his friends. That isn’t you… no… That You was brave. But you? You are a coward. Too scared to tell a friend what she deserves to know. You are a coward, and you think it’s been a long time since you should have admitted it to yourself. Perhaps… perhaps things would’ve turned out different then…

“This is the end of my road, for now.” Esspin tells you, drawing your attention back to her. “Don’t be too long out here, will you? Plenty of people are missing you back home.” You stop upon hearing her words, something in them plucking at your inner chord. Esspin turns back to look at you one last time, as she slowly fades away. “Even that new fellow, Perses, has been asking about you. Apparently you’ve made quite the impression.” She laughs. “See you soon, my friend.”

“See you soon.” You reflexively say back as she leaves with one final -blip- from your dream. Standing there now, in the memories once buried in the sand of your half-forgotten planet, you wonder when it is you’ll wake up. You can’t help but feel this is all too familiar to you, for some reason. Before you can focus on this sensation, there comes a sudden -boom- from off in the distance, and when you look to find the source, a chill runs across your spine as you watch the base of your house crumble and implode under the weight of the tower, slowly tilting off to the side as the Shadow of the Colossal Entity overtakes your surroundings. You are too stunned to react, caught like a deer in headlights as the millions of tons of your abode collapse on top of you. And you are made no more

 

***

 

“-!” You breathe in sharply, suddenly coming to from the slumber you had unwittingly slipped into. You’re sitting upright somewhere, arms crossed while facing down at a wooden floor. Looking up, the first thing you spot is Creed, sat across from you in the boat, rowing your way through the sea. That’s right. You’re on LOFASM now. You had spent all of yesterday making up the distance the Witch of Breath set you back, taking shelter in the castle you had initially intended to the day prior. You had reached the portal crossing this morning, and after making the jump with Dallra’s instructions, you landed at the foot of the ocean your quarry currently resides in. Specifically, you had landed on a small island with an abandoned cabin on it. The most you could find there in ways of a vessel to take you onto the water was a small row bow, not unlike the one you saw in your dream.

“You alright, Boss?” Creed asks, seeing you’ve awoken.

“Y-yeah… yeah…” You nod, remembering where it is you are as you gaze out at the surrounding waters. The sea-foam is so white and fluffy, it’s like they’re clouds themselves, making it hard to distinguish where the horizon ends and the sky begins. It’s as if you were sailing in an ocean made of sky… “Sorry. Didn’t realize how tired I was, still.” You tell him, recalling just how worn out you’ve been since the Witch fiasco. It feels like your body still hasn’t recovered from everything you’d done in that fight, or even the assistance you’d given Finlus with his message deliveries. You know going past your natural limiter is a risky move in a strife, but it seems like over-usage is starting to have a lasting effect on your body. Maybe you should take it easy for a little while. “Must’ve… must’ve nodded off…” You mumble more to yourself than Creed, having a hard time recalling what you’d dreamt about. Something about the LORAH, you think? And… and that’s right, Esspin was there! What a strange dream. “…Want me to row?” You turn back to Creed, realizing he’s been working this entire time while you’ve been snoozing.

“No, that’s alright.” He shakes his head. “We’re almost there, anyway. You can row the way back.”

“Sure, sure…” You agree, settling into the boat as you cross your arms once more. It’s a lot more chilly out here on the water than you remember it being. Perhaps you didn’t get the full scope of the experience when Arnimonemus summoned you here, only experiencing it through your mind’s eye or whatever it was of you he brought to him. Looking out at it now though, you’re getting a sense of deja vu, having only seen this place in a dream up until now. There’s no doubting it, though. This is the place you were brought to way back when.

Beyond looking out at the ocean, there isn’t really much to do at the moment. A silence fills the gap, with the only break being the light waves that bounce against the boat’s edges and the sounds of Creed’s rowing. It stays that way for a while, just the light rock and the swish of the oars as they pass through the water. At one point, however, Creed looks over to you in the midst of his row.

“…You seem off today, Boss.” He comments, striking up a conversation.

“It’s just… there’s been a lot of things to think about happening lately.” You sigh, looking down at the boat’s floor. “I guess it’s just been stressing me out.”

“Want to talk about it?” Creed offers.

“Not really.” You say on reflex. “……Things are starting to seem… not real to me anymore.” You eventually confess, staring out at the living dream you’re seeing right now. “It’s like on Derse. In the days after I entered Sburb, I began to dream of being the Prince of a Purple Kingdom who’d run away to their Moon. Every night for nearly a week, I’d dream about that place, until one day I found it. There was an Appearifier on my planet, and when I stepped on it , there it was. Like I’d stepped into a dream.” You explain, still feeling that sense of deja vu as your boat slinks through the water. “It was… so surreal. I thought I had fallen asleep but no. It was all real. The Purple Kingdom. The Moon I resided on. It was all real…”

“And you feel the same way now?” Creed prompts you to go on.

“I do… but it’s not just that.” You continue. “All of my dreams have been like that lately. They feel just like my Derse dreams, like they aren’t really dreams. They’re just… things waiting to happen. Like one day I’ll stumble upon them in the real world and realize I’ve seen this somewhere before…”

“Premonitions, then?” Creed suggests.

“Maybe… I don’t know.” You sigh, struggling to put words to the sensation. “Maybe… maybe it feels like the opposite? That it's not that these dreams are real, but that my waking reality is just a dream. Like one day I’ll wake up in bed and this will all have been one bad dream. And then I’ll be home again. Before the world ended. Before my Dad died. Before…” You look down at your sleeves, the invisible traces of the stains still present upon your God Tiers. “Maybe I’m rambling…” Before Creed can ask what he’s about to ask, a -ding- comes from your phone.

 

PESTERLOG:

-- quartermastersFallingdown [QF] began pestering senileMinor [SM] at 08:27 --

QF: Y0u’re there.
QF: He’2 right bel0w y0u.

-- quartermastersFallingdown [QF] ceased pestering senileMinor [SM] at 08:27 --

 

Your eyes linger on the screen a moment. Right below you… The words invoke a sinking feeling in your gut. Looking up from the message, you glance to Creed who already seems to realize what’s going on. Accordingly, he takes one oar and slows the boat as he brings it around, bringing you both to a stop in the water. The moment of truth, then. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous. Your heart is beating a mile a minute right now. Seeing him in the dream was bad enough, you can only imagine how terrifying he’ll be in person. However, all that nervousness seems to fade from you when you remember why you’re here. He gave your rivals an advantage over you, he revealed your plans to them, he sicced the Witch of Breath on you when you came to ask him ‘why?’ As you review the score in your head, that nervous shake in your hands steadies, and you feel a calm wash over you. Reaching over, you begin to dig in the Hope Fluff until you make a sizable pocket in the water, revealing a deep green reflection of yourself there.

“Arnimonemus!” You call into the water, trying to look for movement like you’d seen last time. “Arnimonemus, I’ve come to talk!” You try again after a few moments of waiting. “……” Nothing.

“Are we sure he’s really down there?” Creed asks.

“Dallra confirmed it.”

“Maybe he just can’t hear us?” He suggests.

“No… He’s just hiding.” You turn back to the water. “Arnimonemus! I know you’re down there, you snaky bastard! I’ve got a few words for you!” You shout into the patch of green you’d cleared in the foam. Where the hell is he… thinks he can take up your time at the drop of a hat whenever he wants but you’ve got to wait on him like an asshole? It’s only been a minute or so, maybe less, but you feel your patience running thin by the second.

Eventually, there comes a stirring from beneath the surface of the sea, and you spot movement down below. Large tendrils uncoiling themselves, evoking small ripples on the water. Leaning back from over the edge, you wait your last bit of patience dry as the eel enacts some overly dramatic and grandiose presentation to come to the surface. Soon, though, the sound of three large bodies breaching the water behind you lets you know your meeting has begun, and the look on Creed’s face lets you know that you’ve found who you’re looking for. Turning around, you see that Arnimonemus has finally shown themselves, trifecta of heads and all. About time, you bastard.

“PAGE OF TIME; JASON!” The first head addresses you, psychically projecting its voice into your head. An unpleasant, if not familiar feeling.

“YOUR APPEARANCE IS SUDDEN.” The second continues. Yeah, you’re sure it is. A total surprise that the fucking kidnapper they sent after you didn’t get the job done.

“WHAT IS IT THAT YOU NEED?” The third finishes. You pause, hesitant of what’s about to transpire. Obviously, you’re on edge, starting this monster down yet again, but you’re on your own terms this time, and the frustration that’s been growing in you is just about at a boiling point. You tighten your fist in an attempt to stow your fear.

“Did you give Robin and her group a means to communicate?” You ask, recalling the small chip from the Mage of Blood’s phone, and the chalk and barnacles that coated it. They don’t answer, just looks, their fish eyes enormous pools of thoughtless dark, the water bobbing around the base of its neck while their beady eyes look you up and down. “… Well?”

“AN AGREEMENT WAS STRUCK.”

“A BOON GIVEN.”

“A MEANS IN WHICH WE CAN HASTEN OUR GOALS.”

“Hasten your goals…” There’s a hotness on your breath as you repeat the monster’s words. “Then where the hell is our boon?” You speak through gritted teeth, the only thing you can do to keep your temper.

“YOU DID NOT ASK.”

“SHE HAS HER PLAN.”

“AND YOU HAVE YOURS.”

“My plan...?” You ask in an unbelieving tone, slowly rising from your seat in the boat to face the over-grown guppy. “My plan. Well, since you enjoy talking about My Plan so much, since you’ve got such a personal fucking stake regarding the way I conduct my affairs, I think it a kindly gesture to inform you that there’s been a change in my plan. Ya see, at first I just wanted to leave. To get my things, and get out without making too much of a scene. But since Robin, her team, every other mother fucker in this shit hole, including you, are making it such a pain in the fucking dick to even get my feet off the ground, I’m thinking I just kill Robin and her shit-head friends. Them, and any asshole who thinks they can cross me. Then… I take a break. Few weeks, month or two. Hell, maybe even a year. However long it takes for Paradox Space to fry your brain on the sidewalk.” As you speak, the three heads slowly creep in towards the boat to the point where they’re down looking at you on your level. The sudden shifting of its form in the water begins to rock the boat, but you keep your stance upward. You’re too pissed to falter now.

“THIS WOULD BE A VERY. BAD. IDEA.” All the voices boom in unison, rattling the insides of your skull.

“Try me.” You hushly hiss back. There’s a pause. A long one, as you look directly into its front set of black and beady eyes, a grizzled scowl dominating your face.

“YOU ARE LOOKING FOR ASSISTANCE, YES?” The first head blinks.

“WE SHALL GIFT THE SAME GAMBIT TO YOU AS WAS BESTOWED UPON ROGUE OF LIFE; ROBIN.”

“WISH YOU FAITHFUL MEMORANDUM? OR CHARTED GAMUT?” You pause yourself, thinking over the proposition while unsure what either option means. You come to a decision soon, however, realizing it doesn’t damn well matter what either option is.

“I want both.” You finally tell it.

“Boss-“ Creed pipes up, reminding you that he’s in the boat as well.

“BOTH IS TOO MUCH” The Heads say in unison.

“I very much disagree.” You raise your chin up. “Faithful Whatever to get us on level with our competition, and Charted Gamut to keep me from throwing you to the metaphysical dogs. Or is that still too much for you?”

“YOU TAKE OUR WILLINGNESS TO HELP AS AN OPPORTUNITY FOR LEVERAGE.”

“WE SHALL GRANT A BOON TO STRIKE EVEN. NOT TO GAIN THE ADVANTAGE.”

“WE ARE A NEUTRAL PARTY.”

“Then you really should have stayed neutral, shouldn’t you?” Speaking to the waterhorror, you remind them of all they’ve done, and to drive home the point, you pull something from your pocket and toss it into the drink. Drifting there in the water before them is the tattered remains of the Witch of Breath’s hood. You’d taken it as evidence against the bastard before you abandoned her corpse to the chessboard wastes, knowing the slippery eel would try playing coy with you. The head closest to the hood leans in to observe the fabric, and you can tell by the slight fidget on the face you’re facing that he understands his assassin has been dealt with.

“Boss, maybe we should just take the one, yeah?” Creed suggests, sensing the rising tension.

“You gift our opponents advantages, you give away our secrets, and to top it all off, you send a fucking killer after us when we come looking for you.” You summarize for the dull creature. “Now why would a neutral party go and do that?”

“WITCH OF BREATH; SCYLLA WAS CONTACTED FOR YOUR SAKE.” The first head tries to explain.

“YOU HAVE AN INTEREST OF GALVANIZING YOUR PROCESS. WE KNEW THIS WHEN YOU BEGAN YOUR TREK TO US.” The second quickly continues.

“SHE COULD HAVE PROVEN A MOST EFFECTIVE ALLY HAD SHE AIDED YOUR PLIGHT. WE HELD NO NOTION SHE COVETED SUCH INTERESTS WHEN SHE WAS SUMMONED.”

“Save your horses shit.” You call them out. “She was fucking insane and you knew it. The only reason we made it out alive and unshackled was because a friend came and stopped her.” Judging by the sudden shine in the beast’s cold dead eyes, it seems you’ve caught its attention with this.

“WHAT FRIEND?” It asks in unison.

“Bard of Blood, Finlus.” You say in their own articulation.

“PULLER OF STRINGS; DESTROYER OF WORLDS” They exclaim so loudly in your head, the vibrations ripple out through your legs into the surrounding water, rocking your boat.

“That would be the one.” You confirm, wiping away the small trickle of blood that’s trailed from your nose.

“ALLEGIANCE WITH THIS CREATURE IS NOT FEASIBLE!”

“DO NOT TEMPT FATE IN SUCH A MANNER OR ALL IS LOST!”

“A DEBT IS STILL OWED, OUR EXISTENCE YET UNSECURED! DO NOT FORGET THE FAVORS WE HAVE DONE YOU.” There’s an urgency in their voice now. You’re surprised. You didn’t think this thing could feel panic.

“Favors, you say?” You stick your head at them, as if ready to hear what they have to say from their silent maws. “Remind me, what was it you did for me, again? Because I’m having a hard time recollecting after a few recent events.”

“YOU’D DO BEST TO RELIZE CONTACTING YOU WAS NOT AN OBLIGATION OF OURS.”

“HAD WE NOT EXTENDED A TENDRIL OF OUR INFLUENCE, AND HAD YOU NOT BEEN SUMMONED,”

“IGNORANCE WOULD STILL CROWD YOUR SIGHT, BLINDING YOU TO THE FORCES THAT TRULY AIM FOR YOUR DEMISE.”

“WE GAVE YOU ENLIGHTENMENT WHEN WE DID NOT HAVE TO.” They say in unison.

“……But you did.” You say straightening your chest out. “So now you deal with the consequence. And I. Want.” You lean in close to speak. Close enough to feel the coolness radiate off from Arnimonemus’s scales. “Both.”

There’s another pause, this time even longer. The quiet splash of small waves against the dinghy is the only thing cutting through the creeping tension in the air. Its mouth hangs ever open as it sizes you up. You look the creature in its eye, but your attention stretches far beyond the monster in front of you. The conversation is already over. You’ve won this gambit.

“I think we should go.” Creed whispers. You hold a hand out to silence him, noticing something breaching the surface of the water. A tentacle the same color as Arnimonemus’s hide emerges from the deep at the right of your boat. And with it, it brings a wooden, barnacle crusted chest wrapped in its grasp.

There’s a kind of sermonical grace to the tendril’s movement as it sets the chest onto your boat, seeming like it’s trying not to rock your vessel too harshly. Dubious of what you’ve been given, you nod for Creed to check it. He cracks it open and you see a pile of those chips you found in the Mage’s phone along with a pristine looking metal disk.

“WE DO NOT COVET AGAINST YOU, PAGE OF TIME; JASON.”

“BUT WE ARE NOT BEYOND RETALIATION.”

“KNOW THAT IF YOU CONTINUE TO THREATEN US IN THE MANNER YOU HAVE, WE WILL NOT BE SO HOSPITABLE.”

“This the gamut you were talking about?” You ask, ignoring their squawkings as you palm the disk, looking it over.

“THIS IS OUR HOME, AND YOU ARE HERE ON TENUOUS CIRCUMSTANCE. WE ONLY STRIVE FOR SURVIVAL. DO KEEP THAT IN MIND.” They all say, ignoring your question right back. You narrow your eyes, tossing the disk back into the chest and slamming it shut.

“…Well it’s been fun, Arnie, really it has, but I’ve got irons in the fire that need tending to. I’m sure you understand, we’ve got a schedule to keep after all.” You turn to sit back down on the bench when a thought crosses your mind and you turn back. “Oh! And I don’t give a fuck if this is your home or not. If I find out you went behind my back again, I’ll drag you out of this fucking ocean and gut you like the ugly fish you are.” Staring the great eel down, you make sure that you’ll have the last word in this exchange. When you’re sure that he has nothing more to say, you sit back down without a care in the world and take hold of the ores by your side, beginning your row back to shore. Further and further you get, the more you unwind from the tension of the situation. You go for around a minute when you notice a look on Creed’s face.

“…” He stays silent, but it’s clear that he’s looking behind you.

“What? What is it?” You ask him. “He still looking at me?” You nod to your left, where you assume Arnimonemus would be in his view.

“Yeah.” He subtly nods. “Staring right at you.”

“Don’t sweat it.” You assure him. “If he was gonna try something, he’d have done it already.”

“I’m not gonna lie, that was pretty fuckin’ frightening back there.” Creed sighs, a slight tremble in his voice seemingly having just faded.

“We’re fine. He’s more talk than action.” You slowly glance back and see only one of Arnimonemus’s heads is still above water, mouth agape as it watches you paddle away. “Fuckin’ creep.”

“Not the monster, Boss.” Creed nervously scoffs. “You.”

“What?” You almost laugh, confused what he’s getting at.

“Sure, what you were saying wasn’t too intimidating, but…” His lips stretch out as he’s trying to put his statement into words. “There was this aura about you. You look at that thing like it wasn’t a monster. Like… like it wasn’t anything. It was unnatural.”

“Unnatural?” You raise an eyebrow at him, thinking he’s exaggerating.

“In the natural world, whenever a creature comes across something significantly higher up on its food chain, it’ll be left with two options. To try and escape, or to make itself seem bigger and tougher than it is, on the off chance it can scare away the predator.” He continues with his explanation, still watching behind you.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I was just flashing my teeth.” You assure him. “Relax, Creed, I’m not dumb enough to pick a fight with a miniature horrorterror in nothing but a row boat. It was just a bluff.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” He corrects what you’re assuming. “Arnimonemus wasn’t the predator in that exchange. That thing was trying to seem bigger than it was. It was afraid. You looked at it like it wasn’t a monster because… you were the monster......” Falling silent now, the only sound in the boat is of your rowing. You stare at Creed and he stares back. Hearing his ridiculous idea, your first instinct is to brush it off. Call it absurd and be done with the matter. Yet you pause when you notice the look in Creed’s eyes. There’s something shaken up in him, like he’s seen a ghost. He’s trying to hide it, but you can tell by how tightly he’s holding the seat. Like the threat is still right there before him…

No… no that’s ridiculous. You were bluffing! Arnimonemus is an unfathomable waterhorror, what could you even possibly do to something like that? He has three heads and tentacles. He’s the monster, not you! You’re not-… you’re not a monster………

 

***

 

Hiking up to the lookout on the side of the mountain, you admire the view for a moment. This planet is as stunning as ever. You can even see the compound from up here. Looking at it now, it makes you wonder if there was anywhere as beautiful as this place on Earth. You doubt it but… you were a sheltered child. So who knows? Glancing to the side, you spot your student sat at the edge of the small rock formation the outlook sits on, staring out at the world below.

“Ryder.” You say, walking up to stand next to him.

“Sensei.” He acknowledges, glancing back at you. He’s pretty heavily bandaged right now. Though he probably didn’t need it, that Mary chick insisted she dress and stitch all his wounds. She had done the same for you, though Ryder was in worse shape after the Strife, so he got first priority. He’d run off while you were explaining that you didn’t need leg casts to the apparent resident Doctor your team had recruited while you were gone. After you convinced Dr Fuckin’ Know-It-All that the most help you needed was someone to even out the fucking chunk Ryder took out of your hair, it took you a minute to track him down again, but you started to suspect he was somewhere around here when you saw the brightness in the sky was starting to dim. You’d followed it until it looked like the light was at a late afternoon sunset, then lo and behold, there he was, all up in his emotions like a teenage girl. He’s getting better at illusions, however. It’s a small area he’s influencing, but the sunset almost looks real.

“You sulking up here?” You ask, determining whether or not to slap some sense into him. “Because of the fight?”

“No, I… I’m actually okay with how it turned out…” He calmly decides. Hm. Guess you don’t need to slap him around some more after all. “I’m just thinking.”

“About how you lost so badly?” You decide to poke at him a bit, to see if he really isn’t sore over the loss.

“Pff.” He rolls his eyes with a laugh. “You got a lucky shot, is all.” He slyly smiles, seeing you’re just messing with him. Good. It’s one thing to not accept defeat, but another entirely to dwell on a loss. You’re glad he hasn’t developed that habit. It’d take you forever to beat that out of him. “I’m thinking about my Father.” He clarifies. “And I’m wondering if he’d be proud of me today. If he would say that I was finally worthy of our name.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right, you’re a Junior.” You note, recalling him mentioning that.

“I’m a Third.” He sneers at you.

“Yeah, third the size of a normal person.” You snicker under your breath. As your laughter dies back down, you notice a sad look on your pupil’s face as he stares out at the dim sky he’s created. “…Was your Father the one that you got killed?” You ask calm enough that it takes a moment for him to react to what you said. When he does, his attention snaps to you.

“What? No.” He firmly denies. “My Father died in the Ring.” He quickly follows up, turning back to face the horizon. “…It was the twelfth round. His opponent was Woodrow Salmanov. They called him the ‘Woodsman’ in the promos…” He adds, like it’s a piece of trivia he keeps on hand for when a conversation dips. “My Father would’ve won by Judge decision, and Woody knew that. So… going into the final round, he loaded his gloves. It was brass knuckles. They found them after the match. What’s funny is… it didn’t even seem like my Father realized. He kept eating those hits, not even noticing they were heavier. That each one was rattling his brain harder and harder. He just kept on fighting. Woody, haha, Woody was damn near pissing himself when my Father kept coming at him. Freaked him out so much, he ended up lowering his guard enough to let a clean Left Hook through. Knocked him clean out.” He pauses a moment, looking down at his bandaged up arms. “Then my Father just… dropped. He was gone.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Ryder.” You console him, to which he quietly nods. “……Who was it then?”

“Who was what?”

“Who was the person you got killed?” You ask again, a little more clearer this time. He remains silent, unbudging in his secrets. From the way he snapped at you the first time you implied this, it was pretty obvious there was someone he failed. It’s best to get it out before it festers. “There’s one final thing you should know as one who walks the Path of Rage. One final lesson I’ve yet to teach.” Hearing this, Ryder glances back at you again. “The Last Tenet of Rage is Sorrow. The bottomless pit one falls into upon a profound destruction of all that is hopeful. An endless depth that can lead one down the spiral of Insanity. It’s one of the hardest challenges we as Rageborn will face on our journeys, because we are most prone to its ravenous touch. The only way to overcome it is to first accept one simple fact, one shared failing we all have in common. We hurt those closest to us.” You’d seen it in Ryder in the way he lashed out at Blondie during the fight. He didn’t care that she was trying to help him. She had gotten in the way all the same. “That is the price of being a Thorn. Our natural response is to cause pain, regardless of who. You won’t truly be a Rage player until you accept this part of you.”

“…………" He looks out at the horizon once more, lips fastened until he sighs a quiet breath of resignation. "…Her name was Amy.” He tells you. “She was one of my oldest friends. She was there for me when my Father died, and she was the one who convinced my group to let me join when they started playing Sburb. They hadn’t wanted me to join because… well, I guess I can get on people’s nerves sometimes. But she brought me into the fold, regardless.” A friend’s friend, huh. Your heart goes out to the runt, all too familiar of the way that goes yourself. “There was a Derse Agent in our Session that I had gotten into a scuffle with. I was in a bar on their Moon and, well… I ran my mouth with nothing to back it up. He called me out. Challenged me, old west style. The next day at Noon, we’d fight to the death. I was…” He pauses, looking down again. “I was afraid. Amy offered to go in my stead…. That was that. She was killed fighting a battle I was too weak to face. And I was left behind." The lookout goes quiet for a brief but palpable moment, as it seems he's fully processing the events he's recounted for the first time since they happened. "Nothing was right after that. No one would talk to me, and eventually I was kicked out of the group entirely. Everything just kept falling apart, until… I wound up here.” Getting up from his perch on the ledge, Ryder turns to face you. “Thank you, Sensei. You’ve given me the tools to stand on my own. I’ll prove to you that I’m worthy of them.”

“Anytime, Rye-bread.” You tell him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You are without a doubt my most adequate student.” That gets a small chuckle out of him. As you share this most tender of moments with your pupil, you notice a faint trail of smoke drifting off from where you’ve placed your hand on his arm. “Uh… Ryder. You’re on fire.” Removing your paw from him, you reveal a patch of purple flames eating at the lad, slowly spreading like a wildfire over dry grass as it envelops him. Seeing this, your student begins to flip shit.

“Tgah! Whathafuck! Mia!” He panics, trying to swat it out, looking to you for guidance in this situation. You gotta say, though… You’ve got nothing. “Aaah! Aaah! What the fuck is this?!?!” Watching on as your student is engulfed in a raging inferno, you wonder what the likelihood is that this is something serious… Like everything in life, you give it a solid 50/50.

 

Mia, find out the Odds.

Chapter 69: > A Factor for Chaos

Setting your bag down, you’ve just about cleaned up your office from your most recent of fiascos. With the amount those two bled all over the place, it’s a wonder you had enough bandages to plug their wounds, or even clean up for that matter. You nearly broke down halfway through sanitation and were about to give a consort a boonbuck and a mop to take care of the mess. Such is the life of a privately contracted physician, you suppose. All the problems of a clinic, none of the help of an actual staff.

Sitting down at the desk you’d previously swiped from a high-rise on LOHRAC, you let a tired sigh escape from your chest. Taking stock of the room, you notice that your vagabond is still squatting in your waiting area. Filthy shoes propped up on the couch there and all. There’s really nothing like retiring for the evening to a brute mucking up your furniture, you've come to find.

“Is there a reason you insist on lingering about in my office?” You ask him as you fold your hands upon your desk in a dignified prestige.

“Hey, I already told you, I had dibs on this place first.” He barks back at you, pointing at himself with his thumb. “I said it coming up on the elevator, ‘I want the dorm closest to the entrance’.”

“And I told you, I wasn’t on the same elevator as you. I was set up here before you even set foot on monastery grounds!” You try to talk sense to the mad man.

“Not my fault dibs has a universally extending reach.” He shrugs like that’s even an argument. “Maybe you should’ve called dibs yourself.”

“You’re a nuisance.” You glare at the Troll.

“And I didn’t ask.” He brambles back. Before you can say anything in return, the door to your office opens. Oh good, you thought you were going to have free time today. Silly you. Glancing over to the entrance, you see your visitor is none other than One Eighty-Seven.

“Hi Mr Perses!” He emphatically shouts at the Troll, near directly in his ear with him lying down so close to the doorway.

“Ugh.” He grunts back in disgust at your creation, rolling over as to not face him.

“Wanna hang out again?” He continues to pester the brute. “Miss Sara and Miss Esspin said they’d stop by with boardgames!”

“I have never once associated with you!” Perses glares at him from over his shoulder. “You walking into a room should constitute harassment.”

“Okay, we’ll keep you in mind for our fourth player.” He disregards the deriding.

“You are a walking hostage situation.” He hisses at your boy as he turns to walk over to you.

“Hi Mom!” He greets you with just as much zeal as the vagrant at the door.

“One Eighty-Seven.” You greet him back. “What can I help you with?”

“Miss Heimda asked me to take this to you.” He explains while handing over a small scroll to you. Taking the parchment from him, you unroll the message.

“Just letting you know that Mia set Ryder on Fire.” You say, reading it aloud. “…Yeah, that sounds about right.” Unpacking your bag again, you set a few preparatory resources you might need in preparation of this. “One Eighty-Seven, please prep a burn ward in case either of those two show up.”

“Right away, ma’am.” He agrees without a second thought, nodding so low, his head nearly falls to the floor. You can’t help but feel it’s gonna be a long night…

 

***

 

“AAAAH! AAAH! AAAAH!” The human torch bellows, whipping his arms back and forth as he tries to shake the fires on him out. Spread entirely over his body now, Ryder’s form is entirely hidden by the flames.

“Would you shut the hell up already?” You order your student to get a grip on himself.

“But… but I’m dying!” His failings pause as his faceless form looks at you.

“No one who takes this long to die screams this loudly.” You inform him. “Anything that will make someone scream this loud either kills them after a few seconds or the pain will cause their lungs to seize up. Neither of which are happening to you.”

“And what makes you such the fuckin’ expert?” The Ashen One sassily asks, placing his fists against his hips like a smart-mouthed child.

“I kill a lot of things, the fuck do you think?” You shake your head at him. “Hold on. I think I’ve actually got a fire extinguisher in my inventory.”

“Why the hell would you have a fire extinguisher?” He asks, watching closely as you sift through your Group Organization Modifier. Ah, there it is. Nestled safely in your Hazard Vanquisher section, right next to that 7-ball you stole from a cult or whatever the hell that auction business a few days ago was. What table sport equipment has to do with vanquishing hazards, you’ve no idea, but hey, it saves you from having to reorganize the Sporting Apparatus section in your storage to fit it in there with all your old tournament junk.

“I spent nearly four years on a planet named after its Misery and Warfare, it paid to have safety measures.” You explain to him while summoning a Board Breakers™ from your Fetch Modus. Snapping it in half, you equip in its place The Foamer, a compact fire red barrel in the shape of a silenced shotgun, appearing neatly in your hands. “Alright, hold still.” You tell the hothead as you pump a cartridge into the spray chamber.

“What the hell is that thing?!” Your pupil yelps like a dog getting a shot at the vet. You haven’t even hit him with it yet, the pansy!

“Osha-compliant Safety Regulations.” You explain, taking aim at center mass of the flames. “Might want to grit your teeth.” You add before pulling the totally non-trigger extinguisher activation lever. As expected, a sudden burst of sodium bicarbonate buckshot hits your student square in the chest, splattering him with foam.

“AH!! What the FUCK!?!” He tucks to the side, trying to shield himself as you fire again. “Ah! Ah! Why does it sting!?”

“That’d probably be the aluminum hydroxide hitting you.” You say, firing a third time, seeming to finally start quelling the flames around him. “It’s the primary retarding agent that puts the fire out, while the carbon dioxide is what channels oxygen away from the flames to keep them from flaring back up again.” You fire again. “It’s amazing what you can learn from reading the instruction manuals that come with your safety equipment.” And again. “You can really grasp the mechanics of how a system can keep you safe when you know how it operates.” …Okay, one more for good measure.

“This is not a teachable moment!” The foamed individual barks at you… Better make it a Half-Baker’s Dozen. You rack another cartridge. He holds a hand up in defense of himself “It’s Out! It’s out…! Fuck…”

“Huh, suppose you are.” You decide, captchaloguing your safety device, satisfied with the completion of its task.

“You’ve got a lot of psychological problems, ya know that?” Ryder so skillfully informs you as he tries to clean himself of the extinguisher agent. Clearing his face first, you’re greeted with that iconic pissy mug of his once more. “Remind me to never be on fire in front of you again.”

“I feel like that’s not something that really needs reminding.” You tell him as he continues to brush himself off. However, your student stops short as he’s removing the agent from his forearm, noticing that he now wears… a leather gauntlet? You might be mistaken, but you’re at least 99% sure that he wasn’t wearing that before he was set on fire. Seeming to think so as well, Ryder stares down at the new dressing in confusion. Eventually curious enough to continue his unveiling, your pupil brushes more of the agent off of himself, revealing not just a gauntlet, but an entire sleeve leading up to a heavy leather shoulder pad armoring his upper arm.

Searching faster now, Ryder continues to brush and scrape the extinguisher material from himself, revealing more and more of this oddity. Completely cleaned now, you behold before you a new man, dressed in a completely different outfit. The gauntlet and pauldron you’d seen on his left arm were a matching set, with his arms and shoulders gaining a notable presence of dark purple and black armor. His chest however has seen no such care, as the boy still remains shirtless, naked from hip to armpit. Replacing the purple speedo that was all he’d been wearing up until now is some kind of dark bear-pelt wrapped around his legs, covering a basic pair of purple baggy slacks that reach down to a pair of dark leather boots.

“What… the hell…?” Ryder mutters to himself, looking over his new dressings. “What is this?”

“I think…” You begin, feeling like you’ve seen this somewhere before. After half a moment of inspection, it hit’s you! Back at Central Terminata! You’d seen a painting of a man who wore this exact outfit while you were walking through the halls of junk they had in their basement, he was fending off a pack of wolves with two hand axes in the scene depicted. The outfit in the portrait bore more browns and greys compared to Ryder’s purple and black, but the overall look is the same. It’s just like how you fashioned your own outfit, accidentally morphing into a False Idol when you saw the Crone painting. You did that same to Ryder, then? “I think these are your new God Tiers.”

“Oh my god… this is fucking Awesome!” Your student exclaims, looking over the new apparel with all the excitement as a kid on christmas. “This is real fur!” He says, stroking his pelt. Twisting all about to get a look at himself, he eventually ends up turning around, revealing his back to you, to which you notice a large black-ink tattoo has appeared there, in the shape of Rage’s Aspect symbology. Huh. "It's not even itchy or anything!" As he continues fawning over his wardrobe change, a thought occurs to you.

“Didn’t you say Page’s don’t wear skirts?” You ask him, observing the notably skirt-like appearance of his loincloth.

“Uuuuh, this is obviously a kilt.” He tells you like you’re dumb for thinking otherwise. “This is crazy. I look so Bad Ass!” He firmly declares, while still admiring the new wearings.

“Well…” You twist your mouth to one side, looking up at that carrot-top your student is rocking. “Kind of badass.” You correct him.

“What do you mean?” He looks back, confused.

“Here.” You say, walking over to him. “I’ve got an idea.”

“What?” He hesitantly tries to sneak away from you, seeming to sense something is off. Good. His danger sense is getting better. Snapping another Board from your Fetch Modus, you retrieve a pair of scissors from your inventory.

“Consider it payback for the chop-job you gave me.” You tell him, grabbing hold of the runt before he can get away.

 

***

 

Walking along the beach, you suddenly feel a chill run up your neck, causing you to reach up and cover the back of your head. The hell was that? Whatever it was, it gave you the heebie-jeebies. Also, rubbing the back of your head, you think to yourself that you’re probably in need of a haircut sometime pretty soon. When was the last time you got it cut, anyway? Maybe a couple months or so since a You from the future showed up to give you a buzzcut. A buzzcut that damn near ruined your social life for half a year. The condition of your hair seems like it’s always been in a constant state of crisis ever since all barber shops got blown the hell up back on earth, leaving you at the mercy of your own poor clipping skills. Tragic.

Anyway, you’re Jason again, currently walking down the coast you and Creed arrived at after rowing back to shore. The calm atmosphere of the Land mixed with you and your companion leaving a pair of footprints in the sand reminds you of that Jesus story you heard that one time. You don’t really remember the specifics of it, but it’s the one about being carried by the J-Man when times were tough.

“Hey, do you think Jesus was real?” You ask Creed while your mind is on the subject.

“Am I gonna have to start worrying about you?” He asks back, glancing over like you’ve asked something alarming.

“Not in like an existential way.” You clarify. “Just like… is God still a thing? Does he even still fit in with all of this?” You look out at the sea full of monsters.

“Does Christian Theology fit within a Sburb worldview? Is that the question?” He looks at you crazy. “I guess?? If you’re still faithful, I’m sure there’d be a way of looking at all this that fits into a greater plan.”

“I don’t know, it seems like there’s not a lot of room for the Big Man Upstairs in all this mess.” You hum, looking ahead to the beachside town you’re headed for. “The Skaia system seems kind of cut and dry with the cycle it operates in.”

“Easy. God made the cycle.” He explains away. “Look, Abrahamic God can fit into any context, just think of the most powerful system that exists in a story’s universe and he’s one tier above it or he made it all for some mysterious-ways reason. It’s not that hard to conceptualize. Maybe the Bible doesn’t translate so well, but that was written by humans so it’s easy to explain away.”

“I guess so…” You sigh, wondering if Jesus was a God Tier. The thought never crossed your mind before but… He was resurrected. “Hey, what’s the deal with your Bat, by the way?” You ask him, continuing the idle chit-chat.

“Which one?” He asks back, trudging along through the sand.

“You have more than one?” You hum, unsure if you’ve ever seen him use anything besides what he usually calls upon.

“There’s my Bat, my Aluminum Bat, my Titanium Bat, there’s The Bat, the Bat-Bat, Bat^2, the Ashley Bat, the Fence Swinger, the Knee Keeper, Regicide’s Reclaimer, Dizzy Maker, Mean Mother Slugger, Hilts Upon Endor, and then,” He pauses, summoning a Bat from his Strife Deck. “This one is called the Field of Dreams.” Looking at it closely, you see the weapon appears to be a typical worn out looking wooden bat with a black leather handle. “I assume this is the one you’re talking about?”

“I think so?” You nod while leaning in to look at it. There’s a faint glow around the bat, almost like it’s got its own aura to it. “You use that the most, right?”

“It’s my go-to, yeah.” He confirms. “The Bat it was based on was already pretty powerful, but the main property of Dreamer operates on an approximation system. Anything I can perceive as a projectile can be knocked away like a typical baseball. Simple mechanic, but it comes in handy more often than you’d think.”

“You swatted away air like it was a solid object with that thing.” You recall, finally figuring out how the hell he was deflecting the Witch of Breath’s attacks like that. “How the hell does that work?”

“No idea.” He shrugs. “A friend made it for me.”

“Friend…” You repeat. “Sounds like a dirty word now…”

“It does have a different feel to it now.” Creed agrees. As the two of you talk, you finally reach the village you’d been heading towards, walking past the first few houses built upon the sand. They look like typical cottages you’d see on any beachfront, long strands of grass blowing in the breeze and everything. Small, quaint, vaguely nautical themed in both color and furnishing. “Suppose it has a bit of baggage after everything that’s happened.”

“I don’t get it… Why wouldn’t he just ask for help?” You ask him, more or less using your companion to bounce ideas off of just to get them out of your head. “Why would he go to such extremes just to have us owe him a favor? I already thought we were on friendly terms, why reveal his hand?”

“Maybe he was trying to send a message.” Creed suggests as the two of you travel through town. Traversing the settlement, you notice a distinct lack of consorts about the place. Some of the houses have even had their doors left open, looking long abandoned inside. Weirds you out…

“How’d you mean?”

“With some people, it’s not enough that they have the power. They need others to know they have it as well.” He continues, resting his Bat against his shoulder, the top of the weapon hanging behind him. “So maybe he was sending you a message. ‘I’m in charge, you work for me now’ yada yada yada. I’ve seen it too many times to count.”

“Sending a message…” You repeat to yourself. “You know, there was something that Finlus said that’s been on my mind, lately.”

“What’s that?” Creed asks out of nowhere.

“What’s what?” You ask back, confused by the question.

“What did Finlus say that’s been on your mind?” He clarifies, still not making sense. What the hell is he talking about?

“He said,” Your mouth moves before you can figure out what’s even been asked of you. “With the Right Combination of Abilities, anything is Possible.”

“Well… yeah. Isn’t that what we’re doing already?” Creed asks you as you’re processing what the fuck just happened to you. You’ve spoken while going on autopilot before, but that… you were fully present in the moment just then. It was like someone else was speaking through your voice… “Gathering a team to harness specific powers for tasks in the escape.”

“U-uh, yeah… yeah.” You do your best to shake that small incident off. “But… it wasn’t just the advice. It was the context of it all, the implication of what to do when things are coming up short. If you’ve hit a wall… try a different approach…… If a job can’t be done by one person… try a new…” Stopping in your tracks, sinking ever so slightly in the sand there, you’re struck by a realization. You got the message.

“Boss?” Creed turns back, seeing you’ve stopped walking.

“We…” You hum, shaking a finger as you pick back up in your stride. “We need to hurry.” You tell him, your walk soon turning into a run as you go past.

“Any particular reason why?” Creed asks while catching up with you.

“Because,” You breath out, struggling to run properly while tearing through the sand. “I just decided on who we need for our mission. Which if the Prince of Life is still on the prowl for our potential recruits, that just put us on a timeline.”

“You’re saying the hunt’s already begun?” He picks up on your worry instantly.

“If I had to guess,” You focus forward at the lighthouse at the center of town. The destination Dallra had guided you towards to reach your way home. “I’d say that bastard is seeing visions of his next prey as we speak.”

“You’re right, that is a bit of a bind.” Creed agrees with a minimized reaction to what’s going on. “What’s our time frame, do you think?”

“Same as always, smaller than we’re prepared for. Especially if he’s making use of the Mage boon.” You theorize as you arrive at the lighthouse at the center of town. “Dallra said to take the stairway down to reach the consort gateway. You still have Remmy, right?”

“Shoot, nearly forgot about him in there.” He pauses as you pass through the door of the lighthouse’s cabin, making your way to the central stairway. Deployed in a flash, Remmy the Unnamed Lizard Monk appears there in the doorway with him.

“Hm? Ah, it appears I’ve returned.” He says to himself, observing his new surroundings. “What a peculiar experience.”

“Remmy, you can work a stone gateway, yeah?” You ask from across the room as you search the tower of the house for a possible way down.

“I give you my word that I will try my best, my brother. However I must confess, I’ve never had reason to try before.” The monk informs you while you continue your search, discovering a suspiciously placed crate at the corner of the room beneath the staircase leading up.

“Okay, that doesn’t inspire confidence.” You say to yourself while sliding the box out of the corner. And just as you thought, you’ve uncovered a hatch. “We’ll just have to hope for the best, I suppose.” Lifting the trap door and propping it open with the box you moved, you open up a staircase descending down into a sub level of the house. “Come on. No time to doddle.”

“Right behind you, Boss.” Creed nods while coming up to the entrance. All together now, you take your first step down into the dark, realizing just then how off it is that a house this close to shore would have a floor below sea level. Being right by the water, these chambers should be flooded, yet it’s completely dry as you descend lower and lower, spiraling around and around in the corkscrew stairwell. In fact… it’s almost rather toasty down here, like the passage itself is heated.

“Can either of you see anything in here?” You ask the two, realizing that the stairs are in near pitch black.

“Nothing.” Creed confirms.

“I too am having difficulty finding confidence in my pacing along our path.” Remmy agrees as the three of you go along, shakily taking it one step every few seconds. “Although, there does appear to be a light at the end of our tunnel.” He tacks on, his voice leaning over in the dark towards the center of the spire. Just as he does, your eyes begin to register the dim light projecting up from your destination. You’re getting close.

Descending the last few flights down the spiral staircase, your small band of travelers eventually reach a kind of landing, a small room with a metal grate as a floor, and an additional smaller trap door that presumably leads to the gateway you’re intending to activate. The floor itself bears a great many tiny holes in which the light you’d seen peers out from, pulsating from intense to dim, leaving the room in which you’re standing in a perpetual fluctuation of visibility. You and Creed stare down at the hatch before you, exchange looks before you reach down and open up the small metal floor-door, revealing a steep ladder beneath it leading down to what appears to be a final underground chamber. Within the chamber appears to be the source of the light, radiating bright and dark, bright and dark, basking you all in a pale blue glow. Taking the lead, you awkwardly place your legs through the hole in the ground and begin to climb down, eventually coming to… whoa…… what… is this…?

“Everything alright?” Creed calls up from the metal platform above you.

“You guys should see this…” You mutter, not taking your eyes off the spectacle. Upon hearing this, Creed quickly follows you down, sliding upon the sides of the ladder, with Remmy dropping down and landing upon his shoulders shortly after setting foot into the room.

“What is-“ Creed goes to ask, before stopping short when seeing it for himself. “Oh…” Before you all is… the Incipisphere.

Separated by a thick glass, the room your party has entered appears to be an observational lookout for the void between worlds, with a 360° view of the outer reaches of what looks to be the exterior of the planet. Looking up, you see what must be the edges of LOFASM, a swirling prismatic fog blanketing the upper atmosphere of the world, shining brightly as it hangs there above you, almost like you were standing at the bottom of a star. Looking out past the darkness of the Medium, you spot the distant Lands that neighbor your own. One, a lush forest planet of deep greenish blue foliage with vectors of light pink breaking through the forest tops, the other, a grey world looking to be as if it were in the likeness of the Moon back on Earth. That’s the Land of Horror and Nothing, Gretel’s home planet! Aw man, if only she were here to see the view from this place… Looking off towards the center of the Medium, towards where Skaia’s vibrant lights should be shining through to its surrounding planets, you see… nothing. There’s a void there, an endless black abyss as though existence had folded in on itself. That’s right, Finlus had said the planets in the Arena revolve around a Blackhole. You guess maybe Skaia is supposed to show up later? It’s… kind of tripping you out right now. You know what’s supposed to be there, but… it’s just not. It’s like coming home to find a pit where your house was. Staring at it longer than you realize, you… you feel yourself getting lost in the fixation, as if the unrelenting gravity of the anomaly is reaching past the countless miles between you and it, draping its power over you until you’re lost to its clutches. It’s almost like… almost like it’s staring back at you…

“What… what the hell is this?” You mutter, looking out at the bottomless depth before you. “We were just on the surface of Lofasm. How are we… How can we be at the cusp of its atmosphere?”

“We’ll have to ask Dallra once we get back.” Creed informs you, turning back to face Remmy as he stands before the calcified gateway you had missed when first coming down into the observation dome. It’s built into the ceiling, hanging in the space at the center of the room. It was also the source of the glowing blue light radiating up from under the metal grating. A signal light, maybe? “Remmy?” He turns to the consort on his shoulders. Upon his request, the monk reaches out and places his hand upon the statued portal, triggering the defrosting process. Watching the gateway shed its skin and transform into a glowing white construct, you glance one last time at the staring abyss behind you, oblivious to whatever it’s trying to say to you. Not wasting another moment, you turn back forwards again, and place a hand upon your companion’s shoulder, and in turn, he lays claim upon your way home, vanishing you in a flash.

 

***

 

“Are you almost done?” Your student asks, the nervousness in his voice clear as day.

“Relax, gingerbread. You really think I’m not gonna hook you up?” You assure him, finishing up on the last touches of his haircut. That lame ass orange mop he called hair might’ve flown when he was still sporting his travesty of an outfit Pages are cursed to bear, but now with that warrior’s attire he’s earned, it seems fitting he should have a matching style to go with it. You went with a high fade undercut while leaving a mess of hair at the front, an old fashioned viking cut to fit this new aesthetic of his, while keeping intact that youthful vigor look his dumbass has. “There. You’re a proper fuckboi now.” You tell him, slapping a palmful of alcohol against the freshly shaved neck, making sure to both sanitize and bless the cut you have bestowed him.

“Ah!” He yelps as you rub it in, making sure to really christen the boy. “Hey, how the hell am I supposed to know if you really know what you’re doing with this?”

“You think to ask that now?” You laugh, walking over to a nearby waterfalling stream to wash your hands off. Ryder just growls in response. “My mother used to own a salon. I’m pretty sure it was a front to launder money, but she also spent like three months studying cosmetology to make it believable that she’d own a place like that. I picked up some tricks here and there in that time.”

“I thought she just sold houses?” He glances back, rubbing his neck to feel the fresh stubble of his cut.

“Realestate, yeah. But she was a lady of many trades.” You sigh, captchaloguing your barber supplies. “She had a problem with picking up fixations to dote on any chance she could get. Master one craft, then move on to the next. Took up a lot of her time, but she always seemed to save just enough energy to helicopter the shit out of my entire life.”

“Yeah, what a tragic character you are.” Ryder boredly comments while equipping his katanas, using the blade of one as a thin reflection to inspect his new do.

“Easy with the sass.” You tell him as he struggles to look himself in the mirror.

“Yes, mom.” He sarcastically groans back at you. “This actually doesn’t look half bad…” He mumbles to himself. As he inspects your work the best he can, your student’s tragically short attention span seems to drift away, from his reflection over towards the handle of the weapon, where the heart shaped crossguard is stationed. “Hmmm…”

“A ringing endorsement.” You roll your eyes. Before you can continue on with the cliffside banter, a sudden creeping sensation rolls up your spine, as your danger sense goes off. Scouring your surroundings towards where you’d felt it from, you spot-! Oh, it’s just the weird stitch-doll boy who hangs around the doctor chick. God, he’s such a fucking weird little thing, your senses don’t know what to make of him. It’s like a walking anomaly enters the fray whenever he’s near you. He must be some type of zombie or something if he sets off your alarm bells like this. Same for that damn husk that’s been tagging along with your team, the one with the sharp mouth. Speaking of that, what the hell is with this group and keeping a cabinet of the undead fully stocked and with you at all fucking times? It’s a bad look, like you all can’t keep yourselves alive on your own. Absolutely ruining your P.R. “What do you want?” You call down to the creature as it excitedly trots up the stone stairs leading to your perch on all fours.

“I’ve brought ointment!” He declares, holding up a bottle of what you think is safe to assume to be ointment.

“Good for you.” You passively deride the declaration, sneering at the gift he’s brung.

“For the burns!” He continues. Ah. Guess someone down there saw Ryder the Pyre’s display and thought the worst. Can’t say you would blame them.

“No need, Quasimodo.” You tell the Page as he arrives before you. “Fire’s long out. And Ryder here’s all-“ -SNAP- A sudden noise causes your attention to jump over to the edge of the lookout, towards where it came from. Sitting crisscrossed on the ground there, you see Ryder, who’s just pried off the heart casing at the base of his katana’s blade.

“Ha!” He exclaims, looking at the two pieces he’s been left with from the weapon before setting them down and turning his attention to his next blade.

“The hell are you doing?” You yell over to him as he rips the crossguard heart in half.

“I’m upgrading!” He says, sounding pleased with himself. “I can’t go around with girly swords like these with this new look.” With himself explained, he turns his attention to the final sword, snapping the cross open and pulling the two pieces apart.

“You know I was only loaning you those, right?” You tell him, giving him one last test.

“Too bad, they’re mine now.” He boasts, giving no apology and passing with flying colors. How bout that, runt. You really are a man now. Continuing his work, Ryder deploys what look to be tattered purple rags before him, taking the bandage length pieces of cloth and wrapping them around the handles of his sword.

“What are those?” You ask, disgusted by the material.

“I had a few pieces of my shirt left after I made my belt, so I decided to save them.” He explains, wrapping until he’s completely covered his swords’ grips.

“Whoa, Mr Ryder! Your outfit is so cool” The creature fawns at your student’s new style. “I want one!”

“Nah, it’s a badass only thing.” Ryder rejects the praise with an overly-cool demeanor.

“Why are you still here?” You turn back to ask the… human?

“Oh, Miss Heimda wanted me to tell you that Jason and Mr Creed are returning soon.” He gives you the news like the paperboys of old. “She tried messaging you, but said all your devices were in your inventory.”

“Alright. Dismissed.” You tell him, shooing away the thing.

“Thank you, Miss Kruger!” He exclaims. And with his message delivered, he scampers away, trotting back down the steps, thankfully upright this time.

“Alright, runt. Come on.” You call Ryder, taking a step towards the stairs. “Let’s go join up with the welcoming committee.”

“Right behind you.” He calls, catching up as he slides his newly minted katanas into his belt.

“So, now that you’ve butchered those poor blades, what’s it’s new name?” You ask your pupil as you walk down the trail together.

“They have names?” He glances at you with a clueless stare. Fucker really hasn’t figured out his inventory, you guess.

“Yes, they have names.” You roll your eyes. “Its title was the Golem’s Touch, composed of the Blades; Nefesh, Ruach and Neshamah. But, since you broke the fundamental elements of the artifacts, they’ve likely had a change in designation.”

“How do I check it?” He asks. You roll your eyes.

“Pull up your inventory, genius.” You instruct. He does so, and you point towards his Strife Deck, to which the only item in his folder presents itself to you straight away. It seems you were correct. The Artifact’s changed its name, presenting itself as the Broken Trinity now, composed of the Blades; Ruin, Hardship and Woe.

“Huh. How about that…” He mutters, reading over the names. “Well I guess that’s pretty cool sounding. I still have to figure out what to do with these, though.” He moves on, looking down at all the crossguards he’d ripped from the blades. Scarlet jewels cut in the shapes of hearts and encompassed by a metal perimeter. They almost look like badges now that they’ve been separated, or like little metals you’d win at a valentine’s day carnival. Looking at them, however, you’re briefly reminded of your Ex-Friend, Medeas, when you see the way they sparkle. And it makes you feel something strange in your chest.

“Here.” You say, holding a hand out. “I’ll hold on to them.”

“Whatever.” He shrugs, passing the six of them over to you. Upon making contact with the items, you notice a strange presence emanating from within the jewels. You wonder what the function of these really are. You can figure that out later, you guess. For now, captchalogue. “Hey, it’s that guy again.” Ryder points out while you’re still feeling in a funk. Looking up, you see that creature once more, standing at the bottom of the stairs while staring at some kind of letterbox there.

“Oi!” You call down to him as you just about finish your descent. Hearing your voice, the creature jumps slightly, startled by your sudden appearance. “What are you up to, lingering around here?”

“Oh, hello Miss Kruger, Mr Ryder.” He greets you both as you meet him at the base of the mountain.

“Ay, why does she get last name treatment and not me?” Ryder asks while staring down at him from a few steps up.

“Well… I don’t know your last name!” He chipperly replies.

“It’s Von Wolfhart.” He grimaces at the creature.

“Oh…! Hello, Mr Von Wolfhart!” He quickly complies.

“I-” Your student breathes in, likely preparing to yell, thinking he’s being teased. Though it seems halfway through he realized the kid made the adjustment with complete sincerity. “Hi…” He replies back, earning him a wave from the stitch-creature. What a peculiar thing he is. It’s like he can’t even process hostility in the slightest, always greeting everything around him with a wide smile regardless of how he’s been treated… You don’t like it.

“Weren’t you going back to the group?” You ask him while crossing your arms. “What’re you doing hanging around out here?”

“Looking at this thing.” He points to the letterbox he was staring at stationed to the side of the staircase. What a postage holder like that is doing on the side of a mountain, you’ve still got no idea. You guess maybe for people to leave messages in that they want taken to the top of the mountain? And anyone already on their way up can take them? Looking at it, you see it’s got a glass door to see inside, and within it is…

“What is that?” You ask the creature, seeing something hanging within the letter holder.

“I’m not quite sure.” He says back. “I thought I heard someone talking to me, so I stopped, and that’s when I saw it suspended in there.” Peering at it a moment longer, you can’t quite make out the dark shapes in the box. Curious, you reach over and let down the little glass door that covers its front, however when you lower it, you notice a bloody handprint placed against the inside of the glass. A bit more hesitantly now, you glance inside, seeing a sort of effigy put up in the holder. A petrified piece of wood has been wrapped in ceremonial leathers, each etched with ritual markings inscribing a runic power upon them. The consecrated wood is hung upon a small piece of twine affixed to the top of the box, and below it is a circle of rat bones and what look like small sticks of burnt incense. Black Magic, no doubt about it.

“Hey, I’ve seen that thing before.” Ryder announces, looking in with you. “There was one back in one of the castles on that castle planet!”

“There was?” The creature asks him.

“Yeah, down in the kitchen or some shit.” He nods, pointing at it for emphasis.

“You said you heard someone speak to you?” You ask the creature while still transfixed upon the idol.

“Yes. It was quiet, so I stopped to try and listen.” He answers. Looking around, you search your surroundings for anyone who might’ve been calling for the kid. The area is deserted, a faint breeze creeping across the yard, making it seem like an invisible presence stalks your grounds.

 

ᛞᛟᛖᛊ ᚦᛖ ᚺᛖᚱᛞ ᚺᚨᚢᛖ ᚨ ᛊᚺᛖᛖᛈᛞᛟᚷ? ᚺᛟᚹ ᛈᚱᛖᚲᛟᚢᛊ...
Er hjörðin með fjárhund? Hversu dýrmætt...

 

As your attention is turned from the idol, you feel a sudden force try and court its way into your mind, and a cacophony of whispers shroud your outer thoughts. Shutting this shit down without question, you hold out an open palm and incinerate the letterbox and all the contents within, engulfing the small postage device with a burning flame.

“Um… Should we tell somebody about this?” The creature looks up to you as he asks, a worried look on his face.

“I’ll let Jason know.” You tell them, watching to make sure the idol is completely cindered before walking away. “Let’s go, you two. There’s something in the air tonight that I don’t like.”

“Bad Omens.” Ryder agrees as you continue on.

 

***

 

Placing your cup down, you stare at your reflection in your lime green Cruel-aid with a questioning gaze. You just saw Mia light a correspondence chamber on fire with seemingly no reason. She’s been lighting a lot of stuff on fire today, it seems. You suppose the garbage inside of it didn’t strike her fancy? You… think it’s best if you not ask her about it. Seems rather punchy today if the brawl she got up to with Ryder is anything to go off of.

Checking on Creed and Jason, you find them still in the top of the beaconblock of the illuminationhive, boggled by the view at the outer edges of the Land. Perhaps you should’ve let them know they weren’t actually on the surface of the planet before sending them down there… Oh well, they can probably figure it out from the view. Although, you were quite surprised when you noticed that peculiar set up yourself. A vast sea full of monsters and treasure held within a subspace only a few yards thick, and on top of that to hang above the actual planet of LOFASM like a sphere encapsulating the world, built in with its own gravitational pull, it much be pan-sloshing to see that place for the first time without knowing what you’re standing on. You probably can’t even distinguish up from down in there.

“So are they gonna be here soon or am I just wasting my time?” Perses asks, impatiently tapping his foot as he looks about the courtyard, as if his alertness could summon them here if he just focuses his attention in the right spot.

“They’ll be here shortly.” You sigh, slightly perturbed by the fidgeting of the Blueblood. He really can’t just sit in the moment, can he. Always twitching and anxious about getting to the future. “So… You’re a Hero of Space, right?” You ask him, trying to make conversation.

“What about it?” He grunts, seemingly trying to ignore you.

“Nothing, nothing.” You ease off a bit from him. “I’m a Hero of Space as well is why I asked.”

“Good for you.” He grunts again.

“…I can tell you’re not a Troll.” You mention after a moment of awkward silence. It seems to grab his attention, you’d say. At least, if that suspicious glare is anything to go off of. “Your bloodpusher is on the wrong side of your bellowcage.”

“My what?” He narrows his eyes at the word. You tap your chest in explanation.

“Trolls are born with them on the Left, but yours is on the Right.” You continue. “Between that and how you don’t seem to know anything of Troll culture, it’d logically point to you not being one.”

“So what.” He turns away again, keeping his exchanges short.

“I’m just curious what happened.” You lightly shrug. “Or why it is you disguised as us.”

“I’m not disguised. I’m disfigured.” He corrects you. “One of you did this to me. The Beldam of Blood. Crazy Troll Bitch with a tail and these disgusting fuchsia wings.” Fuchsia? A Princess is in the Arena? “Said if one Prince left her, then she’d just make herself a new Prince for her to have. And then… she did this to me.” He holds out his grabbers for emphasis, glaring at his own palms.

“You couldn’t stop her?” You prompt him to continue, figuring he’s at least speaking more than two words at a time to you.

“I tried.” He grumbles, staring out at the courtyard. “But she had done something to me. Could hardly move a muscle as she molded me into this thing you see before you. Even my powers were cut off from me, couldn’t even lift a finger in protest.”

“What… are… your powers?” You inquire while somewhat curious over the matter.

“I destroy stuff good.” He boredly explains.

“…How good we talkin’?” You ask after a moment of thought. He pauses for a moment, contemplating the best way to display his answer. He narrows his eyes a moment, staring out at the distant mountains before pointing to one in particular, 620 yards from where you’re at.

“See that?” He asks, probably not realizing the irony in saying those words. “Sixty percent.” You’re compelled to ask 60% of what, but he takes a half step back before you can inquire, positioning himself into an unusual punching stance, raising his grabberhinge up by his side while keeping it completely level with the ground. Then, lunging forward, Perses takes a swing and erupting from his fist is a catastrophic energy that tears through space with a hateful hiss. Reaching its target in around three or so seconds, the power of the non-Troll’s punch shatters the cliffside, decimating the entire upper half of the mountain and causing more than half of rock there to break apart and slide off into the Land’s chasm.

“……That’s pretty good.” You compliment the feat, left in astonishment of his reach and power. He simply shrugs with his grabberpoles crossed, smiling a bit like it was no sweat. You wonder if the strength of such an attack loses any potency if it’s forced to travel a larger distance or if it can conserve the total weight of its payload upon impact regardless of range. You’ll have to pay close attention to his future attacks to build a data set to reference in regard to that.

“Hey, so why exactly are we mountain bustin’ in the middle of the afternoon all of a sudden?” Leah asks as she finds her way outside along with Ragnaa and Haugrr. Not far behind them, Sara and Esspin round the corner of the eastern halls along with Mary, making their way towards the rest of you while accompanied by the two consorts they’ve been looking after. It seems Esspin is speaking quite fervently at the moment, likely passionately recounting a story to her fellow Mage as her Sylph listens in, chuckling every so often at the tale.

“Just doing a bit of power scaling.” You tell her with a smile. She just glances between the two of you, not a look of disgust on her face, but rather one of weirded unenjoyment, like being met with something that spoils a mood.

“Fancy…” She sarcastically mutters, stepping up to the guardrail you and Perses were stood at. Haugrr plops down on the zigzags leading down to the courtyard while Ragnaa stands beside him on the top step. They continue on with a conversation you pay no mind to. To the west of the monastery, Mia and the two Pages exit out of the gardens and begin making their way through the cloisters which faces the gardens at the side of the temple. As their trio is around a hallway point, Esspin’s party arrives at the connecting rampart you’re waiting at.

“Greetings, friends!” You hear break through your concentration as the Highblood waves at everyone, now able to see you all standing there at the stairs. Meanwhile, on the other side of the Medium, Jason and Creed and that little monk fellow they brought with them seem to have finally gotten their fill of staring into the endless reaches of Space, which you personally can relate to, and have instructed their Consort friend to decalcify the gateway, jumping through without a moment’s waste.

“Ah!” You perk up, watching their transmat travel across the expanse, arriving center stage within the frontblock you’re all gathered at. Hopping the railing into the courtyard, you hurry over to the boys as they arrive, waving to them on your approach. “Jason!” You call to him, a sight for sore globes. Seeing you rushing to him, a few emotions flash across the Page’s face. He’s happy, but there’s something behind the eyes that almost seems to point towards a guilty look. You pay it no mind, reaching him and practically tackling into a hug around his neck. You see while his face is tucked into your shoulder that he dawns a soft smile, with a particular sense of relief melting the anxiousness he’d been wearing. Pulling back slightly, you grab the sides of his cheeks and hold him still, planting a kiss on his lips to welcome him back. His face goes flush with that vibrant red blood in his veins. As you greet him, behind you, Mia arrives at the western vomitorium, seeing you all congregated at the center of the court. Centering her attention on you both, a kind of grizzled dejection settles in her eyes beholding your embrace.

“Hey…” Jason smiles through his embarrassment as you pull away, leaving the two of you to stare at one another. After a moment like this, the Page seems to remember that there’s a world outside the space between you and him, blinking a few times as he looks to the rest of the group approaching you all. “Uh, h-hey, everyone!” He raises a hand up to greet them. Quickly following this, Gretel gallops into Jason’s steppole, hugging it briefly before scaling him like a barkgnome up a tree.

“Hi.” She cutely greets while stood upon his shoulder.

“Hey, kiddo.” He says, pressing his forehead against her own to lock eye contact with the consort.

“Ha-hey, Ursarkar and Jay-bone, ya made it back in one piece!” Sara commends him, arriving before you all.

“My friends, I’m overjoyed to see you returned.” Esspin adds on, standing behind her. “Please, you must tell us of your journeys to the Great Sea.”

“I’m glad to see you guys as well, but we don’t have time for catch-up. We’re in a bit of an emergency right now.” Jason informs you all, focusing the air in the group to a serious murmur. “It’s about the next member for the escape plan.”

“We finally makin’ a move?” Leah asks while folding her arms, skeptical of the news.

“We have to. The Prince of Life is already on route for our next target, and we won’t have long before he finds them.” He tells her. You notice as the strain in Sara’s muscle begins to tighten within her wrist, as her grabber curls into a fist hearing Jason’s words. Esspin seems to pick up on this quickly, taking the human girl by the hand to allow her to squeeze the frustrations out.

“That feller from the Pyramids?” Leah presses on, scratching the temple of her head with the front knuckle of her grabberprong. “What’s he got to do with this?” Jason breathes a heavy sighs at the question, the bellowsacs in his cage preparing to give a speech.

“Some of you already know this, but the Prince of Life was the one responsible for the death of the last candidate I had aimed to recruit.” Jason says, his expression souring. “Not only that, but we have reason to believe that whenever a decision is come to regarding our recruiting efforts, the Prince will receive visions of who it is we’re after and where it is he can find them.”

“And how the hell does he do that?” Mia asks, finally arriving to the meeting with the two boys behind her. Ryder’s new ensemble seems to catch the attention of a few in the crowd, but none more so than Leah, looking as if she’d seen a pair of concupiscent lovers knocking pails in public.

“…He’s taken power from those he’s killed.” Jason tells her after taking a moment to come to terms with what he’s revealing. You can see Sara becoming more heated as he goes on, her bloodpusher beating faster and faster the more she hears. “Every player in the arena will receive a bonus like this, from those they slay. They’re called Boons. And with the particular Boons this Prince has collected, he’s able to track… people of interest. Worse yet, he can do it in a timely manner, and without any way to track him. In short, the deck is stacked. Once he gets the scent of the person we decide we want, the hunt is on.”

“And you came to a decision on your own again?” Haugrr scoffs at him, sounding unimpressed or perhaps just simply annoyed.

“I-… I didn’t mean to.” He apologetically explains. “Creed and I met… we met with an old associate of mine, and he made me realize something. I didn’t think I was coming to a firm decision until the idea finally crossed my mind. At that point, it was already set. But…” He looks across the faces of his team, looking to see how well he’s connecting with each of them, or if his words are falling of deaf hearducts. “I’m willing to open the floor to debate, regardless.”

“Even though you’ve painted a target on this person’s back?” Mary asks with a sincerity that otherwise would’ve made her comment seem backhanded.

“The Prince is gonna have a harder time this go-around.” He assures her.

“Well… Out with it, then, friend.” Esspin requests of him. “What is it you propose?”

“I’ve selected two candidates to design the Undooming power.” He explains, extending his grabbers out, moving them around to emphasize his plan with accommodating gestures. ”I had initially thought there was to be two candidates for this task already, one to craft the power and one to transfer it to Haugrr, but with the player who would’ve conceptualized and formulated this power dead, that pretty much scrapped the idea. So I began thinking… if we can’t craft the Ability ourselves, then we find people to program it into Haugrr directly.”

“Excuse me?” Haugrr understandably raises an eyebrow at the comment.

“We get our Abilities through progressing up our echeladder, achieving personal level-ups, through growing and developing our talents until they manifest as full fledged powers.” Jason elaborate to the crowd who seem to have been completely captivated at this point. “It’s a chaotic process that can lead to some unconventional or unorthodox Abilities. For Players in the Arena specifically, we were landed with some of the less than optimal powers for what we want to accomplish. Plain and simple, we all drew the short end of the stick, which was probably why we were let into the Arena in the first place. But the answer is simple then. We just need someone who can cut through that chaos, someone that will influence the choices Haugrr made that got him where he is and pull them towards where we need him to be.”

“Wait.” Creed speaks up finally. Jeez, it’s been forever since you’ve heard his voice! “Influencing his Choices… Boss are… are you talking about me?” Jason shakes his head ‘no’ at that.

“I thought of that, at first. But we can’t risk it with your power kit.” He explains. “We need someone that can directly take hold of his choices and change them. Heirs only passively manipulate their Aspect. You guide them to where you suggest they be. If we use you for the job, we might end up redefining Haugrr’s entire kit, and if he loses Possession in the process, then we’re really up a creek. No, we need someone with a firm control over their manipulation so that we can ensure the placement of Haugrr’s Actions are in the right place.”

“…The Witch of Mind.” Creed deduces from that. "My counterpart."

“Bingo.” Jason points to him.

“Hold up, lemme see if I’m getting this straight.” Ryder steps forward in the conversation. “So instead of buying the item we need from a vendor, we’re gonna new-game-plus this shit? Start Haug from the bottom and spec him into the proper Skill Tree to earn it ourselves?”

“Ah-ugh… y-yeah. In simple terms.” Jason nods, seeming to finally notice the new outfit Ryder has on.

“You said there were two.” Sara speaks up, finally seeming to settle herself a bit. “Who’s the second recruit?”

“The Witch of Mind won’t be able to access Haugrr’s progression history innately by the nature of their abilities. So we’ll need to combine their power with one who could.” He tells her, the manner in which he’s explaining softening for her specifically, treating her with a fair bit more care than he had been addressing the group with. “Someone who influences development and could allow Haugrr’s past Levels to become malleable and more susceptible to change.”

“The Heir of Life.” Creed guesses again.

“As expected, that’s exactly right, Creed.” Your Page nods. “And if need be, I can be on standby to ensure we can tap into Haugrr’s past. So long as that’s okay with you.” He turns to the Prince in Seer’s clothing.

“I’ve come this far, haven’t I?” Haugrr sighs, running a grabber through the side of his hair. “It’d be pretty weak if I were to bail out now. Ain’t my style.”

“And the rest of you?” Jason turns back to the group. “If there are any objections, I’m willing to hear them. Like I said, the Prince of Life is gonna have his hands full with these two. The fact that they’re both powerhouse classes means they can look after themselves, and if there’s two of them, it could mean the Prince might be split on who to go after first. It won’t be much, but we’ll have time if any of you feel there are more important recruits to go after.” Raising her hand in a rather dignified manner, Mary poses the first interjection.

“My only objection is that I still need an assistant as Navigator.” She declares, reminding Jason of a previous discussion. “With the tapestry of the Furthest Ring in a constant flux, I’d need someone who could assist me in monitoring the changes to geometric space before they even happen. I believe you said you could find someone who could fit the bill?” Noticing her stir again, you see Sara begin to fidget about herself, trying to contain a faint mist forming in her sightglobes upon hearing the request.

“Right.” Jason nods with an anxious breath in. “I can review the living Void and Time players and see if we can’t find a specialist in that field.”

“You already know my stance on who you should’ve been looking for.” Mia grumbles towards Jason, giving him a subdued glare.

“Yeah…” He silently breathes out, trying to hide the nervous disposition he has towards the comment. “I’m still working on that one.” He assures her regardless. “Anyone else…?” The crowd stays silent.

“Do we take a vote?” Ragnaa proposes, glancing about the group.

“I vote for Jason’s thing.” Perses is the first to cast his ballot.

“Uuh, m-me too, I guess.” Ragnaa follows suit.

“I’m not too worried about the rate in which a partner is found, just so long as it gets done at some point.” Mary sighs, her eyes adjusting to see more properly the friends before her. “I’m fine with whatever.”

One by one, everyone eventually agrees with what Jason’s proposed, all seeing the merit in his idea with a unanimous consensus. As the rest of them discuss this vote, individually agreeing with what to do, you tend to the team’s security, surveying the planets in the Arena for any potential threats that might be on their way to you all. Checking off the major tabs you’re keeping track of, the Heir of Rage is currently on the Land of Windmills and Cottages still, seemingly having gotten caught in a rather vicious cycle of chasing after the scent of that Breath Hero he went after a while ago. It was strange, when he first came across the trail of the Knight, it was like he sprang after it like a feral barkbeast, bounding after him as if he had a vendetta, unrelenting in his pursuit to the point of following him to different planets. After a while, it seemed like the Breathbound realized he wouldn’t have been able to shake him normally, and so led him to LOWAC intentionally, weaponizing the breeze there to bounce his scent from windmill to windmill, leaving the Heir to lose track of him in the chaos, sending him chasing his own tail in search for the Knight. Rather unfortunate for anyone who happens to come across him, though. You’ll have to make sure to give that Land a wide berth for now.

“Hey, so question.” Sara speaks up as you continue your survey. “If we’ve got two recruits to go after now, which one are we making the trip to first?” Checking your tabs on LOHAN, the Rogue’s base is still shrouded by a dark cloud that’s been hanging over their corner of the planet for a while now. You suspect the inky cyclone’s placement there is in part due to the intervention of one of her allies, keeping a concealment over her operation indefinitely. You’ve seen some of them appear at other places around the Arena without you realizing they’d left their burrow, which leads you to believe they have a way of accessing the Gateway system from where they are on the planet. Perhaps one that leads to the other Voidbound Land, allowing them to slip by your sight while still concealed. Most recently, you had just noticed the Robin girl and a few of her compatriots as they were on their way back to their base after an expedition out a day ago. You’re still rather worried about that. You hadn’t seen them anywhere around the Arena while they were off LOHAN, so whatever it was they had gotten up to while off-planet is a complete mystery to you. Being unable to track their team in general has been a large source of frustration for you in general, now that you think about it. All this stress it’s causing is gonna be the death of you, you swear!

“We’re gonna do both.” Jason tells them, seeming to grab a few of their interests. Just as he does, Creed deploys from his inventory the treasure chest they’d swindled from the seabeast on their journey. Opening it up, he reveals a pile of the antennas enabling communications in the Arena, similar to the one in your stolen palmhusk. “Instal these into your phone and you can get past the comms barrier that’s been blocking our messages.”

“You propose we split up?” Ragnaa inquires with a nervous tone. As a few of them claim the small devices from within the chest, Mary most interested in the tech out of all of them, you continue of with your surveillance. With the two biggest threats checked on the most you can, you scan across LOMAM, seeing if you can find any other Participants on the planet. Right away, you notice the Knight of Heart wandering alone through the bottom caverns 20 kilometers southwest of your monastery, however the path he’s on will eventually wind its way another 100 kilometers out west from where you are, so you doubt he’ll wander anywhere close to where you’re stationed.

“We wouldn’t go out alone, it’d be with smaller groups.” Jason attempts to put her at ease. “Able to travel faster than with all of us together, but paired up with watchdogs to safeguard them, like Mia or Perses.”

“Watch it with the dog comments.” Mia warns, giving Jay a dirty look. Turning north, you spot the Mage of Rage in a temple 250 kilometers from your own. You’ve actually seen him a few times here and there on your journey. He’s never gotten close enough to warrant you worrying about him, but he’s passed through enough Lands while you were on them for you to take notice of his presence. It appears he’s talking to someone. Perhaps he’s with a Hero of Void that you just can’t see?

“You know what I mean.” Jason holds his hands up innocently. Nearly half a world away, you notice a Seer of Breath standing in a field of tall grass with her Bow by her side. While inoffensive to your proximity enough to ignore completely, you do find pause when you see her, finding it peculiar why she’d have a Bow. She’s a Burgundy, which the last time you checked, those of her caste were barred from the ranks of the Archeradicators. Not that it matters now, but you wonder how she picked up the practice given what her standing would be on Alternia. You suppose a girl can dream, right? “Point is, we’ll be protected.” Still observing your fellow Seer a moment longer, you notice her attention drifts from side to side as though turning to face the source of something she hears every so often, the invisible force bouncing all around her. Is she communing with the dead perhaps? Voices of the deceased whispering on the wind?

“How would we divide up, then?” Ragnaa proposes with a faint concern still in her voice.

“Five or six man teams, while Dallra coordinates from home base.” Jason declares with a confident nod. “At minimum, we could divide into threes to make four teams, but I don’t want to spread us too thin. For this coming journey, I’d planned that myself along with Mia, Sara and Esspin make our way towards the Heir of Life’s location, bringing Frank and Mary along as well, meanwhile Creed along with Perses, Haugrr and Ryder, will make their way to the Witch of Mind, having Ragnaa tag with them too.”

“What about me?” Leah follows up, noticing she’s been left out of the equation. Meanwhile, you’ve taken notice of the Heir of Doom, lingering 325 kilometers east-southeast of you at a small village in the mountains. While a good distance away, and while seemingly enjoying a nice dinner with the local consorts there, you take a mental note to keep an eye on the guy, on the off chance he might cause any problems in the future.

“I was actually hoping you could keep post at the Monastery with Dallra.” He proposes, which seems to annoy her a fair deal. “With everyone else away, she’d be exposed in the case someone finds their way up here.”

“Absolutely not.” She immediately dismisses. “I’m not gonna sit around here doin’ nothin’ while you send Rags and Ryder out without me.”

“Leah, just take the fucking post.” Ryder sighs, starting at her with a perturbed glare. In an instant, an awkward air is created in the conversation, as no one wants to say anything else after this.

“I can stay behind.” Mary raises her grabber to volunteer, trying to break the tension. “Between the two of us, I’m sure we’re more than capable of fending off anything that might come our way.” She adds while turning to you.

“Fine by me, just so long as we all have a buddy.” Jason nods. Ryder rolls his eyes at all of this, which Leah seems to notice, glooming her mood even more than it was. “If that’s everything, then anyone who needs to, get what you need for the trip ready. We leave today. Dallra, you think you can manage charting two paths at once?”

“Please, it’s wiggler’s play.” You assure him, already having moved on from your security sweep to an Arena-Wide Scan. “Give me an hour or two and it’ll all be ready.”

“You’re a gem, Dal.” He compliments you with a relieved smile, causing a faint hue of Jade to blush your face. You have to clear your throat to refocus yourself. “Everyone else, if you have everything you need, stay close by. Remember, we’re working on a deadline here.” With that, the meeting comes to a close. Dispersing into a few groups and some venturing into the temple to retrieve a few things for the road, you’re left standing beside Jason as he lays a grabber onto Gretel’s head, giving her a light pat.

“Some pretty big moves on the horizon, huh?” You ask him, lightly rocking into his chest.

“Y-yeah…” He half-laughs, as though unsure how to handle the gingerly given contact. “Um… Hey, about that talk-“

“First, let me figure out our course.” You say, batting away the subject while seeing he’s still anxious over whatever it is on his mind. “Come find me before you leave. I’m sure we’ll have plenty to talk about.” You say with a wink, dragging a finger along his chin as you walk away. He seems keen on the brush, you’d say.

“R-r-right.” He nearly shakes like a leaf, watching you strut towards the monastery entrance.

“You let him get a tattoo?!” You hear Leah shout at Mia as she sees the backside of Ryder, observing the dark ink printed upon his human skin.

“Relax, it’s just a rebellious phase.” She sarcastically tries to pacify the Knight, shooing her away as she does. Entering past the large wooden doors of the monastery, observing the many reflections of yourself in the golden spheres attached to the face of the mighty barriers, you continue your scour of the planets in the Medium. Currently, you’re searching through the Land of Compartments and Glaciers in hopes of tracking down the Witch of Mind. You’d figured starting your search for them on one of the Mindbound planets made the most sense on the off chance they’d naturally gravitate towards concepts familiar to them. It might take a while to be sure you’ve cleared the Land, however. LOCAG has a lot of tunnels through its ice, and even more pockets stashed away all over the planet. A lot of places one could hide there. That’s alright though. No one ever said the job would be an easy one.

Mentally traveling across hundreds of miles in minutes at a time, you end up losing your sense of physical self, forgetting where it is you are while letting your legs carry you where they may. You had initially intended to return to the respiteblock you’d claimed when first arriving here to bunker down and meditate for a while as you searched, however you’ve found yourself pacing circles around the cloister at the center of the temple, as if undecided of where you want to go. Even with as far away as you are from the courtyard where everyone’s gathered, you still hear the faint tones of the conversations there, bouncing off the walls of the monastery, yet too far away to make out anything legible of what’s being discussed. Naturally, hearing this has centered your attention back on your own location, away from the search. Dang. It’s always annoying when your impulses affect your train of thought like that. Recentering yourself, you focus back in on the various burrows in the ice you had just been sifting through. Yet again, however, your attention is snapped back to the front of your monastery. And more specifically, zeroing in on Jason. Jeez, you’d think you’d have a bit more self control than that, but evidently not. Come on girl, get your head in the game! You can peep on Jay all you want later. For now, you’ve got business to handle.

Your attention isn’t on LOCAG for more than 5 seconds when it snaps back here again, centering straight on Jason like you haven’t got an ounce of shame in a single globe in your body. What’s up with this, what are you… huh… while spectating Jason, you can’t help but focus in a little more closely on him, peering past the layers of his epidermis and dermis respectively until you’re stood completely still, watching quietly as the blood cells in his veins flow through his circulatory system like a steady river. Why are you…

Before you can question the reason why you’re seeing the things that you are seeing, you feel your attention unconsciously draw a few hundred kilometers northwest of where you are, and you notice that Burgundy girl again. Walking a few slow paces out into the field she’d been waiting in, a soft but persistent breeze blows past her, brushing the tall grass by her side as she eventually arrives upon the spot she’d been intending to find. Then, pulling a single arrow from the quiver on her hip, the Seer lays the projectile upon her bow and draws it back, aiming it high into the sky. You don’t get it. What’s she aiming at? Measuring the angle the arrow would arc at with the amount of force on her drawstring, you find that she has no real target. If she shoots, the arrow will fly straight into the gale storms hanging over LOMAM and get lost inside. What could she even be aiming at? Not to mention that the weight of that arrow would be all off if she fires it. The girl’s attached something to the tip of the projectile, throwing off the balance of it all and practically destroying any chances of accuracy the shot might have. It’s some kind of… some kind of… blood vial? From the looks of the equipment, it seems like she's modified this chamber to release its contents through the tip of the arrow upon impact. What is that she's got in there, then…? It's definitely blood, but...

Trying to observe the attachment in closer detail, you notice something strange about the cells in the vial. They’re so misshapen… Twisted into strange little spiky balls, like microscopic morning stars. Before you can figure out what it is you’re looking at though, the Archer lets loose of her string and lets the arrow fly. As you had expected, the thing goes arching all the way up to the crest of the storm, cutting through the winds for a few dozen yards before being blown off course by a sudden southern gust. A strange intrigue overtakes you now, following after the course of this blindly fired arrow, curious of where it is it might land. You had originally thought it might spiral out of control once it hit a strong enough wind, but with how it’s kept a consistent spin and a level shaft, it seems like this projectile was actually fired with the intent of hitting a specific target after all.

Onward and onward, the arrow flies, as though it were a living creature bounding from breeze to breeze, still able to maintain a straight velocity with its arrowhead held forward, pointed out at its unrevealed prey. It’s passed over nearly half the continent in the span of a few minutes, propelled and funneled by the raging winds at the roof of the world. Your amazement at the shot takes a sinking turn, however, when an eastern wind blows it into a direct drift for your location. No… no, it can’t be… Surely you’re mistaken, it-… it’ll change course again, it just happened to aim towards your monastery for a brief moment… But… just to be safe, you’ll chart its trajectory. Factoring in a 20% margin of error to account for possible additional wind drift, it’s… Oh god.

You’re moving before you realize, springing off the walls and floors of the half-halls in the temple, tearing your way back towards the courtyard before the arrow can land. Time seems to slow as you race towards its target, and as you watch the bolt hurl through the sky like a strike of lighting, you feel more and more certain that you won’t reach him in time. Rounding a corner, you use the pillar to swing your way into the next hall, the hydraulics of your hand overextending and tearing a chunk from the wall. Practically bounding into the final passage leading to the front doors of the temple, you see him there, standing just beyond the threshold, down in the courtyard.

“Jason!” You shout to him from down the corridor. He looks when he hears your voice, but he doesn’t understand, continuing on with his stride, unaware of what hell has fallen out of the sky. And then, the bolt hits.

“-!” He lurches forward.

 

***

 

Minutes in the past, but not many, the Page of Time approaches his long time friend, the Maid of Rage as she sits with the Sylph of Breath. Let’s be him, shall we?

“Hey, girls.” You say with an anxious huff, walking up to where they’re hanging around, sat in the shade while watching Ryder and Leah bicker loudly a few feet away. You glance at those two a moment yourself before facing back to the Maid and her Sylph. You can feel that Gretel continues to watch the drama unfold from your shoulder as you talk. “Mia. I, uh… like the haircut.”

“That makes one of us.” She unenthusiastically replies. “It was hard-earned, so I don’t mind it, though.”

“I… don’t know what that means.” You faintly squint your eyes at the comment, unsure what to make of it. "Anyway," Turning to your real concern, you continue on, facing the Sylph now. “I wanted to stop by and say sorry if the meeting ruffled any feathers with you, Sara. I know the Prince can be a sore spot for you, so I’m sorry it came out of left field during planning.”

“That’s alright, I know it was just to get everyone on the same page.” She passively hums, anxiously tapping her finger against the ground. “I’ll need to get better at controlling how I’m feeling if we’re gonna take the bastard down, anyways. I’m okay, though. Really.” She assures you, sounding 100% Not Okay.

“You sure?” You poke, just to verify.

“Yeah.” She nods while trying to keep her voice steady. “It wasn’t even the Prince-talk that got to me, in the end. When Mary asked about her partner or whoever, she said she needed someone to figure things out before they even happened, and I couldn’t help but remember Greg.”

“Greg?” You ask, feeling like you should know that name. It’s familiar, like it’s on the tip of your tongue!

“He was a precog.” She continues on, likely thinking you were asking ‘What about Greg?’ and not ‘Who the hell is Greg’. “He hated talking about it, he thought his powers made him a freak, costing him a normal life and giving him nothing but a burden in exchange.” Wait, Greg, that’s right! He was that friend of hers Mia showed the corpse of you to. Of course, how could you forget. “He said the powers only showed him when the bad things were going to happen, but never helped him figure out how to stop them. So all the knowledge he’d gain from glancing into the futures was just to let him know when the inevitable was going to reach him. It was a dampen on his spirits he could never truly get over, I don’t think.”

“I’m sorry to hear he had a rough go of it.” You give your condolences. From first hand experience, you know just how demoralizing the Unending Abrasion of Time can be on a weary mind. Especially when faced with the dead friends that come with it.

“So when Mary said she needed someone to help her figure out changes ahead of time, I couldn’t help but think… ‘Greg would’ve been a perfect fit for this’.” She tacks on before covering her mouth and silently weeping a few tears that trickle down her cheek. Beside her, Mia gives you a glance from the side of her eye, as though looking to see your reaction.

“Gret, how about you take Sara to get some fresh air, okay?” She suggests as your daughter pokes over your shoulder to peer down at the girls. Seemingly realizing Mia wants her to distract the Sylph, the consort slowly crawls down off of you.

“I can do that.” Gretel agrees, waddling up to where Sara sits, grabbing her free hand to pull her forward. “Common, Ms Sara. I think George and Esspin said something about packing lunch in the mess hall. We should go make sure they find the tasty grubs before they leave. The Blue Anole monks are notorious for hiding their good stuff on the comically high shelves.”

“Okay…” Sara passively nods, having to hunch down to hold Gretel’s hand as she leads her forward. Man, she’s just the sweetest kid ever. If your Dad could see you now, you’re sure he’d fawn over having such a perfect granddaughter. Turning back to Mia, she raises an eyebrow at you, seeing she’s got your full attention now.

“So. I’ve talked some with the others. Apparently you and Ryder were trying to kill each other?” You ask her while not really knowing what you’d do if that were true. You certainly can’t fucking stop her if she just fuckin’ snaps one day. In fact, you’re pretty sure you are the first person she’d go after when that happens.

“It was a light bit of sparring.” She shrugs, nonchalantly playing it off.

“Does that mean he’s up to snuff?” You look for a proper update on the firepower of your team.

“I don’t think I’d say it in such a fuckin’ dumb way, but yeah, he’s up to snuff.” She raises her chin answering your question.

“You work fast.” You say, impressed with her work, getting an entirely different feel from Ryder’s aura when you saw him. He actually seems dangerous now.

“I don’t believe in dragging ass.” She crosses her arms. “You, on the other hand…”

“Yeah, I know.” You sigh, glancing over to Gretel as she leads Sara into the temple. “I didn’t plan to be away for so long, but we ran into a few complications on the road.”

“I meant the Greg situation, numb-nuts.” She clarifies, glaring at you like you’re a dumbass. Oh yeah, she did ask you to help with that again, didn’t she. Wait, was that what she meant during the meeting? ‘Who you should’ve been looking for’? Thank god you didn’t elaborate on what you were planning, you totally thought she was talking someone to make the ship Larger. Man… you can’t believe you forgot about that for a second time. Maybe all those head injuries are starting to catch up with you, your memory’s gone to shit…

“Ah, right, right…” You nod along, like it would’ve been your second guess.

“You forgot again, didn’t you.” She sees right through it.

“No!” You quickly deny, thinking she might hit you if she knows the truth. She looks at you with a  displeased grimace. “…Yeah.”

“You really have no shame, do you?” She asks, not even sounding annoyed, but just… disappointed.

“I have a little bit of shame.” You quietly mutter to yourself.

“You heard her yourself, Sara said he’d be perfect for the Navigator bullshit.” She tells you, gesturing an open hand towards the direction the Sylph had disappeared in.

“I know! It’s just…” You sigh, rubbing your temples to alleviate the stress. “I’m still not entirely sure if resurrection is even possible in the Arena. Or if it is, if it’s strategically possible to pull off or not.”

“Because the souls go wandering after death, is that right?” She crosses her arms at the roadblock you’ve reminded her of.

“It is…” You huff, exacerbated with this whole ordeal yourself. Yet, for some reason, when you settle this matter in your mind, accepting in your heart yet again that there’s simply nothing you can do to overcome this obstacle, you hear the voice of Finlus ringing through your head. Telling you that ‘if one person’s power isn’t cutting it, just try adding a few more’. And that gets you thinking. “…but if we have someone like the Heir of Life on our side… they might be able to help us figure out how to get past that Death Barrier. At the very least, they could be the first step to bringing someone back.”

“You think this heir chump is gonna be the best fit for something like that?” You were already opening up your inventory to look up just that question. Crushing through your Fetch Maze, your Trans.Temp. Camera is already in your hands by the time Mia finishes asking her question.

“Surprisingly, half of the Life players in the Arena have already been vanquished.” You tell her, scrolling through the Pillars in the Life Library. “The Rogue and Prince are out of the question right off the bat, for obvious reasons. The Page… possibly, although if they’re unrealized like Ryder was, they’d be useless to us. The Knight likely won’t have much in ways of piercing through to the great beyond, and the Seer…” You pause before saying what it was you were about to say.

“‘And the seer’ what?” Mia prompts you to continue. Shit. You probably should’ve kept that one to yourself.

“Uh… let’s just say that that’d cause more problems than it would solve.” You dodge that warhead with grace. Thankfully, Mia doesn’t seem to give a shit one way or another if you’re being cagey regarding Mythological Roles. You don’t think she’d be very open to the concept of a Temporally Disjuncted Family Reunion. “So, yeah. It seems like the Heir would be our best first-step in figuring a way to reach beyond the grave.”

“Since you’ve actually gotten around to fulfilling my ancient fucking request, finally, I’m gonna trust you on this one and take your word for it.” She sighs in somewhat-relief. “Just as long as you don’t put it on the back-burners again.”

“Scout’s honor.” You say, probably holding up the wrong number of fingers for that hand sign. “If the Heir can’t do it themselves, then…” As you speak, you notice Frank walking from place to place in the courtyard, listening in on the various conversations taking place there, seemingly unnoticed by most of everyone here. “Then we’ll just... have to Try adding a Few More… Players…” You finish off before idly wandering away from the conversation.

“Alright. Bye to you too.” Mia bids you adieu as you leave, somewhat annoyed at the abrupt abandonment. You’re too deep in your trance to notice, however. Voices... you've been hearing voices. Finlus sent himself messages through Time, projected them directly into his head. Burrowed. Burrowed! He burrowed into the timestream, but it didn’t last. You had thought he had combined his Destroyer powers with your Time affinity to bore a hole through the Barrier, but he hadn’t! He was connecting! Connected the Past and the Present! That’s how he did it, how he bypassed the Restrictions on the Timeline! You just have to Connect!

“Frank!” You call after your Page Brother, easily garnering the child’s attention as you hurry towards him. “Frank, can I talk with you a minute?”

“You can talk with me for several!” He gleefully replies, practically standing at attention to greet your arrival.

“That thing you did, the blood thing with the swirling around your hand.” You tell him, motioning a finger in a circle around your grabber.

“A Vitality Boost!” He states as though it were a winning answer in a quiz bowl.

“Yes, that.” You snap for emphasis. “Do you think you could do that again, but… bigger?” You struggled to find the word, but bigger would probably get the message you want across to the boy.

“Bigger?” He says, as though the concept had never crossed his mind before, yet now fills his imagination with wonder. “You want to be Blood B-… I-, I-I’m not sure what’s bigger than Brothers…”

“We can think of a name for it later.” You assure him, figuring it’s a minor detail. “Here, give it a try.” Holding out an open palm to the Page, he looks at it with hesitation, as if wondering if he really should. You nudge your hand forward a few times to try and coax him to go-ahead. Seeing you waiting, Frank takes his own palm, and with a cut of his thumbnail across his flesh, he carves a Blood’s Slash in his hand. Just like how you remembered it, the liquid floats from the cut and orbits his hand.

Taking your hand with his own, you feel the process of Blood-Loaning take place at your and Frank’s bridge between one another. Just as the orbiting blood begins to collate into a smooth ring, you give it everything you’ve got! Pouring nearly your entire temporal reserves into the Contact point until you get a reaction, summoning forward a Clock Face Construct over the back of your hand, signifying the merging of powers into a Fraymotif. And as this ability is engaged, you feel as though the world around you is jerked away, flung downward into the void, and all that is left is the Great Tree, of which all of your stories derive from. In an instant, you are overwhelmed by the sensation, and it is like you have opened your eyes for the very first time in your life. You experience everything, beholding Time as one would behold the Night Sky above them. So large and so vast that you couldn’t possibly comprehend nearly a fraction of it. Yet the longer you stay here, the more honed in your focus goes, centering onto the tiny budding branch this version of you had found themselves on. Contained within a hard sphere, closed off the rest of the flow, you see a bundle of timelines all wrapped around one another like a dense knot. An infinity within that small pocket of existence, you are made aware of your own timeline, a coiling strand wrapped at the center of the knot, vying for dominance over the others. Forward and Back, Forward and Back, you adjust yourself on the line, Forward and Back! You can move, you can reach back into the Past!

“Ah!” Frank quietly yelps as you pull away from his shake with a gasp. “Are you okay, Jason?”

“Hahaha, yes!” You exclaim, clasping your fellow Page by his shoulders, shaking him in excitement “We did it! The Rules are not Insurmountable! We can maneuver Without Repercussion!”

“Ne-e-e-e-e-e-e-eat.” Frank says through the shaking. Letting him loose, you turn to face the rest of the courtyard, realizing what to do first.

“First off… Creed. Creed!” You call, looking around for the Heir. The voices in your mind all this time, it all makes sense now. They were messages from yourself, like what Finlus had you aid him with! Spotting your Right Hand Man over by the eastern rampart, you begin heading over to him, bringing the good news with you. However, you stop mid way, hearing someone call your name.

“Jason!” You hear echoed from within the monastery halls. Glancing in past the big open doors there, you see Dallra booking it for you. Did she already find both recruits? Man, she works fast! The good news just keeps coming! You raise a hand up to wave at her, but she doesn’t break stride in the slightest.

Before you can call out to the girl, something hits you from behind, and you’re shoved falling to the ground because of it. You’re surprised to say the least, and to be honest, a little stunned, taking a moment to register why you’re staring at the cut stone-tile floor of the courtyard. Looking back up, you see… Frank?

Frank is there, with both hands extended outward, making it obvious that he was the one who pushed you. You’re about to ask what’s gotten into him all of a sudden when you notice something. A long and narrow shaft is sticking out from the back of Frank’s heel. Is… is that an arrow? An arrow that’s struck the boy at the back of his foot? Noticing the protuberance sticking out from his body, Frank observes the foreign object with a careful interest before turning back to face you.

“Ha… hahaha… that was a close one.” He tells you with a laugh. “Haha. That could’ve hit something vital-!” Those are the only words he can say before his cheery tone is cut short, stunned by something unknown and unseen by you. His mouth widens, as though going to say something more, but lingering just before the words can find him. You notice then on his neck that a thin red line radiates out from beneath his skin, bleeding as if he had been cut there. Before you can react, before you can even think to ask if he's alright, the meat of his neck begins to slink forward, sliding down until it slips completely off of his body, and the boy is beheaded before your very eyes. Time slows to a crawl for you, and you watch as his bodiless form tumbles down through the air, a look of confusion coming across his face as Frank’s head falls to the floor, landing at the foot of where you lie.

 

Jason, Freak the Fuck out.

Chapter 70: > Hope Eater

Looking down at the head of Franklin Victoria as it lies severed upon the ground, you watch as the surprised look in his eyes slowly fades into a lifeless dull. Stood before you, what’s left of the Page’s body stays upright for a few beating moments, unaware that it’s been decapitated, until at last bending at the crook of his legs, collapsing upon itself. And an individual behind their form is revealed to you. Hovered there, lurking above both you and the newly made corpse is Mary Victoria, sword in-hand and with a splattering of her son’s blood muddying her tunic. You had seen it in the blink of an eye, just before his head came off, a blade had passed through his neck, so fast it’d seemed like just a glint of light. A faint panting escapes the Mage’s chest as she looks down at the felled child, breathing the way you would when your heart begins to race. Focusing the blue glow of her synthetic irises on you now, you hear a few quiet -clicks- and -zooms- chirping from the mechanisms in her cold eyes.

“Jesus Fuck!” You shout once the shock fades from you, watching as the crazy woman flicks the sword to the side, shaking the blood from its blade off. Glancing at you as she quickly kneels down next to her son, Mary grabs hold of Frank’s head and sets it down by her side.

“Stay away from the body.” She orders while deploying the doctor’s bag she carries around.

“You Killed Him!” You burst again, crawling back from the murder scene before you. “You Fucking Killed Him!”

“I didn’t kill him.” She calmly tells you while retrieving a wide metal disc from her bag before placing it upon the floor before her. Continuing on with the decisiveness of a professional, the Mage reclaims the head from her side once more and stamps it down upon the circular groove of the machine, twisting it into place and seemingly attaching it to the bottom of the head’s neck stump. “I saved his brain.”

“What are you- AGH!” You suddenly jolt as a stinging sensation blisters your palm, like you’d pressed it down into a nest of fire ants. Glancing at the source of your pain, you find the blood that had been left on your hand from Frank’s Vitality Boost has begun to fizzle, agitating itself into a bubbly red paste.

“Don’t let that get in your Body!” Mary orders, causing you to quickly wipe the fizzle off against the ground. While you’re busy trying to rid yourself of the killer goo as it tries to eat into you like an acid, a sudden convulsion bursts from Frank’s corpse, as if something had struck it hard enough to lift it off the ground for a brief second. Nearly scared out of your skin, your attention snaps towards the headless body, unbelieving of what you just saw. Again, the lifeless form juts to the side, hit by some invisible force. Again, and again, the body twitches and spasms like a mutilated puppet unable to pull itself taught with its tattered strings. “Make space.” Mary tells you again, putting herself between you and the body as she seems to slip directly into an operation on it. Obeying her instructions, you frantically get to your feet and take a few steps back.

At this point, most of the others waiting within the courtyard have begun to gather around the spectacle, each with various degrees of horror on their faces at what’s happened. Continuing on unaffected by that crowd that’s gathered around her, Mary seems to run a diagnostic on the corpse, using one hand to retrieve various pieces of equipment from her bag while the other feels around at various points on the body in search for something, pressing two fingers into him as if taking a pulse. All the while, the chittering and chiming from her eyes goes into overdrive, scanning over and scrutinizing every single detail she can with an unknowable intricacy the machines in her head provide. Under her observation, the corpse shifts from large jolting spasms to a more frantic series of twitches, with the body itself almost vibrating, the way a hornet’s nest would after being struck by a stone. Coming to a conclusion, the Mage takes three mechanical nodes she’d retrieved from her bag and places them across the body’s torso, one at the right shoulder, the left rib, and the right hip, each fastening themselves like a bolt to the body before activating with a glow. The convulsions in the body seem to quell after this, with only small little twitches coming from him now. Placing small clamps across the body which segment it at every joint, Mary then proceeds to cut into the flesh of the corpse, nicking him with a series of incisions at all the soft spots of the form. Neck, wrists, thighs, everywhere. And out from the slits pours that same bubbling foam that had burned into your hand, leaking from him like a busted washing machine spilling its suds. More and more, whatever mechanisms Mary had harnessed to the boy seem to be functioning primarily to empty his body of all the fizzed blood it has. Beside you, you feel as someone takes you by the hand, breaking your transfixion from the crime scene. Glancing over, you find Dallra there, gazing at the grizzly display herself with a look of concerned dread across her face.

“What-… What in the Hell happened?” Leah asks, the first one to find their voice.

“A compromiser injected into the bloodstream.” Mary answers while spreading the limbs of the body out to avoid a pileup of the froth it’d begun leaking. “Some form of transmuter agent altered the structures of his blood cells and morphed them into razored spheroids that shredded his internal systems.” Grabbing hold of the arrow that had previously struck Frank’s heel, the Mage jerks it out of him and studies the point. “There are trace amounts of One Eighty-Seven’s cells within the chamber. Whoever fired it must’ve had a sample.”

“Wait, from the arrow?” You ask while beholding the lethal entity in her hand. That… that was supposed to hit you… “Where did it come from?”

“There was a Seer.” Dallra says, catching your attention. “A Hero of Breath. I had seen her shoot it, but-“

“And you didn’t say anything about them being nearby?” Perses interrupts, sounding more than perturbed at this news.

“She was an entire continent away! Four hundred and Fifty kilometers, a shot like that isn’t possible!” She defends herself.

“Evidently not.” Mia huffs while almost sounding impressed by the feat. “And the beheading?”

“To stop the contaminated blood from reaching his brain.” Mary answers while continuing to work. “Depending on how badly it’s blended them, the damage to his organs can be repaired to a certain degree, but if the altered cells reached his grey matter, there’d be nothing I could do for him. It was a long shot, but removing the head from his circulatory path seemed the most efficient way to potentially save his life. I still need to survey the actual extent of the damage, however.” Lifting up Frank’s shirt, you swear right then and there that she’s about to cut him down the middle with her scalpel, Y-style.

“Wait.” Dallra stops her, letting go of your hand as she kneels down across from the Mage on the other side of Frank’s body. Reaching over and placing her mechanical hand upon her shoulder, a faint aura encapsulates the both of them. “See What I See.”

“……” A silent moment passes as Mary’s synthetic eyes dart about, studying in great detail what’s being shown to her. And as the moment ends, a grim expression appears on her face. “It’s completely shredded… All of his major systems, nothing more than a mass of pulp.”

“Then he’s…” Leah begins to ask, seeming to surmise the news staring you all in the face. Mary stays there in that moment upon hearing the question asked, the wheels in her head turning at what must be a mile a minute, fingers twitching every so often as she keeps her hands out, prepared to use them once she figures out how to fix the problem at hand. Click and clack, click and clack, her eyes adjust and refocus while she tries to find a solution. She begins to turn from side to side and the twitching in her hands speeds up, until finally, she flings herself into action, reaching into her doctor’s bag and retrieving a captchalogue card. Deploying it, a large heavy-duty backpack appears on the floor before you all, and rising up, Mary slides her hands underneath the body’s armpits, pulling it from the blood-suds and tucking it into a more compact form, folding his legs back at the knee and pulling the arms behind his back.

“Dallra, I need a path charted to the Land of Streams and Conquest.” She says as she begins to tuck Frank’s corpse into the bag. “Coordinates thirty-seven point nine-eight-seven-eight North, twenty-two point two-zero-five-one East. There’s a river that runs through there that I need to reach, whichever way is quickest.”

“Hold on.” You interject, quickly seeing that she’s planning on taking off without a second thought.

“I’ve already outfitted my mobile device with the necessary modifications, so I’ll be reachable for correspondence and directional updates.” She continues without notice of your input.

“Mary, don’t be rash, let’s just stop to think this through, okay?” You advise her as she takes the severed head and places it within her doctor bag before closing it up.

“There’s nothing to think about.” She tells you while strapping the backpack to her back and hoists herself up, bearing the corpse’s burden. “The life-support I have One Eighty-Seven hooked up to can only support brain activity for seventy-two hours with the blood he still has left before it needs to be re-oxygenated. And with the alveoli in his lungs shot, he has no way of diffusing himself.”

“And running off to some river is supposed to help that?” You counter, jumping in front of her to try and quell or at least understand her desire to go speeding off without a plan.

“Is there something there that you think you can help him?” Creed steps up, adding an endpoint to your question.

“Hemoglobin.” She answers, to everyone’s confusion. “Or at least materials already in a state that the synthesis of hemoglobin can easily be achieved.”

“Hemo-globlin? Like the blood stuff?” Ryder mutters to himself, much to Mia’s disappointment, shaking her head at him.

“I’ve emptied the body of contaminated blood, but he still needs a full replacement in order for an operation to undo the damages to his physiology to work.” Mary continues on with her explanation.

“If it’s just blood he needs, then we can donate.” You suggest, gesturing to the others, assuming they’d be open to helping a teammate. “The human ones of us at least. We’ve got plenty, more than enough to go around.”

“It’s not that simple.” Mary shakes her head. “I can implement nanites that will repair the damage to One Eighty-Seven’s body, at least to the point where he could naturally heal on his own, but they function in tandem to the circulatory system. They convert blood cells into stem cells as they naturally cycle through his vein highways, but from what Dallra’s shown me of his internals, it doesn’t look like any of his veins will be able to retain enough pressure to pump liquid through his system. Meaning he’d need to be submerged in a workable solution that the nanites can operate and convert in. Not to mention the process is supposed to be a slow one, healing only one organ over a series of weeks without compromising cell levels, I’d need a body of convertible fluid equal to seven hundred gallons to completely repair his body to a functioning state, roughly the size of a small pool. An amount I highly doubt we can muster in the three days we have left”

“Are you really doing those calculations on the fly or did you make that pool thing up?” Ryder asks with a smirk, earning him Mary’s ire piercing at him.

“Thank you for lending me this.” She says while shoving the sword she’d used to behead Frank into his arms.

“Dang. The first kill on these bad boys and it isn’t even mine…” Ryder mutters while looking over the blade.

“Maybe next time, Rye-bread.” Mia tells him in a tone all too familiar to you that she’s calling him a dumbass.

“Since the amount of blood I’d need to successfully conduct these repairs is beyond that of what can be donated, I’ll need a proper stand-in in order to complete the procedure.” Mary continues on with her reasoning. “The river I’m heading for has enough levels of raw iron, protein and basic phospholipid compounds that a baseline replacement can be transmuted from the substance. The liquid in the river itself is close enough to the chemical make-up of blood that it will only take a bit of mechanical intervention to synthesize artificial plasma and cells from it. With enough luck, I’ll be able to rejuvenate the organs and jumpstart his bone marrow into its own production. Now move.” She orders with you still to her front.

“At least let me try a damage turn-back.” You suggest, already knowing damn well the injuries Frank’s retained are too extensive for the energy you have left after Connecting with the Timeline. You might be able to do something once you recharge, but…

“Mysticism is not something to fall back upon in a crisis, Jason.” She quickly dismisses without hearing you out. “He’s my boy, I know what’s best for him. We’ve been presented with a problem, and I know the science to find the solution. That’s the honest facts of the matter.” You really have no rebuttal to that. She’s a professional, after all.

“…You can’t go alone.” You concede to her going, but add a caveat.

“I’m fastest alone.” She dismisses without a wasted breath.

“You’re also vulnerable alone.” You try to talk reason into the probably panicked mind of the Mage. “Please.” You add on, seeing she’s not budging. “Dallra, you said that shot came from a continent over, right?” You turn to her, to which she gives you a confirming nod. “Whoever it is after us this time, they’re clearly capable. Not to mention cautious and patient. Us splitting up and running off on our own is just what they’re counting on.” She remains quiet after this, clearly seeing your reasoning yet still unhappy with the restriction.

“…I’ll tag along.” Perses suddenly volunteers, looking back to the group after glaring out at the direction the arrow had come from.

“Y-… You will?” You ask him, unsure how well he’s gelled with the group since you've been gone. From what you’ve heard, he’s been a bit of a recluse up until now, so his willingness to bodyguard has you surprised.

“Sure. Why not?” He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I’ve gotten restless lounging around all week. So if you’re saying there’s a few hunters stalking our territory, looking for stragglers going it alone, well then I’m more than game to be the bait to bring them out. Let ‘em come at me. I’ve been looking for a good warm-up.”

“Mary?” You turn back to the Mage.

“So long as you can keep up, I’m fine with whomever.” She agrees to the chaperone without much fuss. “Dallra, were you able to find a course?”

“I’m hammering out the details still, but… Twelve klicks south-southwest, there’s a gateway to the Land of Toil and Noise. It’ll be a half-night’s journey between a programable landing and a gate to Losac from there.” She tells her, joining you by your side as Perses joins Mary’s. “There’s more to the path, but I can send you the finer waypoints while you’re on your way there.”

“Appreciate it.” She tells her before turning to you. “I’d give my sentiments before such a parting, but unfortunately, as you’ve said, we’re on a deadline.”

“Don’t worry about us.” You shake your head, understanding the direness of the situation. “You said three days on his life support, right? Go. You’ve got a schedule to keep.” Hearing you’ve finally come on board with her plan, your Mage gives you a peculiar look, unfamiliar or unsure what to do with someone’s full support now that she’s been given it.

“……Keep us updated on the location of our recruits. If we’re already in the field, we can still be of use.” She requests after a moment of pause. With that, Mary Victoria turns on her heel, walking a brisk pace towards the cargo lifts across the bridge leading into the courtyard. Perses follows after, walking backwards to face you a few moments longer. He throws you an emphatic two-finger salute as he goes before flipping around to catch back up with the Mage. Watching them walk away from you all, a corpse upon the back of one, you can’t help but feel a strange energy in the air. Glancing back to the members of your group who witnessed this whole ordeal, you can see just how shaken up a few of them are by this, the gumption of your game-plan only a few minutes ago having completely vanished.

“Everyone.” You call to them, thinking you can rally or salvage some form of recovery from this, yet when you go to speak, you can’t find the words to encourage the masses. It’s as if any form of inspiration has leaked out of the atmosphere alongside the blood in Frank’s veins, left a spilt and bubbly mess upon the pavement. You linger there on the first word of your introduction, with nothing more to say except a call to know that they’re all still by your side and not setting out on their own as Mary had just done. It isn’t until a rogue breeze blows crashing against your neck, causing you to flinch thinking a second arrow was on its way that you snap out of it. “Let’s get inside for now. We don’t know who might be watching.” You tell them, leading the expedition back to sanctuary. Yet even then, you all still feel so… exposed…

 

***

 

“What do you mean you Missed The Shot?!” You Leader shouts into the palmhusk, clutching it so tightly that she’s about to snap it in half.

“There’s not many more ways that I can explain this.” Auratt answers from the other side of the device. It’s quiet enough that you can hear it clearly, so you doubt anyone else can make out what she’s saying.

“HOW?!?!” Your Leader shouts into the phone. “You Said it was Perfectly Lined Up! You Said you had Found the Flawless Breeze to Deliver the payload! So you’ll have to excuse me when I ask; WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?!?!?!?!”

“Something moved him.” Auratt calmly explains like the professional she is. You can picture it now, bow held delicately beneath her arm while she holds the palmhusk to her hearduct, standing out in the field she’d taken the shot in still as she gives her report. You really appreciate the straightforwardness of the Rust’s disposition. It makes people naturally want to exclude her from things, worried about keeping their secrets for themselves, which in turn gives you pretty much free rein to access to all the juicy details on everything they’re hiding. She’s like a flaming ball of awkwardness forcing all the plump grubs into your shade, ripe for the picking.

“Oh well in that case, I suppose there’s no helping it. It could’ve happened to anyone.” Your Leader quickly tells her, swiftly moving on to her next point. “Remind me again, though, isn’t Movement your Whole FUcking Thing?!” She begins to shout once more. “Why didn’t you see this ‘something’?”

“I don’t know.“ She plainly states. “No one else should’ve been close enough to reach him by the time the arrow was visible from their summit. One of their Space pawns had begun a rush for the Page early, but he was pushed out of the way by nothing. It was almost like a Ghost had shoved him out of position.”

“A Gho-“ Your Leader starts to repeat but is overcome by befftudlment. “You See Dead People! How the hell did you miss a rogue Spirit he’s got in his pocket!?”

“That was more of a figure of speech.” Auratt continues on, all business.

“……” You Leader simply glares at the palmhusk, as though she could reach through it and snatch the Rust by her ignoranceshaft. “Stand by for instructions.” She snarls through grit fangs before hanging up on the girl. “So… Auratt should take the shot, huh?” You Leader suddenly turns to Dylan, who’s sat upon the fringe of the loungeplank, one stem places across the other as he folds his arms at the comment.

“You ask that like you think I was wrong.” He notes, not a hint of doubt in his posture. “Statistically, she was more likely to land that shot than any of the other sharpshooters on this team.” He raises his chin up at her as he speaks. “That includes you as well, Robin.”

“I’m aware people of your caliber struggle with understanding emotional cues as easily as the rest of us, so I recommend as a courtesy to you that you shut your fucking trap before you lose your fucking tongue.” Your Leader informs the Prince with a snarled sneer.

“Not my fault there were extenuating circumstances you failed to uncover.” Dylan simply shrugs, unbothered by the threat. “Had you done your job as leader and got us all the information to work with, I could’ve easily strategized around it.” He tacks on, grabberpoles extended out in a purposefully animated shrug.

“You mouthy little-“ She begins to wind up.

“Are you two serious right now?” Your Leader’s Concubine asks upon returning to the schemebunker. “Pointlessly bickering at each other when we should be devising a proper fallback strategy? The iron is still hot here, people. We need to strike while we still can!”

“And where the hell have you been?” Your Leader ignores what her Partner was trying to say, already sounding agitated with his presence in the block.

“Consulting with Iris. Hashing out the details of our next offensive.” He tells her, already used to his voice being unheard when he speaks. That’s probably your favorite secret of his, you’d say.

“Oh, so you knew Dylan’s plan was going to fail from the start, is that it?” She cocks her cranium far to the side to look at him diagonally. “Did you just feel like wasting our time with this blood poison bullshit, then?”

“I didn’t feel like anything. It’s called basic fuckin’ maths, yeh.” The Kismesis hisses back, annoyed to be the sudden focus of his partner’s indignation so quickly after entering the conversation. “We were only taking out the one tosser, you don’t think they’ve got a second-in-command who’ll pick up after him? Cuttin’ the head off won’t do us any good in they can still slither their way past us in the end!”

“I am such a fucking idiot for letting you two morons take the reigns on this.” She disregards her partner’s point, covering her eyes with the palm of her grabber, as though exhausted with the conversation. “I should’ve known from the start one of you would fuck it up for the rest of us.”

“My plan was flawless given what I had to work with. Get us more useful data to work off of next time and maybe you’ll start seeing the results you want.” Dylan continues to stand his ground, confident in his work.

“I said we should’ve made multiple doses.” The Kismesis defends himself. “Wouldn’t be having this conversation if Auratt had a second shot.”

“What use is a Second Shot if our shooter can’t hit the Broad Side of a BARN!” Your Leader chastises the poor lad. It’s tough. Seeing a boy try to play games for girls like this.

“Then we’ll implement closer quarters for our next engagement.” He retorts, doing his best to move past the obvious sore spot in the conversation.

“What, and have you go for round two with the prick? Because you didn’t get enough of an ass-kicking last time?” She scoffs at the Blood-boy.

“We’ll come more prepared this time.” He deflects the disrespect, focusing on the Time-bound.

“No, no, you’re totally right. Maybe we can have him put a hole through your head this time, since you refuse to use your fucking brain!” She continues on with the harsh treatment.

“Well if you don’t want a direct engagement, and long range is turning up Fuck-all, then I don’t know what the Hell you Want!” He barks back at her now, unable to disregard the comments any further.

“Stop the presses, LJ doesn’t know something! What an earth-shattering revelation!” Your Leader eloquently expresses herself to her dear partner. The poor Kismesis pauses a moment, brewing over what’s been said before retorting.

“You ain’t worth the bloody effort.” He finally says with a calm voice. She doesn’t express it, but you see loud and clear how much the comment cuts your Leader. Some real childhood-trauma, pushed-deep-down type secrets with that one. Your Big favorite.

As you watch the fireworks explode within the human relationship with reckless abandon, unconcerned with their other half’s emotions, you hear from off in the distance what sound like a whisper reaching your noisefolds, an intangible voice that scrapes it’s wretched tendrils across your thoughtsponge. Turning your attention to it, you try to listen closer to what’s being said. What was initially just a simple murmur from far beyond the veil soon envelops around you, an all too familiar sensation piercing through your sternum like a harpoon. A Horrorterror…? How could one’s voice reach you past the barrier around the Arena? It’d have to be traveling for eons before ever reaching here.

 

WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW

 

WHY SHE MISSED

 

THAT SHOT…?

 

The unfathomable voice wracks the edges of your thinkpan like a vice, leaving your fangs to rattle as your grit your jaw, unable to fully resist its might.

 

“Guys…” You mindlessly call as the voice cracks your cranium shield open, pouring what it has to say inside.

 

WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW

 

WHERE THEIR

 

BLINDSPOT LIES…?

 

“Guys!” You call to them again, grabbing the room’s attention.

 

***

 

You’ve been thinking for a while now, and you’ve come to the conclusion that something is off. It’s been a day since the incident with Frances, and nothing’s been right ever since. You had originally thought the others were simply put off by witnessing such an unfortunate fate befall the poor boy in person, which yes, you can only imagine how horrifying it must have been to behold it unfold before their eyes. You yourself were disturbed to your very core by the mere recounting of the fiasco, your imagination running wild after returning outside to find the grizzly aftermath of what transpired. However, the fugue that everyone has been in feels almost unrelated somehow. It’s entirely possible this sensation was first started by or perhaps be in part due to the recent turn of events, but it’s not the entire reason. There’s something in the air that isn’t quite right. You can feel it in your calcium rods.

As of right now, you’re currently on your way to discuss this unusual furor with Jason, if nothing else but to get his take on the matter. Perhaps he’s noticed this change in group morale as well? Noticed the almost false veneer that’s been left in place of your usual high spirits, the way an art thief would leave behind a duplicate of the piece they’d stolen after they’ve made away with it. Unnoticeable at a glance, unrecognizable with the faintest bit of scrutiny. However, comparing notes isn’t the only reason you wish to see Jason. You’re worried about the Page. Something’s been eating at him as of late, and you just can’t figure out what. Nothing embodying this ailment better than the decision he made in the aftermath of the incident yesterday. A few hours after the untimely beheading within the front square, Dallra had finally tracked down one of your potential comrades within the Arena. It was the Witch of Mind, discovered hidden away within a secluded chapel on the Land of Gold and Worship, attempting to keep a low profile there while the events of the Culling games unfold. It would seem she was leveraging the significant presence of Demons within the skies of the Land as a kind of veil to hide behind, shielding herself from potential opponents as they’re dissuaded from lingering about the planet by the legion of beasts. Jason had said there’d be a good chance of recruiting her because of this, with her likely being open to teaming-up with others on account of being too timid as a solo competitor to venture outside of her sanctuary. In short, too weak to make it on her own, so a perfect candidate to offer protection to. After this, Jason had dispatched the group responsible for recruiting her out on their journey to the connecting Gateway leading to LOGAW. You had seen the confliction on his face as he did so. It was clear he didn’t want to send them out so soon after a direct attack, one that already cost you a member of your team and made unavailable two more, yet it was like some unseen hand was there, guiding him. Pushing him towards dividing your ranks, as though it were fated to happen, one way or another. And so Jason sent them off, trusting the expedition in the hands of your mutual friend Creed. You have faith that under his leadership, the members of their merry band will reach where they’re going unscathed. Yet you know deep down, there was conflict in Jason to see them go. A doubt to the decision. He had wanted to stay together, you could see it plain as day. And still, something had persuaded him to go against his instincts….

It’s for this reason that you wish to speak with him. To see if you can’t gleam a deeper motive to his uncertainty, and see if you can’t do anything about it in the process. Oh my, that’s right! How could you be so rude! You’re Esspin Kalzah, apologies for the late introduction. On top of that, you’re on your way to your leader’s respiteblock to see him, passing through the small atrium in the dormitories you’d set up in the Consort’s meditationhive. At the moment, it’s only you, Sara, Mia, Jason, Haugrr and Dallra still upon monastery grounds. Creed had taken the ‘Triplets’ as Jason calls them out on their journey going on thirteen hours ago. You aren’t sure if he’s checked in yet.

“Oi, Ess!” Someone calls to you from the next level up. Glancing to the culprit, you find Mia leaning over the banister to peer down at you. Upon seeing her, your Moirail hops the guardrail and drops down before you. “What’s happenin’?” She asks, presenting her knuckles to you, in which you firmly tap your own against. It’s a funny little gesture some of the other clowns in your sect used to do to express delight in meeting with one another or signify a well-wished parting between them. Mia was kind enough to adopt the practice, despite being wholly alien to her, which you appreciate her for doing.

“Not much of anything is happening, I’d suppose.” You welcome her down.

“Yeah, that’s the problem. I’m bored out of my skull waiting around here.” She sighs while joining you in your walk through the hallowed halls.

“Dallra still hasn’t uncovered the location of our Heir?” You ask, having thought the Jade would’ve found your man by now. Last you checked in with her, she had reported she’d work through the day, searching for her target while everyone slept. You advised her that a clear mind after a full day’s rest might aid her with her search, but she was adamant about completing her task at hand.

“If she has, she hasn’t said anything.” Mia shrugs, causing the cloak she now wears to flutter a bit behind her. You find her new outfit cute on her, however you'd never say that aloud to the girl, knowing she'd make a fuss about it being a badass fashion statement and not a charming set of attire. “Witch Hunters lucked out. They’re probably halfway to their target by now. Who knows what sort of mischief they’re getting up to out there.” You pause a moment, noticing a strange inflection lining the underside of her voice.

“You’re worried about your ward, aren’t you, Mia?” You deduce from her disposition.

“Worried? Pff, if anything, I’m jealous.” She emphatically tries to convince you. “I spend all week training up that runt, and he goes running off the first chance he gets while I’m stuck kicking around for who knows how long! The least he could’ve done was give me his spot on the team while he does nothing here all day. Kids today. No respect for their elders, I tell ya.”

“I’m sure he’s doing fine out there.” You assure her regardless of what she’s trying to convince herself.

“…Where are you headed to, anyway?” She pivots to a different subject. “I thought Sara and you were towards the front of the building?”

“Sara’s keeping the consorts distracted for now. She thought it best to keep them from the scene before the monks could finish scrubbing the blood from the courtyard.” You explain, allowing her to pivot away, willing not to tease her about her unlikely connections she’s been making with her teammates. She’s a passionate girl, however she seems new to being open about her feelings when it comes to those close to her. So it’s best if you foster a positive aura around those feelings for her. “I’m actually on my way to speak with Jason.”

“You too, huh?” She hums back, cocking her head at you.

“You’re here to see Jason as well?” You inquire upon hearing this.

“I am.” She nods. “I’ve been noticing some things recently that I need to talk with him about.”

“Perhaps we’re here to discuss the same things as well, then!” You exclaim, somewhat invigorated that you possibly aren’t the only one noticing the strange goings on within the atmosphere.

“Yeah, I seriously doubt that.” She dismisses as the two of you reach the door to the Page’s respiteblock. Your Moirail gives the slab of oak a firm few knocks to get the attention of the occupant. “I’m knocking as a formality, but I’m coming in anyway.” She announces while taking hold of the knob and opening the passage.

“Yeah, no, totally. Just waltz right in.” Jason says upon seeing the invasion into his domain, looking up from his desk to the both of you. “Something happen?” He adds as the two of you file into the dorm.

“Someone’s been following us.” Mia declares, folding her arms as she presents her findings before the Page.

“Jee, Sherlock, was the direct assault on one of our members not enough of a give away?” Jason snarkily asks her back, a heavy sarcasm sinking down into the depths of his voice.

“Unrelated to that, dickhead. I mean someone’s gotten close enough to our defenses to leave us little gifts.” She quickly clarifies with an equal level of snark delivered right back at him.

“…How so?” He turns to her while sat at the desk, fully intrigued now.

“Yesterday, before you arrived, I discovered a Black Magic shrine hidden away in one of the mailboxes at the base of the mountain.” She informs him, bringing news that is news to the both of you. ♠Black Magic♠? That’s outlawed in twelve provinces!

“A shrine?” Jason repeats, as though unsure of what he’s heard.

“I found Frank talking to it when I came down from the mountain. According to Ryder, there was one in the kitchen of a castle you’d stayed in as well. Which means we’ve got a stalker on our hands. One that can follow us close enough to leave these things all about the place, but still able to fly under our radars unnoticed. Might’ve even set them up ahead of time with some kind of clairvoyance, and just let us stumble upon them as we traveled. Either way, it’s a problem.” As your Moirail continues on with her tactical analysis, an image practically pours into your thinkpan while she speaks. That of a fresh can of Faygo. Specifically, the time you found a whole thermal hull full of them, just sitting there on the chilled shelves. Leaving things behind to stumble upon…

“Motherfucking miracles…” You mutter to yourself.

“And you think it what…? Hexed him?” Jason continues on, not noticing what you’d said.

“It’s possible. The Hoodoos of Sburb run deep with the nonsense they can produce.” Mia theorizes with a stroke of her chin. “Maybe this particular hex summoned arrows from the sky. Honestly, who the hell knows. Regardless, it’s a bad sign.”

“What’d you do with this shrine, then?” Jason inquires.

“Blew it the fuck up, what else?” Mia shrugs.

“Alright, not much we can do about it now, I guess.” He signs, unsatisfied with the destruction of evidence. “Let me know if you find any others. We might be able to deduce the nature of what it does if we can study it. Esspin, you’re an expert on the occult, right?”

“In a sense.” You confirm, feeling the many majyyks of the world encompass a little more than the narrow-reaching term of ‘occult’.

“Good. If we find another one, we can have you take a look at the thing, see what you make of it, maybe figure out what it does after an analysis.” He tells you, assigning you the task of shrine-disposal. “If it’s just someone leaving behind weird fucked-up cashes, then we can probably write it off as harmless. I’m worried though, if it’s been this magic causing all these problems for us.”

“Causing problems… yes.” You repeat, remembering the reason you’d come to find the Page. “Actually, I’ve been noticing a few things, myself.”

“Really? What’s that then?” He turns to you now, his full attention given.

“There’s been a… shift.” You try to phrase it.

“A shift?” He repeats as he did with Mia’s findings, only this time sounding as if he isn’t sure what he’s supposed to deduce from what you’ve said, as if it were a fluff-word standing in for something of actual substance.

“In the vibes.” You continue on, still struggling to put it into words, not 100% sure of what it is yourself.

“…Vibes.” He repeats once more, making it clear you’re losing him on this.

“Yes, the vibes. They’re atrocious.” You explain, doing your best to recapture his attention. “Ever since Francis befell such an abysmal fate, there’s been an air hanging over the team, and not one simply brought on by the death of a comrade. Even after Amvinn met his end up on the pyramids of Lofac, the group retained a different feeling to it. We mourned, yes, but we pressed on with our full spirits, making sure not to let his sacrifice be in vain. Yet now, it’s… it’s almost like we’ve lost momentum. Like we’ve hit a wall and we have no choice but to acquiesce to it.”

“Esspin, don’t be ridiculous, we haven’t hit a wall.” Jason tries to assure you. “We’re on our way to recruiting two more members for the mission as we speak. Things are still moving along just like we planned, that’s why I sent Witch Team out even after everything that’s happened.”

“But that’s the difference! We’re sticking to the plan regardless of what’s happened!” You exclaim, suddenly seeing the stark difference now! The subtle contrast in shades between the spirits you had and the spirits you currently deal with. “When have you ever been one to double down? To lock up when a new factor is thrown our way? You don’t! You’ve thought your way out of countless situations we’ve gotten into. You’ve helped us adapt on the fly and roll with the punches. The mission we’re on a testament to that itself. The creator of the power was slain, and so we innovated. That’s what we do! We adapt. So why does it feel so wrong that we didn’t this time? Why does it feel so wrong that when a wrench was thrown into our plans… we just went along with what we already had anyways? Why didn’t we fix it…?”

“And this vibe. You think it’s being caused by these shrines as well?” He asks you, seeming to get what you’re saying this time.

“What I’m feeling… it could very well be Black Magic. It’s a dark presence looming over us. Like a dread fate we’ve been dealt. A righteous punishment from the divine creator.” You bale, now fully aware of the presence upon you. “You’ve felt it yourself, yes? I’d seen the conflict in your decision to split up the team. You knew you wanted to find a work-around, yet you pressed forward as if you had no other choice.”

“Look, I’m glad you brought this to me, and yeah, maybe things have been a little tense after everything that’s been going on and all, but some vibe didn’t force my hand or anything.” He dismisses the idea. “It was a solid plan! Just because we had a mishap with our teammate doesn’t mean we should throw everything out a window. I’ve wasted enough time on our last venture, and we needed to start making some actual headway in our mission. That’s all it was.”

“Something’s eating at us, Jason. We should be wary.” You stress to him. He sighs in return.

“If it’s really that important to you, I’ll ask Dallra to keep a close eye on our people. See if she notices any strange phenomenon with them this vibe might be causing.” He proposes. You nod, somewhat satisfied you’ve at least brought your thoughts to his attention.

“You and that Troll girl have been hanging pretty close together, huh?” Mia speaks up again, nodding her chin at the Page. “The both of you, in fact. You two, you’re like partners in all this, dipping your toes in the cross-species kiddie pools.” Oh yeah. Suppose you did get together with Sara while Mia was away. Guess she’s only just recently found that out then?

“Kind of have to.” Jason defends himself. You stay silent, however. Knowing your feelings can speak for themselves. “I know who we need, she knows how to get there. You complaining?”

“That’s not what I mean. This isn’t just business.” She continues to press him.

“Wa- I mean… yeah, sure. She’s a nice girl. What’s so wrong about making friends?” Jason tries to evade the topic. And you suddenly feel as though you’ve been caught out of place in such an intimate discussion.

“…You like her, don’t you?” Mia seems more to declare than ask. “Like you liked Lexie?”

“So what if I do? Maybe I’ve just got a thing for Seers of Space! I’m not hurting anyone.” Jason bickers back at her.

“Hey, I’m not getting on your case about it. You can like whoever you want.” Mia shrugs in return. “Even if she’s an alien, I’m happy she likes you back. Unlike… ah, never mind.”

“…What?” He says, prompting her to continue.

“It’s nothing, really. Forget about it.” She shirks him off, turning to the side. She’s uncomfortable… You’ve never seen her uncomfortable before.

“Seriously, what is it?” Jason insists.

“It’s just that… you know, you and Lexie weren’t… always on the same page, is all.” She struggles to find her way through the statement. Okay, you’re really feeling out of place in all this.

“Yeah, I know we were just friends. I’m not an idiot. Just because we weren’t dating doesn’t mean I couldn’t like her like that.” Jason seems to take this romantic revelation on the chin, receiving such news of one-sided love relatively well. Mia had told you a few things in the past about this Lexie girl the two of them knew. From what you recall, it’s unfortunate to see Jason’s feelings were unrequited given how lovesick she’d described him over this Seer.

“Fair enough, I guess. It just seemed like you were a little in the dark on it.” She sighs, seeming relieved by his receptiveness. “I mean, her and Rich didn’t exactly throw it out there for everyone to see, I only knew because Jess told me.”

“W- Rich?” Jason suddenly spitters. “What about Rich?”

“Her and Rich. They were…” Mia suddenly pauses. “Oh shit, you didn’t-“

“Her and Rich were… together?” He cuts her off before she can ask. Yeah, you’re really not liking the atmosphere in this increasingly cramped block now. “Like actually together?

“Shit. Jay, I didn’t mean to-“ She tries to console the boy.

“I… Fuck!” He suddenly exclaims. “God, I’m such a- … fuck! I fucking told him! I fucking told him how I felt about her to his face! And he just- … Fuck!”

“Dude…” Is all Mia can say to his manic breakdown.

“God! Why didn’t he… god.” He seems to settle now, shoulders slouching down as he stares at the floor in disbelief.

“Come on, Jay, it’s in the past. I mean, there’s practically nothing to get upset about anymore.” Mia tries to persuade him that it’s too long ago to matter now.

“How could I not pick up on that?! Why didn’t he say something?!” He suddenly sparks back up again. It’s at this point you begin to try and back away to the door unnoticed by the two. “I told him that I liked her, and he-... Gah!”

“Maybe he just thought it would fizzle out?” Mia suggests with a grasping shrug. “He and Lexie both woke up on Derse early, and he was helping her with the frog thing. He was probably confident enough with her not to see you… as a… threat… yeesh.” She rubs the back of her head at the comment, likely not intending for it to come out that way.

“She was pitting me, wasn’t she.” Jason asks, stopping you before you can lay a grabber on the handle out of here. “Only helping me out-, talking to me because she felt guilty. Fuck!” He settles into himself, almost deflating into the chair he’s sat upon. It’s the tone in his voice that halts you. That undiluted resignation letting you know he’s been defeated by nothing more than the thoughts in his head. “…fuck.”

“I don’t think it was pity.” You voice after a silent moment.

“…What?” He turns to you, seeing you’ve something to say.

“I don’t think she talked to you because she pitted you.” You repeat to him now that you have his focus. “Perhaps she didn’t like you the way you did her, but she liked you as a friend, didn’t she? And… I think if this Rick didn’t say anything, it was because he didn’t want to hurt you. Not because you weren’t a threat to him. He was your friend. They were all your friends… weren’t they?” He turns forward now, gazing off into the corner with a vacant stare.

“I think… I think I knew from the start…” He mutters to himself. “I have to have known. Somewhere deep down, I have to. I didn’t want to believe it, but I saw how they looked at each other. Saw how close they’d be with one another. And I buried it deep down. They tried to hide it, and I tried to ignore it, but I saw. I have to have saw.”

“Jay…” Mia begins to say, stopping when she sees she can’t get his attention.

“I saw… I have to have saw…” Jason repeats to himself, almost in a catatonic state. “It was only a little conviction… and I went wild with it… It was me… It was me………" The blank expression in his eye looks almost as though he's gone unconscious, the motor control in his thinkpan flipping to his subconscious mind to function now. "I think I’d like to be alone for a little while…” He seems to direct to the two of you. You aren’t completely sure, as he won’t look at you directly anymore, blankly gazing a thousand yards into the floor. You give Mia a confirming glance before exiting from the block together.

Out in the half-hall before the atrium in the dorms, an awkward stillness passes over the area, a thick miasma who’s humidity weighs upon your flesh.

“I’m… I’m gonna go get some air…” Mia tells you, gesturing a thumb down the hall.

“Of course.” You politely nod, allowing her to break off and process what just happened in that block on her own. “I’ll see you later tonight.” With that she wanders off down the corridor. As for you, you let yourself wander a while as well, doing your best to find a conclusion to the feelings your discussion had evoked. There’s quite a stirring in your chest after all this, leaving you quite uncertain of what to do next. Eventually, however, you find yourself at the door of another of your comrades. Seeing as you’re already here, you decide to give the oak barrier a -knock- and see if she’s in. You can hear from beyond the threshold a quiet sigh of defeat escape from someone inside.

“…Come in.” She says, her voice muffled from behind the door. You do so, entering into the respiteblock commandeered by a one Miss Dallra Heimda. “Esspin, what can I do you for?” The Jade asks you while sat strewn out upon the floor.

“Nothing, Dallra. I was just stopping by to check in with you.” You tell her as politely as possible, hoping you aren’t interrupting her survey of the Arena through her sight. “Thought I’d inquire in regards to your progress, or perhaps offer aid where I can.”

“I’m still searching, so, um… still… still got some time left before you’ll be heading out.” She tells you with a guilty expression. “Sorry…” Glancing around the block itself, you find the place a mess. The fabrics on the human bed left tossed across the floor, spilt cups of caffeinationbile soaking into the wood of the desk, one having fallen and shattered against the ground. It appears the Seer has been taking notes of her survey on the walls here, with several crude depictions of the Lands in the Arena there have been left covered in scrutinizing reflections, scribbled mementos and reminders of where she’s already looked.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for, friend.” You tell her, stepping into the block to speak. “If you need to rest, you needn’t feel any pressure to burden yourself to continue on relentlessly. I’m sure the others would be more than understanding, given your situation.”

“No, no, it’s okay, I can keep going.” Dallra assures you, taking a sip from a cup by her side on the floor. “I just need to double back on a few of the planets I’ve gone over. It won’t be much longer until I can find them. A-a few more hours, at most!”

“…Dallra, are you sure you’re okay?” You ask her, dubious of her disheveled state.

“Y-… y-yeah! Why wouldn’t I be?” She asks back with a phoned-in smile. It’s there that you see it again. That sensation of being pulled forward by something, as if the ability to do something else was just stripped from her, leaving her with no other option but to put on a strong face and double down on her current strategy, despite her efforts bearing no fruit.

“You can tell me if it isn’t.” You assure her, attempting to remove her from this funk. “Is your search… going well?”

“It’s… it’s……” She pauses, leaving you to lean in as if you hang on her every word. “It’s not good, Esspin…” She finally admits, burying her face into her grabbers. “I’ve searched the entire incipisphere top-to-bottom and I’ve found nothing! The surface, the skies, the core, every planet I’ve gone over some ten times and still they’re nowhere! The Veil, the outer edges of the Medium, the dark between Lands, I’ve looked everywhere! I can’t even find the faintest trail! It’s as if this Heir doesn’t exist anymore…! As if they’ve fallen off the edge of the world and simply vanished! I… I don’t know what to do…”

“Perhaps a day’s rest would help?” You suggest, truly thinking she’s suffering from exhaustion at this point. “Set the search down for now and come back to it with a fresh thinkpan tonight.”

“I can’t.” She shakes her head in dismissal. “I have to monitor Creed’s expedition as well.”

“Surely they’ll be fine unattended for a few hours, no?” You propose to the Jade, doing your best to put her worries at ease.

“I’d thought so too, but I’ve had to reroute them several times now. Whenever I’ve got them on a proper route forward, it’s like something always comes out of nowhere and cuts their path off! A storm, a Godtier, a downed bridge. It’s as if there’s always something in the way regardless of where I send them!” She’s been… diverting the group away from other Contenders in the Arena? Isn’t the point of sending guardians like Ryder and Leah with them to ensure against just such a situation? So you don't have to worry about Rival Godtiers? And since when have storms or obstacles like broken bridges gotten in your way before? “I find one way, then something comes up, and I have to circle them back. I sent them in another, and every other path in that direction gets cut off. They’re not any more closer to the Witch than they were when they first left.” She continues on with her confession, a settling sense of resignation of her situation resting on her stemnubs. “I don’t know what’s happening, but it all feels so…… hopeless…” The word ripples across your flesh like a skipping stone. Hopeless… It can’t be. Not when you were so close to hitting your stride! You’ll fix this… You have to…!

“I’ll let Jason know of our current status.” You tell her, taking her by the hand and guiding her up from the floor, resting her back down again on the human slumberplank. “I’ll message Creed and let them know you’re off-communications for a while as well. They can bunker down for a bit in the meantime.”

“But-“ The Seer tries to protest as she fights the exhaustion trapping her within the cushioning of the sleep apparatus.

“Rest.” You order, laying a grabber against her stemnub. “There are always other ways forward.” You inform her as the ether of sleep seems to take her sightglobes first, watching as she flutters them in the midst of drifting away. “You needn’t insist on this one path.” And with that, she’s out like a light.

Rising up from the human bed, you do your best to clean the respiteblock for her, trying not to ruin any of the notes she’s taken as you tidy up the place. The Heir has fallen off the edge of the world, was it? That’s certainly a dampen on your prospects if it’s true. Regardless, it’s more important now that you all keep your chins up in the face of everything happening. Or else, you all risk falling apart at the seams. You won’t allow that. Even if that means having to pry your team’s victory from the fickle clutches of Fate itself, you’ll find a way. Your corpse before failure.

 

Esspin, get this Hive in Order.

Notes:

Happy Late-Father's Day for all those Dad's out there. This chapter would've gone hard on Mother's Day though...

Chapter 71: > All in Good Time

“Are you listening?” Someone asks, causing you to look up. It’s Esspin. Right, she was debriefing you about the Heir of Life. “Jason?”

“Y-yeah, I’m listening.” You tell her, rubbing your head a few times to try and shake off this migraine. “You were talking about the Heir, right? Dallra can’t find them. They’ve… disappeared. And on top of that, the Witch Team isn’t making the progress we thought it would. So in the past sixteen hours, we’ve made zero progress on our operation.”

“What do you make of it, then? The Heir, that is.” She continues on, trying to get your opinion on this development.

“If the Heir is gone… then…” You pause, feeling your eyes dart from side to side unintentionally as your mind searches for an answer. The Heir is gone. How can he be gone? You checked his Pillar in the Collective, it was still lit, how the hell can he be gone?! Unless… No, it can’t be… Has the Prince already reached him? But why would his Pillar still be active? Is he held captive? Disabled and trapped somewhere? The Prince would have the edge against the Heir due to sharing an Aspect, especially if the Heir transformed into an Avatar of Life in the heat of the moment. A Destroyer class being presented with the purest form of their Aspect? It’d be like taking fire to film! Like fish in a damn barrel Reflexively, you feel your fingers start digging into your forearm, feeling an anxious hum burn at the front of your skull. “It’s possible the Prince of Life’s already made contact with them, and if the Rogue of Void’s Boon is still functioning as normal for him, it could mean they’ve been concealed like me and Mia were after our encounter. Meaning they’ll be hidden from her sight.” Esspin takes a deep breath in, sighing as the news sets in for her, understanding the gravity of such a situation.

“…Okay. What’s our next move?” She asks you, looking for instructions.

“We should… We should……” You mindlessly tap your foot against the floor of your room trying to produce anything of substance. “We should just hold tight, and see if she can’t still find them.”

“Jason.” Esspin says, sounding disappointed with your verdict.

“There’s still the possibility that she just missed them, is all.” You propose while still holding out hope.

“Jason, no. We can’t keep meandering like this.” She informs you. “We are drifting dangerously close to the edge of something calamitous here. If we don’t take action and take action fast, we might stumble directly into the clutches of our demise before we know it. You need to think of Something. Else.”

“I think…” The words stumble out of your mouth with no real convictions behind them. It feels like the room is a thousand degrees and you can’t focus your thoughts enough to figure something out. From deep within the recesses of your mind, you feel a pulsating rhythm pounding at the barriers between conscious and unconscious, thumping and Thumping and THUMPING!!! It’s trying to get out! You are trying to get out! Only kept at bay by the ever-weaving fabrics of your mind ensuring it stays locked away. You don’t know where these thoughts are coming from, you don’t know how you know these things. You are Not You, you are something Else, something Replaced. You are Locked Away within the confines of a self-repairing prison. You are Collapsing Worlds and Merging Yourself to the Final Branch. You are the First and the Final. And you are Dust. You are No more… “I think……” This is a Dream. This is not Real. You are in a Psych Ward. You are Insane, and the Doctors have finally gotten you to take your Pills. You are coming back to Reality, and that is why you can no longer distinguish what has Actually happened with what you have Dreamed. It’s too much. It’s Too Much! You can’t THINK! You Can’t-

“Jason!” Someone seizes you by the Shoulders. At first you think it is Dr Mary, here to cut more pieces from your Brain again, but when you look, it is not her. It is an Alien. An Alien caught by the Government and kept within one of their Bases. Lock and Key, Cloak and Dagger. An Alien older than the Homo Sapien Species itself, waging wars and perfecting the art of killing since before Humans were eating nuts off trees. She speaks your language, she knows your name, and she says; “We don’t have the luxury of inaction right now. The path ahead of us has turned out more complicated than we anticipated, but there are still ways forward so long as we Keep. Moving. Forward. We mustn’t stop now, not when the others are counting on us to see it through. Anything Is Possible, so long as we are together! Is that not why you gathered us in the first place?” You remember now. She is your Sister. A Magician of Hopes and Miracles. An Enchantress who’s dispelled the Doubts from your Mind. And suddenly, the Curtain is Shut. The Noise is Killed, and you are You again. Here in the Moment, sat within the bedroom of a monastery, on the side of the largest Mountain you’ve ever seen. “…Well?” She asks.

“…”

 

***

 

You had just secured the antenna module within your mobile device when you heard her. You were thinking how peculiar it was that the loot taken from a beast beneath the waves would keep such a pristine condition after its time submerged in whatever nautical keep it was kept in. You had originally thought it might’ve been kept within an underwater cavern or air pocket, yet it bore the mark of dried sea-foam upon its copper, and a small few barnacles were fixed to its front. On closer examination, though, you discovered they weren’t real barnacles. Much too small to be the actual creature, and it held no biosignature, leading you to believe it was more symbolic of the device being held underwater. A kind of aesthetic choice meant to signal that it is aquatic adjacent, you suppose. Regardless, you’d heard her call not long after.

“Jason!” Dallra’s voice echoes down the entry hall of the front gate into the Monastery’s Keep. There’s an urgency in her tone, one that catches your attention immediately and one that is lost on the Page Jason as he mindlessly waves down the corridor. As you scan the area in which this commotion is taking place, you spot One Eighty-Seven there, looking alongside his fellow Page towards the call. Suddenly, though, there comes a twitching at your creation’s ear, grabbing his attention from the calling towards whatever it is that’s caught his interest. Turning around, the boy begins to search through the skies with a peeled eye, clearly expecting something to appear there.

Intrigued by the commotion, you turn your focus up to the clouds above as well, scanning the environment there for anything out of the ordinary. You see it there, tearing through the atmosphere at a little over Mach 3. An arrow, aluminum jacket cased around a hollow shaft, coated in some kind of ontological influence preventing hyperthermic disincorporation. Zooming in, you see the head of the arrow has been modified with a delivery barrel filled with a foreign substance and kinetic plunger, designed to inject its contents upon impact. Performing a quick scan of the chamber, you pick up a faint bio-signature from within. It’s then that you understand what’s transpiring. An attack, biological warfare targeted towards-!

Calculating the trajectory of the payload, you find Jason in its direct path. That is, until One Eighty-Seven jumps into action, pushing him forward and taking the hit himself. Your optics focus in to the point of penetration, examining the injection site for a diagnosis of the effect the contaminate could’ve had. Piercing at a 65° angle, skewering through his calcaneal tendon and lodging into the soleus muscle. Attempting to form a proper prognosis of the damages, you notice then that the muscular tissue in the afflicted area has begun to degrade, almost like it’s coming apart by its fibers. Examining further, you discover a cascade reaction in the small trickle of blood escaping down his heel. The red blood cells there are morphing the structures of their membranes, brought on by a sympathetic response while within proximity of already contaminated cells. Puffing out and sprouting spikes, hardening their walls into a calcified shell and exciting themselves into a frantic state. The compensatory systems in your octave processors run a basic prediction algorithm with what little data you’ve gathered and conclude an inevitable FULL SYSTEM COLLAPSE, flashing in bright red letters in your HUD.

You step forward with not an instance to spare, mustering the resolve required to do what needs to be done. Walking at a brisk pace, you pass the Ryder boy as he bickers with his older Sister, grabbing hold of a handle to one of the swords on his hips, drawing it as you walk by and flourishing it down by your side. You’ve never been a fan of the traditional forms of weaponry as a means of self-defense, but for all intents and purposes, this is just an oversized scalpel to you. By your estimate, the contaminated blood should be well past his femoral veins by now, making their way up towards the heart. You reach him before it can get any farther. He’s your boy. You won’t allow it!

“That could’ve hit something vital-!” He says as your blade passes through his 5th and 6th cervical vertebrae. You’ll save him. You’ll put them back together.

“-!” A deep breath in fully brings you to consciousness, and you awaken to a world shattering silence, adrift within an endless void of absolute darkness. You can tell that you are lying down, but an uneven equilibrium present within your ears makes it feel as though you’re spinning. A gentle vibration emanates beneath you, informing your senses of the environment outside perception. Activating upon the drop in your delta wave activity, your ocular implants hum to life, giving you an active feed of the room around you. You’re in the foreman office of a scrap factory, having taken refuge upon the cramped leather sofa in the corner beside his overflowing filing cabinet and unwatered potted ficus. Sitting up, you do a scan of the room. One Eighty-Seven is still where you left him last, atop the desk before the window looking out at the factory floor. Perses is there as well, sat upon the floor with his back against the door, dead asleep.

Reaching up, you tie your hair back and ready yourself for the day. Last you checked in, you were still one hundred and five miles out from your portal to LOSAC, and another fifteen from where the transit is supposed to deliver you to. Going at the rate you’ve been managing, you won’t be anywhere near your destination by the time One Eighty-Seven requires fresh blood. You’ll have to figure out some means of expedited travel should you hope to be within spitting distance of your destination by the end of day. If you’re able to manage that, it’ll be maybe a short hike in the morning left before you arrive there. That’ll leave you plenty of time to work. Rising up from your makeshift cot, you notice an imbalance in your posture. Right, your Audio Dampeners are still running. Accessing your internal systems, you deactivated the inhibitors within your auditory nerves, and pouring into your mind is an endless cacophony of unintelligible stimuli. If you can say one thing about this Land, it’s that it certainly lives up to its name. Toil and Noise, a planet of toxic overspill and inefficient mega-factories which function closer to enormous clattering racket makers than any sort of actual industrial manufacturing. You can hardly hear yourself think, much less sleep on this planet with all the many scrap makers running beneath you. It only made sense to turn your ears off while you rested. It baffles you, though, that Perses not only seems unburdened by the constant thundering off the infernal machines surrounding you, but almost seems at home amongst such a hellscape. You yourself are plenty familiar with not-so-hospitable conditions brought on by the many pieces of machinery dominating a domicile, yet you’ve never been able to get a full night’s rest around them without mechanical aid, such as your Dampeners, or chemical aid, such as copious amounts of alcohol. Yet there he is, unabated by the world as if it simply isn’t a factor for him.

Turning your attention to your communication lines, your processors connect to the cellular device within your inventory and you find you’ve been left a message some time in the night. Bringing a feed up onto your HUD, you’re surprised to find it was Esspin who messaged you, and not Dallra, who’s been your main contact for correspondence with home base. What does she have to say, then?

 

PESTERLOG:

-- fortunateOracle [FO] began trolling pagliacciMedicated [PM] at 14:15 --

FO: Reaching out to 1et you know Da11ra wi11 be out of commiZZion for the day.
FO: You might be trave1ing b1ind for a few hourZ.
FO: BeZt of 1uck, Friend.
PM: Understood;
PM: My_Condolences_to_the_Overseer;

-- pagliacciMedicated [PM] ceased trolling fortunateOracle [FO] at 14:16 --

 

So, your lookout is resting their eyes for the day. Hm… Suppose it was only a matter of time before she’d need a break. Regardless, it shouldn’t be much of an inconvenience. You’re close enough to your destination that a basic bit of survey work should be all you need to pin down the Gateway Temple. Back to it then, you get moving, walking over to your oh-so attentive guardian’s place on the floor. Reaching your fingers down, you press against the top of Perses’ forehead, placing the slightest bit of pressure there

“Weren’t you on watch?” You ask him once his eyes open. His pupils dart around a few times, alerted to the change in the room you’d caused, before eventually settling upon yourself.

“I believe the term I used was Guard Duty.” He says, pushing your hand from his head. “And judging by the fact that you aren’t dead, I’d say I did a damn fine job of guarding.”

“Nevertheless, we should get going again.” You inform him, offering a helping-hand up. “You can carry One Eighty-Seven, this planet is giving me a migraine.”

“You xenos have a remarkably low mental fortitude, ya know that?” He tells you while rejecting your offer of help, pushing himself up on his own. “This place is nothing compared to some of the Forge Worlds my Clan established within our regions. Factory Gigaliths the size of entire continents, spewing out plumes of smoke that could rival even the most intense of nuclear winters. Shit was marvelous, like something you’d never even seen before!”

“From what I can infer from the term; Factory Gigalith, I hope I’ll never have to.” You huff, imagining the sheer magnitude of excess and opulence a species would have to indulge in to devote a multitude of worlds towards assembly and production. “I’m not usually a proponent of environmentalism, however a whole world grafted into a mechanical asset is a step too far, even for my tastes.” While you can appreciate what a production line like that could yield in the hands of someone like yourself, and what you yourself could accomplish given such resources, at a certain point, one must take a step back and question if the trampling of an entire planet is a price worth paying for mass output.

“You only say that because you’ve never seen a Leviathan class Void Cruiser be crafted in under twenty four hours before.” He attempts to persuade you while hoisting One Eighty-Seven’s carry bag onto his shoulders, following after you as you exit into the hallway. Continuing down the cramped corridor, a constant squeaking echoes out from the wooden floorboards with each step you take on them, and you have to lean in and out of the way of half-spilt out filing cabinets left about the hall just to get by. Venturing past a break room, you nearly do a double take upon smelling the aroma of coffee permeating from inside. Diverting your path without a second thought, you’re in the kitchen, pouring yourself a mug before Perses can even notice you’ve entered the room. Snagging a bagel from a basket full of them as well, you enjoy your quick breakfast for a few brief moments before noticing something transpiring on the muted television hung up in the corner above you. Peering up at the device, you see what looks to be live footage of a police standoff taking place around the perimeter of one of the factories on LOTAN.

“Huh… kind of looks like the factory we’re in…” You mutter between bites of your bagel.

“Hm?” Perses looks up from the floor, having gotten down on one knee to shove a hand up the drop area in a vending machine as he tries to snag a drink from within. “Oh, that’s because it is.” He tells you before accidentally ripping his arm out the front of the machine while trying to finagle his way out of it. "Agh."

“…Perses. Why is there a perimeter around the factory we’re in?” You turn to him as he’s picking up the multiple cans of soda that’ve fallen out of the torn-open machine, reaching back to place them in the bag alongside One Eighty-Seven.

“Aah, it’s a boring story, don’t worry about it.” He waves you off while piling up various food items he’s found in the room to carry in his arms.

“Perses!” You tisk at him.

“Look, it’s no big deal, one of the factory managers who’s office we were in came back while you were sleeping, blabbing about getting off company grounds and how he’d ‘call the police’ if we didn’t leave, blah blah blah. You were still resting, so I told him to kick bricks, and well… he took exception to that.” He explains between bites of an orange that still has the rind on it. “So anyway, a cop showed up and tried to remove us from the property, so I threw him out the window. I guess he called for backup, cuz a bunch more showed up. Threw them all out windows as well, but fuck me, they just kept showing up! And there’s only so many windows in this place, so I just said that I had a bomb and that I’d blow this place the fuck up if any more officers came in looking for us.” He finished with a nonchalant shrug. “I think it’s been a hostage situation ever since?”

“Those weapons they’ve got aimed at the building look anti-material.” You comment, taking note of the massive amounts of Crow consorts dressed in Riot gear, and the various array of bombastic weaponry they bear.

“Yeah, I guess they’re bringing in the big guns now. They didn’t take my first few threats too seriously, so I had to blow a hole through the west wing of the factory to keep them out.” Persus continues to recount the escalating escapades he’d gotten into during your sleep. “Funny enough, it hasn’t really affect production at all. Feathery bastards are for real dedicated to the craft.”

“And how do you propose we escape from this situation?” You ask him, displeased of the mess he’d created while you were unconscious. Consorts may be less than threatening in most situations, but put a Barrett M82 in anyones hands, and the risk factor goes up by 1000%.

“Ain’t no thang.” Your supposed guardian assures you, walking out with his share of break-room plunder. Following after him, you step back out to the hall, struck once more by the grating uproar of mechanical clattering, now realizing just how quiet the kitchen area was compared to the rest of the factory. Rooms like these must be a feature of the Land, functioning like safe havens pivotal to the mechanics of the planet. Fascinating… “Whaddya suppose Jason and the others are up to?”

“By now, I’d hope they’re well on their way to our newest recruits.” You tell him as you progress out of the office space of the factory, descending down into the hellish pits of the shop floor, a sickly smog of heat hitting you as you enter into the walkways between machinery. The sound is almost drowning now, having to shout to get yourself heard by your companion. Had it not been for the Filters you have lined within your lungs, you imagine it’d be quite hard to breath in this environment. Which again, you find surprising how Perses is so easily able to maneuver under these conditions, as if thriving in such a place. He’s an odd duck, you’ve found. The oddest duck of them all, you’d say. “From the sounds of it, Esspin is still with Dallra, so I imagine she’s taken my place with guarding her while the others are away.” Navigating the condensed maze of narrow passages and breaks in endless rows of lathes and mills and grinders, you run into a few worker Crows as they go about their business manning the machines. Just as Perses had said, they seem unaffected by the state of crisis your presence in the factory has thrown it in. Suppose quotas come first in a world of Toil. From what you can tell, this is a textile factory, with several of the workers having their hand-feathers stained bright blue or deep magenta due to the exposure to the dye, however, they also seem to produce metal products of some kind. You haven’t examined their entire construction process, but from what little you’ve seen, you think it’s for specialized pieces, some kind of washing unit. It’d certainly be quite the lucrative business, if it were. Selling both the fabrics and the means to wash them. If nothing else, you can appreciate the entrepreneurship of it all.

“Maybe if we finish up all this quick enough, we can join up with them in the field.” Perses proposes with a dreamy look in his eyes.

“You seem quite keen on the idea.” You mention as the two of you exit out into a small stone hall of the factory, where a series of robed Crows meander in their works, reading from texts and praying at small altars. Since you’ve been here, you’ve found that this planet has a strange conjunction between the occult and the mechanical, with several religious sects have popped up and established residency within the factories you’ve been in, forming little clergies here and there, worshiping and blessing the various machines in use around the world. You’ve even seen entire churches erected independent of any factory yet still with numerous pillars of smoke and chemical runoffs of their own spewing out of them, for no other reason that you can divinate but to to partake in the toxic culture this planet seems to overindulge in. You’d venture a guess in saying that the protection of their environment isn’t a paramount virtue to the people here. “Eager to reunite with our peers, are we?”

“Hardly.” He rolls his eyes as you exit the hallowed halls, into a reception area at the front of the building. “I’m just looking to make a few good impressions with how well I’ve accomplished my Side Quest. Escort missions can be so tedious sometimes, after all. Hopefully I can get something out of it in the end.”

“How noble.” You eye him from the side, faintly annoyed by the use of ‘Escort’ by the Baron. Continuing forward, your oh-so-selfless Escorter pushes open the exit doors to the outside world, revealing the countless blaring spotlights and police roller, flashing and gleaming all about the place, causing you to put a hand up to block them from your sensors.

“This is the Guard to His Eternal Propagation! Put Your Wings in the Air and Set the Duffel Down Beside You!” A speaker mounted on one of the vehicles blares at you. Threat Analysis in your processors registers no less than three dozen high yield payload devices, whose aim you’ve trajected for three different vitals on both your and Perses’ person.

“ ‘Isn’t no thing’, was it?” You turn to him, figuring it’s his turn to take things away now that his previous plans have come crashing down upon you. Surprisingly, the Baron takes a step forward, raising both hands up in the air as though he’s complying with the demands of the law enforcement. Suddenly, though, he brings both limbs swinging down, and clapping together.

“SONIC BOOM;” He shouts as the concussive force of his hands clashing against one another erupts into an overwhelming sound-wave rocketing at supersonic speeds towards the police line. “WALL OF THUNDER!!!” And as the blast wave hits them, the various vehicles forming an exclusion zone around the building are swept away like rubbish in the breeze, knocking and clattering as they’re hurled back several dozen feet. “Ain’t no thang in the slightest.” Perses tells you while glancing over his shoulder with a smug grin.

“Suppose you know how to manage yourself.” You nod, conceding to his lackadaisical treatment of being on the losing end of a firing squad. Pushing forward without much fanfare, you and him walk down the path leading off the hill your factory was stationed on, moving past the various either dead or injured consorts among the shredded wreckage of their vehicles. Eventually, you reach the bottom of the ridge, towards the swampy trenches of the world, an almost radioactive glow beaming up from the chemical marshes of the Land, contrasting against the dark green smog clouds above you. And as you reach the bottom here, you spot a relatively undamaged S.W.A.T. van Perses had knocked away half-sticking out of the swamp, all of its armor plating still intact from the blast. “Hey, pull that out of the muck there.” You instruct your Muscle, pointing him towards the toppled vehicle.

“Whaddaya want a piece of junk like that for?” He asks while stepping up to the sunken chariot, just barely kept above the mud like by the roots of a willow tree it’d partly crashed into.

“Our journey still has a large portion left on this planet, and I don’t fancy spending more than one night here.” You explain as he grabs hold of the bumper to the armored van, lifting its back end up as he backs up with it. “It’s best if we find some way to hurry our travels along.”

“You know, I could still always just warp us a few times. No need to mess around with useless trinkets like this.” He tells you as he finishes pulling the automotive apparatus fully onto the raised path that cuts through the toxic valleys of the planet. “It might be far, but if we go in bursts, we could probably clear a couple miles in just a few minutes.”

“Thank you, but no. More than three of those… shunts forward you do and just about all of my cybernetics are fried for the evening. It was fine when the alternative was descending into the chasms between mountain ranges on Lomam, but we have a relatively straightforward path here. I spotted a sixty-something-lane highway from the roof of our domicile last night. From the looks of it, if we can find our way onto an on-ramp leading to it, it should take us straight to our portal crossing.”

“Super-highways, huh?” Perses hums while ripping the back doors to the van open to look inside. “Suppose I can dig that. How long till you can fix this rust bucket?”

“Less than ten minutes, ideally. The noxious fumes are starting to make me light headed down here.” You huff while walking over to the front of the vehicle, forcing up the already partially crinkled hood of the car.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s nothing like the spell of toxic runoff in the morning!” He exclaims while placing One Eighty-Seven’s bag in the passenger seat of the cabin, slamming down in the driver seat himself while looking at you through the muck-covered windshield. Hopefully you can make this fast, before your Sherpa starts blaring on the horn to keep himself entertained.

 

***

 

An anxious tapping has dominated your foot as you wait for the last of your party to join you at the cargo lift off the monastery mountain. It’s you, Mia and Haugrr waiting around for Sara to join you for the excursion. As expected, a total silence dominates the scene, with there being nothing to speak about between the three of you. You’d tried, but neither of your two companions had any interest in speaking for very long. God… it feels like you’re going insane with uncertainty as you’re waiting… Is this really the right thing to do?

Esspin had stopped by your room last night to tell you waiting around for Dallra to find the Heir was no longer an option. Judging by the fact that she still hasn’t found a lead on them, you suppose there could be credibility to that claim. But it still doesn’t feel right! It feels as though you’re abandoning your efforts too quickly when there could be a breakthrough at any moment! You just have to keep trying…! Aah! Damn it… Maybe… maybe this is for the best… After all, if she does end up figuring out where the Heir is hiding, you can always split the team while you’re still out in the field, right…?

“She’s got two more minutes before I bail.” Haugrr declares, his arms folded in annoyed anticipation.

“Aw man, how are we gonna make do without you?” Mia retorts with a sarcastic overture to her tone. Haugrr simply glares back at the Maid. “In all honesty, we probably could’ve started on our way by now. Sara’s fast enough with that flight speed, she could probably catch up with us in just a few minutes.”

“We go together.” You declare, setting a firm limit on what is acceptable. You don’t want to be on this expedition as it is, you’re damn sure not about to fracture your group any further.

“What’s the deal, anyways, Greene?” Mia asks you, nodding your way. “We’re giving up on finding the Heir and just joining the Witch Hunt? Wasn’t the whole point of this smaller group shtick to speed up our travel time? Isn’t a group as big as ours gonna slow things down if we team up with them?”

“Dallra’s search for the Heir has hit a wall, so us waiting around up here isn’t doing anything for anybody.” You tell her, basically parroting Esspin’s entire talking points about finding a new path forward. “On top of that, from what it sounds like, Witch Team isn’t having much luck traversing the Arena. It’s possible we’ve all been overly reliant on Sara’s passive ability to quicken our travel that going without it has been causing some trouble on their end. Ideally, we’ll only be rendezvous with them to drop off Sara with their squad, and hopefully by then, Dallra will have found the Heir. At which point, us three will break off for where they’re located. We haven’t given up on anything yet.”

“You really think that’s the best course of action?” Haugrr asks you.

“The decision’s made, we’re not talking about it.” You firmly declare, already feeling the doubt dripping in from the poorly constructed barriers of your resolve regarding this arrangement.

“…Whatever.” He shakes his head, peering off to the mountain range in the distance. “Twenty seconds.”

“Heyyy!” You hear called from the other side of the courtyard. Glancing over, you spot both Sara and Esspin approaching, with Dallra following behind them. Aah Christ, why did she come out with them? You can’t face her now! Not after finding out about Lexie… “We ready to go, team?!” Sara emphatically asks with the enthusiasm of a spirit-week camp counselor.

“For like thirty fucking minutes, yeah.” Haugrr sighs while standing up to walk to the cargo lift, hacking at the bit to get going.

“Hey, what’s uh… what’s up.” You say as the girls join you at the tiny segment of the mountain, finding it hard to make eye contact with Dallra as she walks up.

“Seeing you all off, of course.” Esspin answers, resting her hands on her hips.

“Ah…” You murmur, doing your best to glance over at Dallra as she stays beside the Mage. She gives you a weak smile, still seeming tired from an unsatisfying rest. In turn, Sara joins you by your side as well, leaving the four of you to face one another while Mia and Haugrr wait impatiently for you to finish up. “And you’re sure you’re okay hanging back while we’re away?” You ask the bigger of the two Trolls.

“Of course. Wouldn’t want to leave Dal here all exposed, would we? Haha!” She emphatically declares, pulling the Seer close with a hand around her shoulder. It's a gentle grip, yet for some reason, you can’t look away from where she’s placed her hand, feeling as something begins to pull at your chest. “I’d say I’m more than capable of holding down the fort, especially given these… trying times.” She adds on, not even registering in your awareness as you begin to zone out.

“I’ll make sure to message you before we make the jump and once we catch up with everyone.” You hear Sara say as they continue on their farewell partings.

“Hey… I guess we never got the chance to have that talk, huh.” Dallra says once she notices you staring long enough. You feel a twinge of guilt spark through you when you realize you suddenly don’t have the courage to look her in the eyes anymore, and you turn your gaze to the side upon her address of you.

“I guess not…” You nervously rub the back of your neck. Come on, you douchebag! She wants you to say something more! Something…! Anything! Just… Fucking Say Something, for God’s sake! “…”

“Remember, my Love, be Brave, regardless of the odds.” Esspin tells Sara with a wink as their conversation continues on parallel to your own.

“Always!” Sara smiles while throwing herself forward towards the Troll, tossing her arms around the neck of the Highblood to pull her down to her level and delving into a kiss with her other half. You try not to focus on it as it transpires in the corner of your eye.

“Oh, um. Here.” Dallra says, retrieving something from her pocket to present to you. It’s the Mage’s Phone. “Since I have a chip for my palmhusk, I don’t have to keep using this one anymore.” She tells you as you take the device back, starting at the black screen while it reflects your sorry-looking face back at you. With how hard it was to get your hands on this thing the first time around, it’s almost funny to be given it without any fuss. Like it’s the most replaceable thing you now own. Which… you guess is true, now that you have your communications back. “Jason.” Dallra calls you again, taking your attention back from the dark mirror. “About the talk… It… wasn’t something important, was it?” She tries to prompt a proper response from you, looking for something of substance out of your ignorant gob.

“……No.” You fail with spectacular indignity. “No, it wasn’t anything… We-…” You try to pick up again, falling short once more. Dallra seems to lean forward at the promise of more, waiting on your every word. “We… should get going.” You divert, a cringing pit forming at the center of your stomach.

“Okay…” She says with a questioning end note to her tone, a clear misgiving over where this cold reception has come from. You can’t bring yourself to make any corrections. You don’t deserve to…

Turning without another word, you go to join your other two companions in their place on the cargo lift, Sara skipping by your side as you struggle to drag your feet forward. Meekly, you take your place on the platform and look back up, spotting Dallra standing there still, looking at you for any sort of response. She gives you a weak smile. Whether due to her exhaustion or from how much of a fucking psycho she realizes you are, you’ve no idea. You simply try your hardest to return it in kind as one of your companions pulls the lever on your elevator, slowly descending you past the edge of the mountain landing, your view of the courtyard ending and taking the Seer with it as she disappears beyond the ledge's lip. A depressing breath is practically sucked from your chest, leaving you a deflated sink of yourself as you lean against the wooden guardrail of the lift. What the hell is wrong with you… Was it really all just to replace Lexie? This entire plan of finding the Seer of Space… was it just so you could finally get with someone who was never gonna get with you in the first place…? Damnit… Damnit… God-! Fucking…….DAMNIT!! ……You just want to disappear…

“Last I checked, the bridge was still up, but it was looking pretty rickety.” A voice comes from the space before you, snapping you back to the present. Looking up, you see that it was Sara, walking ahead of you, side-by-side with Mia on the path. It takes you a moment to realize you’re no longer on the cargo lift and are making your way down a trail on the side of the mountain. Glancing back, it looks like you’ve actually put a bit of distance between you and your monastery already. Jesus… your head is throbbing… where did that last few minutes just go? “Think we could make the jump if it collapsed?” Sara continues on, asking like she’s giddy for the gauntlet ahead of you.

“Me? I can make it across no problem. No idea about the shamblers back there.” Mia nods back to you as you follow after them. “You might have to fly them over.” Hearing her comment, you’re implored to look to your side. Walking beside you there is Haugrr, stepping near shoulder-to-shoulder to you on the path. You nearly jump at the sudden realization that he’s been this close to you the entire time.

“Psh, no problem. Ferry’s open for business twenty-four seven!” She quips back “I’ll straight carry this crew of hooligans, no questions asked if I gotta.”

“You’re pretty wound up today, huh?” Mia tilts her head to look at the Sylph.

“My body is ready to get moving again, lady! Being on this Land is so energizing, but I’ve got no outlet to put it into! I feel like I’m a battery ready to burst!” Sara excitedly explains, throwing her fists in the air. “Esspin could hardly keep up, I’ve been all over the place trying to keep a lid on it all!”

“Hey, speaking of Esspin, I’ve been meaning to ask, but you and her, right? You’re like… a thing now?” Mia says while seeming to carefully broach the subject with more tact than you thought physically possible for the girl. “Wow.”

“Oh! I didn’t realize you didn’t know yet!” She exclaims, sounding overjoyed to gossip about her relationship. “We haven’t put an official title on it yet, but I suppose you could consider me a Gentleman Caller of hers. Only… I’m a girl, so… Gentlelady? Mistress, maybe? …Lady Caller?”

“We usually call those Call Girls.” Haugrr mentions from beside you.

“Hm.” Sara hums, unamused by the comment as she glances back at the two of you.

“I’ve known for a little while, but I tend to stay away from romantic drama.” Mia takes her attention back forward again. “I just didn’t think you were… y’know.” She nods at the Sylph, lightly gesturing to her general direction.

“I didn’t either.” Sara says while gently shaking her head. “I guess it doesn’t really matter to me if they’re a guy or a girl or not. I guess I just kind of like… muscles.”

“Muscles?” Mia looks at her.

“Hehehe, yeah.” Sara giggles to herself. “Muscles.”

“Huh… Didn’t know Esspin was built.” The Maid mutters under her breath.

“You don’t notice it very easily because she’s got such bad posture, but under those robes, she’s a certified beefcake!” Sara emphatically overshares. It’s at that moment you try to dissociate again. At least for a few minutes. The hopes of that doesn’t last long, though, with Haugrr staring at you with those sunken eyes of his while he steps right beside you.

“…You’re pushing her away.” He eventually says, practically ripping your attention to him, center stage.

“What?” You ask, appropriately looking at him like he’s said something crazy.

“You’re pushing her away. Because you think you’re not worthy of being close to her.” He elaborates, causing you to feel an irk twitching at your eye. It takes you a moment to realize what he’s saying to you. Once you do, however, you’re annoyed at the presumptuous assumption he can advise you on the matter.

“Mind your own business, Haugrr.” You huff at him, trying to drift a ways away from his place on the path.

“You’re worried you’re using her as a stand-in for someone else, and that the bondage keeping our group tethered is forcing her to comply with some unavoidable preset relationship with you that you subconsciously desire.” He continues on regardless.

“H-… How do you know about the Binding on our team?” You ask him in a hushed tone, trying not to let the girls hear. You’re still trying to figure out how to break that to everyone else, you don’t need this loud mouth spreading that info like the goddamn town cryer!

“That’s your takeaway from this? Questioning how I know things I shouldn’t?” He looks at you like you’re some kind of stupid. “Snap out of it, human. Dallra isn’t whoever you’re still hung-up on. She’s her own person. She deserves the basic courtesy of being treated like it.”

“…What makes you think that there was someone else?” You huff, doing your best to divert the subject, frustrated the zombie’s somehow gotten the scoop on you.

“This body still has a few functional abilities left running. I can read your deepest insecurities like writing on the wall.” The Prince informs you. “For what it’s worth, my condolences regarding your former fling. It’s a shame that the feelings weren’t mutual, but don’t let it get in the way of what you have now. Sometimes you don’t know what you have until it’s gone…” He says while glancing down at the palms of his vessel’s hands.

“You sound like Amvinn.” You roll your eyes at the advice.

“Probably because I’m using his vocal cords, dumbass.” He hisses at you.

“Yo, we calling Jason a dumbass back here?” Mia glances back from the front of the group, as if summoned by the faintest wafts of an insult aimed your way. “What about?”

“Nothing.” You sneer at her eagerness to bandwagon the hate on you. “Are we to the damn bridge yet?” You continue, doing your best to move on in the conversation.

“Right there, ya prima donna. Keep your damn pants on.” She snips back, nodding her chin forward towards a large gulch in your path. And reaching across it is a small rope bridge, hanging slack over the chasm. You feel a slight itch upon seeing the crossing, recalling your last encounter with a bridge and how it went. It’d be a lie to say you aren’t still shaken by the memory.

Walking up to the stakes burrowed into the stone keeping the ropes semi-taut, you linger back a moment as the others continue on without thinking. You stare at the wooden boards of the bridge a bit, trying to gauge whether the first step will snap in half or not, despite seeing three others pass over it without worry. A sudden large updraft in the chasm nearly puts a shake in your legs as you continue to linger at the entrance. Looking around a few times, you glance down the narrow path the mountain shelf continues down, with the trail taking a hard left at both sides of the bridge junction, wondering if there’s possibly a connecting way around you could quickly find. Before you can brainstorm any more workarounds, a sudden -ding- comes from your pocket, catching your attention. Pulling your phone out, you find-… it’s Dallra.

 

PESTERLOG:

-- starsideAcolyte [SA] began trolling senileMinor [SM] at 23:20 --

SA: Y0u can d0 it, Ja20n!
SA: I believe in y0u! Ju2t take it 0ne 2tep at a time!

-- starsideAcolyte [SA] ceased trolling senileMinor [SM] at 23:21 --

 

You stare down at the words on the screen a while longer before realizing just how far the others have gotten from you by now. They’re a full bend in the road ahead of you already. That’s when you take your first step, placing a foot down against the rickety-ass wood of the rope bridge. The sudden and jolting sway under your weight of the plank is nearly enough to have you back out immediately, but then… you look back to those little jade words on your phone and it all feels… just a little less stressful. Like all the bad in the world you’re in has been turned down, just enough to let you think straight. Maybe… maybe Haugrr was right. Maybe it was only you getting in the way of yourself this entire time… You should respond back to her. As you continue your jaunt over the bridge, hurrying along to catch back up with the others, your attention remains on your pesterlog, your thumb wagging back and forth as you try to find the words to type out. Come on, you jackass! Anything will do, won’t it?

 

-SNAP-

 

Before you can figure out the perfect thing to say back, a sudden snarl of rope-snapping echoes out behind you. Despite being a few steps off the bridge, the noise is enough to make you jump a bit, foolishly thinking the state of the scaffolding still holds an influence over the ground beneath your feet. Turning back to look, your heart drops, seeing the wooden planks you’d just crossed upon plummeting down, the rope bridge having just collapsed on the side you’d arrived at. After a brief fall-period, the clack of what remains of the bridge clattering against the side of the chasm rings out through the void now dividing the two cliffsides. Wandering back over to the stakes driven into the edge of the mountain, you reach out to the small bit of rope that made up the bridge's railings, their small tasseled form still anchored to the wooden posts after breaking. Taking a closer look, you examine what had broken during the structure's sudden collapse. That’s… strange… It looks like it’s a clean cut. You don’t know much about rope or how it breaks apart, but you’re at least a little sure it’s supposed to be messy when it does so. The hemp in your hand though… the break there almost looks… intentional.

Looking back up, you notice the group’s gotten real far from you now, however, you see that they’re stopped up ahead on the path, and… Oh shit. Just before them, standing in their way, is a Godtier. Dark blue robes, a Void Player. Dallra can’t see those players in her God’s Eye. That means the others just walk right into them, no warning! Damn it! You’re booking it to them in an instant. Time Dilation; (15 sec. your time =1 sec. local time), you’re there within an instant, arriving in a flash as the sudden burst of your powers wears off, returning you to nominal time as you walk up, rejoining your group.

“Ya deaf, bitch?! I said; who the hell are ya?!” Mia barks at the newcomer, her spear summoned to her hands and aimed for the stranger. Despite the brandished weapon pointed her way, the girl remains ever silent in the face of you all. Moving past the others, you step forward to the front of the group to get a better look at who it is you’ve come across. She’s a troll, Cobalt wings fluttering behind her as a breeze blows across her tunic, standing confidently before you in a sheik pair of black boots. The Thief of Void. Is… is this the one you saw before, with the Mage who attacked you, or was that just a hallucination of Jess? Seeing you step to the front, the Thief’s attention centers on your person like she’d been looking for you. The center of her eyes are disfigured, with her pupils formed into the shapes of a ♦Diamond and a Club♣.

“Can we help you?” You call over to the individual blocking your path. She doesn’t answer, but the sly smile cutting across her face is more than enough to let you know all you need to. Raising her hands out to the side, the Thief reveals the phone she’d hidden behind her back. With the device exposed to the cold light of day, you watch as the Renegade Troll presses a single button on her phone as she holds direct eye-contact with you, a look of confidence gleaming in her misshapen pupils. Unbeknownst to you, on a planet far, far away from where you stand, a Young Woman, upon seeing the signal come in on her device, whispers to her Alien Companion these sacred words;

 

"Can I Tell You A Secret?”

 

Summoned forth from the Thief’s simple maneuver is a swirling rift in the tapestry of the subspace, bursting forward into existence with an eruption of wind and tearing at the edges of spacetime as a pocket of void spills out into existence. Even with the breeze of the mountain gales blowing around you, the torrent that rushes out from the rift is enough to force you to guard yourself, holding up an arm to block the biting winds from reaching your face. Peering past your meager guard, you watch as from beyond the veil steps forward two individuals, summoned from the portal like hounds from hell. Making out who it is as they come into the light, your veins run cold. Standing there, beside her Thieves of Void and Breath, is the Rogue of Life coming in for a head-on confrontation. Your head pulls back, as though not only shocked but simply surprised by her presence before you, like you were reacting to someone who’d rudely entered a room and nothing more. Seeing them all there, so suddenly appearing directly in your way, your mind goes into a scramble, and you try to think of something polite or interesting to say, so as to not bore your new guests. It appears your opponent has suffered nothing of the sort herself, as without a word to you, she raises up a hand-held crossbow clutched in her grasp and fires off a shot.

Bringing up a guard on instinct, you raise a hand and try to cover yourself with your forearm from the impending bolt. However, before the projectile gets anywhere near your flesh, it explodes outward, cloaking your immediate area in a smoke screen. You jerk back at the sudden appearance of the screen, having not expected for something like this to summon this close to you. Just as you’re wrapping your mind around what it is you’re looking at, there comes a sudden -Boom- from behind the veil, and a powerful draft goes along with it, ripping at your clothes and pulling your cape off the the side. Taking the initiative, Sara steps forward with a Fan in-hand, dragging it across the wall of smoke and evoking a channel of wind to follow after, cleaving through the mists with east, dispelling the concealment and revealing that your opponents have dropped from three to two in numbers, with the Breath Thief now missing from their ranks. Putting two and two together, you realize the noise you’d heard while blinded was the girl taking off into the skies. Turning back, you spot her there, rocketing away like a woman on a mission. What are-

“Three klicks west, Aellocy.” The Void Thief says into her phone as her counterpart soars further and further from the scene. In an instant, your attention is snatched back to the path before you. “She’ll be in the nineteenth block from the entrance.” Nineteenth block…? Dallra’s Room! Whipping back to verify, you confirm that the Thief of Breath is indeed making a B-line directly for the mountains your monastery is positioned on! No!

“Sara!” You turn to your most mobile member of your squad. “They’re going for home base!” You point for the escaping combatant, turning your Sylph's attention to where she's retreated to in the sky. In an instant, your girl seems to register immediately the situation you’re in. Not even a tenth of a second and she’s burst after her, soaring forward like a missile honed in for the burglar trying to sneak through your back door while the family's preoccupied. But as you watch her give chase to the Thief of her Domain, a sudden look of dread crosses Mia’s face seeing her go.

“Wait, no! Don’t get close to her, Sara!” She shouts, turning on her heels and bounding after the Sylph, tearing into the stone beneath her feet as she springs off the surface with a tremendous force, nearly matching the speed of the two Untethered. Damn it, you were banking on Mia handling this fight…!

Alright, looks like you’re gonna have to pull this one off on your own, then. Turning back to the immediate threat before you, the beating in your heart roars to life, and you summon to your hands the Pickaxe; Bane of All Mountains. Reviewing all the factors of the Strife, you find yourself at least somewhat confident in the odds of your success, even with Mia not by your side. Their roster isn’t as stacked as it could be. You’re more than familiar with what a bout with a Thief of Void can look like, with you and Jess fencing from time to time to train. On top of that, Rogues aren’t as threatening as Powerhouses like Witches or Heirs, both of which you’ve proven capable of handling while shorthanded. Although, that doesn’t mean they can’t be dangerous. In fact, Robin’s position as a Life Player could be a problem.

“You ready?” That is, it would be, had you not have one of her class-counters by your side. Glancing over, you look to Haugrr as he puts his back parallel to your own, a readied fist aimed their way.

“After you.” You tell the Prince, garnering you a laughing grin in response. Upon your request, your teammate goes in first, disappearing in a -zap- as you spot him off on the other side of your opponents, coming in behind their flank. Seeing this as an official start to this round of the Strife, you dart forward, Bane trailing behind you as you amp your travel speed (3 sec. your time =1 sec. local time). Seeing the fight has started herself, Robin fires a hail of bolts your way, her crossbow engaging into an almost rapid fire mode, its front rack spiraling circles around itself upon each fire to reload without pause. Dodging in and out of the fire, you avoid the hail of needles with ease under your Dilation, arriving at the Rogue’s doorstep faster than she can anticipate. Bringing your pick up from beside you, your aim is for her right shoulder, however her reflexes are just fast enough to juke her right-half back in time to swerve your swing. You’d anticipated this, and with Bane already lifted up, you move for a plunging swing down at the girl, aimed to bury the spike into her collarbone.

Before you can slam the tip of your weapon against its target, though, your swing is jerked to a halt, as if the shaft of the pick is caught on something. Snapping back, your attention is immediately focused on what’s causing the disruption to your attack, and there, you see just barely reflecting a small gleam of light are four nearly imperceivable strands, tangled around the weighted head of your weapon, anchoring it in place. Razor Wire. It’s at that point that you realize the Thief had dodged out of your awareness, flying into your flank and hooking your weapon as she crouches down behind you. While your attention is turned, you feel as a foot is launched up, slamming into your throat with a tremendous force that you think might’ve collapsed your windpipe. Before you can be battered any further, Haugrr catches up to the strife, delivering the meanest haymaker you’ve ever seen a corpse bestow to a girl, a brutal -crack- echoing from Robin’s jaw as her head is knocked to the side. However, what should’ve been a spiraling hit is diminished to a simple attack, with a spark of light flashing across Robin’s eyes the moment before knuckle met face, allowing the girl to fortify her form in some way before the strike landed. She’d already seen it coming. You know in an instant it was the Thief, stealing away Haugrr’s element of surprise before he could arrive. You can’t count the amount of times Jess had done the same exact thing for you when an Underling had gotten the jump on you in a strife.

It’s at the end of this exchange that you begin to feel the effects of Robin’s kick to your throat set in, and you start to choke on the blood pooling in your trachea. Registering you’ve taken a heavy hit, Haugrr moves on from his lackluster punch in a heartbeat, pivoting past the still turned Rogue and reaching a grasping hand over to you, hovering above the site of your dented windpipe.

“Obligation Shirk.” He announces as you feel a vector of power pass over your neck. And as it does, you suddenly feel as though the breath can pass through your throat again, unbothered by the injury. Whatever it was, you roll with it, turning your attention to the creature shackling your weaponry. Swinging in the Thief’s direction with nothing holding your pick back, she dives back while on one knee, nearly falling to the ground at the sudden release of resistance on your end. Seeing your pickaxe is too tangled to undo in the split second you have with her prone, you instead cast a Time Displacement, temporally shunting you and your weapon behind the girl, back to where you just were a few seconds on your personal chronology. With the half-second you have as the Thief gets back up, you pour a small degree of temporal energy into your Pickaxe, opening up its exhaust vents and pouring out from its sides are six vectors of heat, revving up as the dynamo within hums to life. Charging forward, you swing the pick up, knocking its side into the Void Troll’s face and slamming a burst of kinetic energy against her head, sending her flying back upon the hit.

Meanwhile, Haugrr exchanges blows with the Rogue, both seeming proficient in hand-to-hand to some degree, and both enhancing the weight and force of their attacks as they go tit-for-tat with one another. Taking a jab for her mouth, Haugrr throws hits like he’s looking to collect teeth, but the Rogue weaves in and out from the barrage, eventually taking the upper hand on a close enough punch as she snags your Prince’s arm under her own, trapping it by her side. While his mitt is pinned, Hauggr’s head is turned nearly 90° as Robin socks him in the jaw with a devastating hit. Looking perturbed by the strike, the Prince jerks his trapped arm back, not to free himself, but to pull the Rogue along with it, tucking her in close as he reels his upper torso back and slams his crown against the bridge of her nose. The hit is enough to stagger Robin to the point of letting go of the pinned appendage, but not stun her entirely. Countering his attack, the girl leaps a short height into the air, kicking straight up and brushing the underside of Haugrr’s chin as he jukes back. With a small distance built between them, Robin raises her crossbow and fires four shots dead-center into Haugrr’s chest, as though using the Heart symbol there as a target. Unbeknownst to her, though, the bolts pass harmlessly through the maroon dress with nothing fleshy to sink into. You, on the other hand, actually have to dodge out of the way as the bolts go clean through the hole in Amvinn’s torso, with you on the other side.

Bailing out from your charge as the Rogue’s projectiles nearly bestow you an impromptu ear piercing, you end up losing your footing and roll to the floor. You do your best to push yourself upright once you recover, however, you notice just past Haugrr and Robin’s struggle that the Thief has reposed from your last hit, getting to her feet before you’re off your hands and knees. Seeing you there, the Troll dodges off to the right, slamming directly into the side of the mountain your trail sits on. What you had thought was a disoriented shoulder charge brought on by the confusion of a concussion quickly puts a pit in your stomach when you see the Troll vanish into the shadows that hang at the base of the mountain pass. The wires constrict around your throat as you realize what she’s doing, looking down at your own shadow below you as the Thief of Void appears there, her torso warping into existence from the dark.

“Shit-!” You yelp out as the razored edge of the strings begin to cut into your throat. And it’s not just your neck that the Thief has wrapped up in her grasp either, but both your forearms as well, digging in and bleeding you all the way up to your shoulders.

“Let’s see what you’re hiding, shall we?” She muses while reeling your head closer to her grasp like you’re a hooked fish. You try to pull back, but the faintest bit of resistance digs the wires deeper and deeper into your flesh, leaving you helpless as the Thief places her hands on the sides of your temple. Damnit, she’s digging for secrets. What the hell could they possibly be searching for? Whatever it is, they won’t get it without a fight! As you feel the vector of influence scanning your metaphysical presence for your most coveted information, you hang tightest to the embarrassing shit first, so it stands out starkest to the Thief. It’s a little trick you’d picked up to counter Jess whenever she’d go snooping where she didn’t belong. And as you feel the confidential corners of your mind being pried from your grasp, you notice as the Thief seems to register what it is she’d taken from you, her face contorting into a mix of shock and disgust upon seeing what you have to keep ‘secret’. “The… Fuck?!”

“Aha…” You nervously laugh as your face turns flush. You kept your actually valuable secrets, but that doesn’t mean the situation is ideal for you. Unamused by your trick, the Thief grabs hold of her strings using a gloved hand and jerks them tighter, really carving into you now. “Haugrr help!” You call to your ally, realizing the rate at which you’re being bleed is getting dangerous now. Hearing your call, the Prince glances back while fending off the Rogue, spotting the bind you’ve been caught in. And with an exhausted roll of his eyes, puts a pause on his half of the strife.

“Unlawful Slam;” He announces, bouncing up with his knees tucked to his chest before dropkicking Robin in her chest, mid-jump. “Disjunctive Burst!” Whatever power he channeled with the attack, it rebounds against both parties, springing the two of them in opposite directions, Haugrr towards you and Robin towards the cliff besides the mountain path. Nice! With her gone, that’s one less Life player problem for you to deal with. However, before the Rogue can go flying off, she flicks something on the side of her crossbow, firing a bolt along with a rope attached to it, anchoring herself to the ground and halting the repulsion of Haug’s attack right at the edge of the chasm.

“Damn…” You gurgle from beneath the razor wire, wishing you could for once get a fucking break in a strife. While you’re busy lamenting your poor luck in fights, Haugrr comes flying into your half of the strife, tumbling over himself as he flips backwards over your captor. As he goes by, he snags hold of the strings in her hand, using the razor wire to halt his momentum. Just as you’re cringing in anticipation of having your head sawed off by the sudden force placed on the material cutting into your neck, you hear as Haugrr announces another of his abilities.

“Disorderly Action.” His voice rings out. And just like that, the razored edges of the wire garroting your throat is made no more, the damage invoked by its presence there either nullified or outright destroyed.

With the many knives pressed to your jugular no longer there, you take the initiative and lock the Thief below you in a Time Knot. With her as close as she is, and with her torso still half in your shadow, she has no time to attempt to dodge and is left frozen behind the clock face you summon. Finally getting back upright, you rip the wires off of you, now nothing more than strings tangling your form without their razors. Just as you’re up to your knees, Robin’s recovered from her near-plummet, and in an instant, she’s loaded a new bolt to her castor, aiming it dead-center for your person.

“Hellhound Shot; Primed.” She instructs, causing the tip of the projectile on her crossbow to unfurl like a blooming rose. And as she fires, she fires directly for the throat. Because it’s always the fucking throat. With just enough reaction speed with your Time Dilation still running, you twist to the side, narrowly avoiding becoming a kabob as the bolt nicks the skin of your neck. Reposing yourself, you have only the splitest of seconds to feel confident over your dodging abilities before it comes crashing down. Behind you, the bolt Robin had fired hits the side of the mountain and it erupts with a concussive force! The shockwave practically jettisons the breath from your chest as it collides with your back, her projectile exploding in a blast strong enough to crater the stone it’d struck. Christ! And she was aiming for your throat with that?!

Knowing she’s got an arsenal of that caliber at her disposal, you realize there’s no playing around with this chick. You need to bridge the gap! Juking backwards, you spring off your legs and throw yourself into a stride as Haugrr strafes the other way, forming a pincer maneuver with you, understanding just how dangerous your opponent is. However, as fast as you are, your approach is sloppy. You’re taking care to keep at least part of your attention on the Thief while she’s locked in the stasis of your snare. Jess used to have a trick of her own to counter your traps, slipping out of them whenever your attention was focused elsewhere, using your unawareness of her as a lock-pick to break free. You can imagine your opponent here might have something of the sorts as well. Best to err on the side of caution, regardless of how it might impede on the fight.

Reaching the Rouge in synch, you and Haugrr converse with a quickness, with the Prince leaping up to take a sweeping kick aimed to take Robin’s head off as you try to compliment his attack, using Bane to sweep the girl’s legs out from under her. Blocking your ally’s kick with her forearms, Robin minimizes the damage dealt to her, however you’re able to completely take her off her feet, with the momentum of Haugrr’s kick fully toppling her for good measure. Unfortunately, your opponent is a tenacious one, quickly shooting her hands down to catch herself in a handstand and kicking both legs out in opposite directions, striking the both of you square in the face. Nearly stumbling over from the unexpected counter, you dodge back, doing your best to keep your eyes from completely closing as you wince against the pain. With one eye barely squinted open, you manage to keep your focus on the Thief uninterrupted. Unfortunately, that leaves you completely open for the Rogue’s followup.

Piecing into your side, it feels as though you’ve been stabbed or bitten into by something right above your right side-ribs. Opening your eyes up enough to see, you find a long, glowing tendril has jabbed you in your flank. Tracking the ghostly tube back to its origin, you’re unsurprised to find Robin on its other end, with the construct forming from the underside of her forearm to pierce out at you. You also notice Haugrr’s in a similar bind, a second tendril snaking from Robin’s other arm over into the Prince’s chest. By the looks of it, she’s burrowed the thing directly into the cavern in his chest, evoking a distressed look on Haugrr’s face as he tries to pry the thing out of himself. With a smug grin summoned to her face, Robin activates whatever it is she’s stabbed into the two of you with, and the glow of the tendrils brightens. And suddenly, you’re overcome with a sickening sensation, as if the entire cluster of organs in your torso have all shriveled into each other like wilting vine fruit. On the other side of the strife, Haugrr seems to find struggle as well, twitching and jittering as though he’d begun losing control of his body.

Reaching down, you grab hold of the tube leading into you and with all your might, you rip the thing, as well as what feels like a decent bit of muscle and tissue, out of you. And agonizing pain flares up at the wound, and overwhelmed by whatever it is she’s pumped into you, you end up wrenching, coughing up a throat full of bile as your stomach spasms into non-function. In the midst of your fit, you end up losing track of your Time Knot for a brief second as you try to compose yourself. And with a blink of an eye, the Thief has vanished from your trap. Well that’s just great. Jesus, the poison the Rogue injected you with has fucked you entire system, you’re having a hard time focusing. You think it’s even made your other injuries worse as well, with the bleeding from your neck leaving you light-headed. Shit, this is going downhill fast.

With Haugrr fighting for control over his body, Robin sets after your hide, firing bolt after bolt as you attempt to juke away. Following after you, you’re hard pressed to focus entirely on your pursuer while the Thief could be anywhere around you at this point. And with your quickly fading concentration, you realize you’re bleeding out at this point. If you don’t do something about it now, you’re done for! But damn it, you don’t have enough time to-! Time… God damn it.

“Full Time Stop!” You announce, for no other reason than everyone else has been announcing their moves as well. Around you, the entire world falls into a grey static, in time to stop a bolt that was about to make its way into your left eye. Pulling back an extra few steps, you get a safe distance away before reaching out a hand, summoning a cog construct for a Damage Turn-Back. It’d be pretty redundant to announce it while everything’s paused, so you keep quiet this time. And as you pull the clock back, you’re thankfully able to heal your wounds without completely bottoming out your temporal reserves. However between that, your Full Stop, maneuvering with Dilation and your Knot all active at the same time, you aren’t working with much anymore. You better make this fast then, before Full Stop runs short. Reposing yourself, you put a paltry bit of energy into Bane, softly activating its dynamo without compromising what you have left. Fully armed now, you charge forward, dodging in and out of the field of frozen projectiles that were fired your way and book it for the Rogue while you still have the advantage. Moving in your Time Stop greatly strains how long you can hold it, so you’re only just able to reach her before it drops. Rushing a bit, you take a semi-powered swing at whatever you can get off on her, hooking the girl in her right shoulder as Time comes to again.

The force of the hit spins the Rogue out, spiraling her into a circle as she’s forced back a few feet. Surprisingly, despite the hit taking a toll on her, the girl stays on her feet which drag against the stone path as she’s shunted away. If you were to guess, you’d say she’s able to redirect her strength about her body, reallocating the necessary energy to endure forced movement like what you just delivered or buff up her damage and speed at the moment of attack. Essentially, she’s able to mimic the abilities of someone at a much higher Level than she is, moving her stats around like she’s got constant access to an attribute slider.

“Fuck!” You hear called from the other side of the strife. Glancing over, you spot Haugrr stumbling forward, his left leg severed from his body. Behind him, strafing to the side, is the Thief of Void, having reappeared in the fight. You can already tell as she disappears behind the Prince’s form that she’s making another Jump through the Void. Whipping around, you slam the butt of your pickaxe towards the direction your shadow sits in anticipation of the sneak attack. The hit lands, as you expect, finding a place on the side of the Thief’s jaw as you bat her away. You go after the Troll as she falls prone to the ground, standing over her while she lies there, your pickaxe raised up for a strike. Before you can bring it down, you’re struck in the bicep by one of the Rogue’s bolts. Jerking to the side from the sensation, your attack is delayed, but once the projectile starts to glow from beneath your skin, illuminating your flesh as it begins to burn up your arm, your offensive is completely diverted in its entirety. Ripping the bolt out, your eyes are nearly destroyed on the spot by the scorching light emitting from its tip. While you’re blinded by the overwhelming glow before you, a sudden pressure wraps itself around your torso, running from your left shoulder to right ribcage. The Thief’s caught you in her strings again, and judging by how they’re sinking into you, they’ve regained their razor edge as well. As a reflex, you cast a Time Displacement with what little of your temporal reserves you have left, jumping to the right as you rewind to a place further back in your timeline.

With the tiniest of openings, you make a charge for Robin, figuring if you can take her out, the Thief won’t have much incentive to keep coming at you. With Bane of All Mountains cocked back over your shoulder, you make a blitz for the Rogue. Reacting half a beat slower than your rush for her, you think you’ve got her dead to rights, yet just before you swing, your opponent drops straight down into the stone beneath her. When you follow her descent, you spot a dark rift upon the floor, not much larger than the girl’s shoulder as she passes effortlessly through the portal. Realizing what’s happened, you whip back around to where you last left the Thief, finding in her stead the Rogue, loading another special bolt onto her castor.

“Hellhound Shot;” She announces as she takes aim your way. You’re about to make another charge while you still can when you’re jerked still, unable to make it past your first step towards your opponent. Turning back, your blood runs cold as you see the Thief once again has caught you in her wires, appearing behind you and lassoing you around the chest.

“How-“ You realize before you can even ask. She’d stolen the Rogue through a rift before you could reach her, then stole her spot on the battlefield once it lost its significance to you in the fight! And as this realization crosses your mind, you’re struck in the chest by a stabbing force. The Rogue nailed you center mass, shot her bolt into your left-side chest just above your stomach.

“Primed.” Her words echo as an explosive power erupts in your chest.

 

Jason, Grit those Teeth.

Notes:

Happy Independents Day to the Americans! As for everyone else, good luck having a Thursday as cool as the one the Consorts on the Land of Burgers and Firearms will have.

Chapter 72: > The Wild Hunt

The human girl had stuck you when you were reeling from her kick, and judging by the force she packed on it, you wouldn’t be surprised if she broke your scentreceptacle with a comically placed boot-print either. And as you writhed in cringing anguish against the slitherbeast squirming through your insides, you were helpless to the voltage she’d poured into Amvinn’s body. You were confused at first, as to what exactly was happening to you, but once you’d slowly begun to lose control of your form, you realized the bitch had started reviving Amvinn’s physical corpse, momentarily bringing it back to life and overlapping your energies, forcing parts of you out of your vessel.

You’d fought to keep control until you could pry the damn coil from your bellowcage, but while you were busy struggling to just keep it together, the damn Cobalt snuck you, slicking the bottom half of your stepperpole clean off. As if this body hasn’t been through enough!

Hoping forward like a gimping strutfiend, you activate an Obligational Shirk to ignore the damages, but with the limb completely off already, the most the power can do is substitute it with a Phantom Replica, allowing you to regain your stature upon the ghostly stepper. And while this single part of you found peace, no longer fighting for control with a living cadaver, the rest of your soul still struggles to stay in its shell. This won’t do. Especially with how viciously those girls are jumping Jason right now. That boy is playing Games for Girls and he is certifiably not built for that type of shit. You should probably do something about that… Eventually. Before all that, you’ll need to iron out your current corpse issues. With the amount of trouble you’re still having even moving a single step, you’ll have to go all out!

“Prin…cess… of… Havoc!” You rasp out from a spasming chatterbox. Upon your decree, the entirety of your borrowed body is enveloped in a shell of Anti-Life, draping around your flesh like silk wrappings, organizing itself into the regal Dressings of Daywalker Royalty. With it, the jittering uncertainty of your vessel is snuffed out, the Corpse of Amvinn once again purged of all life-force. And as the spark of your friend is drowned in the seas of your essence, you burst back onto the scene. The last move announced in the Action Log is another one of those bomb-bolts this bitch uses. Hellhound;Shot{piece:maidWilt} by user rogueLife. And judging by the fact that Jason has one sticking square in his acidpouch, you can’t imagine that’s a good sign.

The force in which you cut through the world is unprecedented, with reality burning at the edges of your shell. Your movements are like a hot knife through a flavorbrick, gliding with an authority over all things around you, the Sovereign Ruler with the Authority of Destruction. You reach Jason just as the payload detonates, placing a hand upon his organcluster to grab hold of the energy there as it passes over his human-flesh.

“Eruption Disruption,” You activate the ability, rendering the explosion harmless as you harness its effects from the Page’s acidtubes. Now armed with a Fist full of Bomb, you place an open grabber out before the Cobalt’s face and let loose. “Redirection.” At the behest of your discretion, the destructive effect that would’ve opened up the precious juicesacs of your dear Leader is appropriately redirected into the face of the Thief that had captured him, blasting her back as the concussive force the explosion summons knocks against her calciumshield. The momentum is enough to take her entirely off the mountainside in a single sweep. You place a Disorderly Action on the kill-strings around Jason before they're ripped off of him with the blueblood removed from the match, a precaution in order to ensure he doesn’t have anything inadvertently sawed from his person in the process. With that dealt with, you turn your attention to the next obstacle. The Rogue glares at you with a surprised annoyance at your apparent recovery from everything she’s thrown your way. While she’s caught up grappling with her preconceived notions of how this fight was going to go, you place your heel across her face, the force of which takes her clean off her stepperpoles, casting her a dozen or so yards down the mountain trail.

“Haugrr?” Jason rasps behind you, the Rogue’s projectile likely poking a bellowsac. “Are… you wearing a dress?” He comments on the form in which Havoc’s armor has taken. You suppose it does look rather… poofy. Especially with the gown-like bloom in the skirt.

“Was I not before?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Fair enough, I guess.” He grunts while plucking the projectile from his torso, discarding the thing after inspecting the detonated tip with a morbid curiosity over the item that nearly just opened his guts up. “What’s the hat for?” He asks after a moment trying to work through the pain, resting his grabbers on his step hinges while bent over slightly, nodding up to the wide-brim panlid Havoc summoned.

“Keeps the sun out of one’s eyes.” You justify with a confident decree, adjusting your brim. “Can you fight?”

“Not for much longer, but I’m still kicking.” He straightens back up with a wince. Glancing back down to where you’d kicked your opponent, you see the human as she rips herself upright with a feral snarl. To add a cherry on top of it all, the Thief appears from thin air there as well, walking out from behind the Rogue like some kind of magic trick. Oh well, you’ll just have to be a bit more thorough this time.

“Isn’t he only supposed to be a Seer?” You see the Thief asks her Leader in the subtext.

“Use your fucking brain, Anshal. It’s a corpse.” The Robin human nails you, dead-to-rights. “One of these freaks must have a way of controlling it from a distance. Stay sharp, the Manipulator could be anywhere in these mountains.” Maybe not as dead-to-rights as you thought. A fair assumption, though. Most can’t anticipate just how awesome you are.

“You catch your breath yet?” You ask your strife partner.

“Me? I thought we were waiting on you.” He weakly laughs, still pained by the puncture-hole in his torso nub. Judging by the fact that he hasn’t rewound himself yet, you can assume he’s out of Time-Juice for the time being. In that case, you’ll have to go for a sweeping victory. One so fast, your opponents won’t have the chance to prolong this Strife any further.

With his go-ahead, you activate an Obligational Shrug, readjusting the world around you to a more favorable setting as you appear behind the enemy’s line. The Void Hero is the first to notice you there, pivoting herself halfway to face you while still observing Jason, who himself has begun his forward advance. You make your move before the Midblood can alert her companion. Reaching beyond the Final Curtain, you summon back a player to the stage.

“Phantom Summons,” Conjured between the two of them, your Phantom takes its form as the Heir of Breath, his ghost playing out his final moments. He was a Pixie, in the shape and colors the humans would call a Sparrow. Alongside him comes the visage of the Prince of Light, descending upon the Heir with a blade made of Blazing Fire. And as the Prince plunges his glowing dagger into the Heir’s chest, the poor alien had made the play to disincorporate into the Wind, made nothing but air to escape his pursuer. It was in that moment that the Prince’s blade flared up, burning with the power of a Sun as it superheated the air the Heir had transformed into, rapidly expanding him into Thunder. “Detonation.” The blast echoes out, sending the two sneak-thieves tumbling away. And in the wake of the explosion, the visage of the Lightbound stands alone, leaving nothing behind of the poor chirpbeast but his goofy looking glasses.

You go after the Rogue first, identifying her as the shot-caller in her group’s Hierarchy. Catching up before she can land, a swooping right hook kills her momentum and takes her to the ground. With her there, you raise your poleprong up and stomp down, aiming to drive the spiky end of your heel into her squawkgaper to put an end to this trifling nonsense for good, just missing your target as she rolls out of the way. Spinning herself hallway up, the Rogue faces you while down on her knees, whipping out those damn tubes of hers again, shooting them at you with the likely intent of pumping your corpse full of life-juice once more. You catch the injectors before they can reach you. Not that the pitiful edges could break through Havoc, but you need to send a message. Crushing the constructs, you rip them from her grabberpoles before kicking her upside the face, sending her reeling back.

Behind you, you feel a sudden tug wrap around your shoulders, like something’s trying to get your attention. Glancing back, you see the Cobalt’s tried to slice another piece off of you again. Unfortunately for her, her pitiful strings can’t put a scratch on your Armor. You relieve her of that burdensome notion, kicking her jaw shut when she stares at you all dumb-like. And like a glutton for punishment, the girl powers through your hit while readjusting her strings in hopes of finding a chink in your defenses. Distracted by the display, you go to finish off the already heavily bleeding Thief when you’re struck twice in the back. The Rogue’s tried to pierce you with her tubes again, not realizing your Anti-Life Defenses repels both positive and negative energies.

“Hold him still, damnit!” She barks at her subordinate, recalling her syphon ability to look for another angle.

“I’m trying! But I can’t… lock him down!” The Thief grunts while attempting to slow your movements with the wires she’s got wrapped around your form. “And where the hell did Dylan come from all of a sudden?! Him and that blue guy!” Blue guy…? The Heir’s Phantom? You take it they must know the Prince of Light, then.

“Forget them, just focus on-!” Before the Rogue can finish the instructions she was giving, Jason comes swinging in, piercing Robin through her right nub, the bloodied point of his excavator poking through her tunic. “Fuck!” She shouts before elbowing the boy in his sightglobe to get him off her. With him staggering back, the Rogue throws out her Piercer again, forcing Jason to the side as he dodges.

“Jesus, pump the breaks, Scorpion!” He yelps just before the human girl’s second tube sticks him in his chest. “Gah!”

“Sit still a while.” Robin growls out the orders while activating her Syphon. Lit aflame with the life-force of your companion, the Rogue opens up her free hand, summoning an orb of glaring noiselight which blares out like a demon core. The Action Log updated with the name of her ability as it’s implemented; Manna;from;Heaven by user rogueLife. You go to strike it out from her grasp when your punch is stopped in its place. Turning your attention to the disturbance, the Thief, while unable to inflict any wounds upon your form with her Wires, has taken to occupying your limbs with them instead, using all her might to keep you back with what little control over the battlefield she can still provide, digging her heels in to force your attack to a stop. It’s a respectable move, you’ll give her that. One you could only expect from the stubbornness of the Heroes of Void. While you’re glanced back at the girl as she strains to keep your punch from being thrown, you noticed as the blaring glow of the Manna ability rejuvenates her, tapering off the gush of blue leaking from her face and sniffnub, healing her of the injuries you’d bestowed. Well that just won’t do.

Turning back to Jason and the Rogue, you find that while the enemy has put themselves back together again, with her nasty stab in her back healing itself nicely, your ally is being taken for everything he’s got, trying and failing desperately to remove the pincers of the parasite leaching off him as he turns pale as a ghost. With every bit of piss and vigor you’ve got left to give in this fight, you reach back and take hold of the leads the Thief has on you, gripping her strings and hurling her around your side, slamming the Cobalt into her human companion with the might of a Prince who’s done fucking around with this shit. The human is taken off her steppers, blotting out the healing ball in her hand as she’s knocked into the mountain side. With the momentum of your swing still riding the Thief, you hammer toss her away, flung rocketing above her strife-mate, slamming into the cliff hanging over your path with an impact that breaks a few chunks of rock off. Stepping forward to finish this, you lurch the distance forward to where the Rogue is recovering, fist cocked back to rock her shit!

Slamming your hook forward, you see as your target just manages to slip from your wrath in the nick of time, redirecting all her energy into evading the hit. Your grabber goes burrowing into the rock face behind her, both your strength and authority tearing through the substance like wet paper. You pull it out with ease, tearing free a great deal of stone along with it. With what little time she’s bought herself, the Rogue loads another shot onto her caster. You take note in the subtext as the update appears; Hellhound;Shot{piece:dryadMind} by user rogueLife. At first, you wonder what it is she could be attempting with this, knowing she’s already aware your Armor won’t let such an attack get past it. However, your answer comes when the Thief plummets down on top of you, lassoing her strings around your face and using it to pry the upper half of Havoc off, tearing the panlid from your scalp and revealing Amvinn’s billowy hair to the cruel light of day. So they’re going for a head-shot. Damn. Really should’ve seen that one coming.

“Robin! Now!” The arrogant girl shouts while wrapped around your back, hooking her strings upon your limbs to keep them out by your side.

“Smile, you son of a bitch.” The Rogue tells you as she pulls her trigger. The instant stretches for you, pondering what her attack might do. Judging by how she’s engaged you previously, you imagine her little Mind Bolt might overstimulate your thinkpan, leaving you unable to act while they do what they will with your corpse. That’s out of the question, unfortunately.

“Seer Series; Radiate.” The words pass your lips like a prayer, and from your cherished friend’s fallen form, you evoke a degree of his influence. Summoned up from the depths of his heart is a Radiant Aura that tears out from you, the Symbol of Amvinn’s Aspect conjured in your defense. The bolt is knocked away in the shock wave, and from atop your back, your unwanted passenger is flung off of you. You see through the rays of passion emanating from your form, the Rogue has been pressed into the stone at her rear, caught between a rock and a passionate place as she’s begun to be crushed by your influence. “Love.”

Running out of juice, Amvinn’s ability deactivates, the Spectral Heart slowly receding back into your form. Even still, the girls press on, slowly rousing from their defeated places on the battlegrounds. It isn’t until you hear a shout ring out from behind you that you know the fight’s come to an end. Jason, with what little energy he has left, had snuck up on the Thief while she was struck with your Aura. And as she lay flat on her back from your spell, the Page drove the tip of his weapon straight through the girl’s acidsac, piercing through to the ground beneath her.

“AAAGH!” She screams, pinned there beneath the mighty excavator. Jason pulls it up upon his confirmed strike, looking to finish the job. Before he can drive home that second hit, the Rogue recomposes herself enough to load another bolt into her castor; Hellhound;Shot{piece:thiefVoid} by user rogueLife. Shooting past you while you were distracted, the projectile pierces the ground beside her ally, and as if staining the entire place there with the payload it was carrying, the stone beneath the Thief is turned black. A midnight so Pitch, it sucks up all the Light around it.

As if the ground itself around the girl had disappeared, the Cobalt falls back, sinking into the negative space and vanishing as Jason’s pick sinks straight for where her cranium had lied. He lets out a frustrated cry upon seeing your opponent’s gotten away yet again. Surprised that the sneaky little shit was able to get her shot off, you turn back to finish the Rogue off, only to see as she sinks back as well, disappearing in the shadows of the crater you’d crushed her into. Searching the strife-grounds for where it is they’ve escaped to, you spot them not far off, a ways down the trail in the direction you’d come from.

“Stand up.” You see Robin order her subordinate in the subtext.

“I-I can’t feel my balanceprongs.” The Cobalt reports as they struggle along. Inspecting the severity of her ally’s injuries, the Rogue looks back to you and Jason as you stand there, waiting for their verdict of if Round 2 will commence. You can tell by the look in her eye that she’s sizing you up, not as opponents, but as Resources. Judging if both you and the Page hold enough life juice between the two of you to mend the wound’s they’ve garnered. And between your Zero Sum Life Presence and Jason’s Half-Dead Disposition, she seems to come to the verdict that even if they were to steal all the life from the both of you, it still wouldn’t be enough to fix their own injuries. You hold seeing this, waiting for them to make their move. You’re confident in terms of strength, you have the two of them beat, but if they manage to sneak a Pan-Rusting shot in and stun you, Jason’s in no shape to defend his own life. If you can ward them off without having to take any more risks, that’s fine by you.

“Damn it…” The Rogue curses, quickly removing a palmhusk from her inventory and pressing a few buttons. “Take us home.” Upon her request, another void warp fissures open behind them, and the sneak-thieves take their leave, vanishing into their pocket of night. Curious of the move, you take one last glance at the subtext, finding the ability; Snatch.{Guiding;Light} by thiefVoid sitting in the Action Log. Huh… that’s a Steal Ability. How the hell are they using it to teleport?

“Ugh… shit…” Jason groans, letting his guard down now that the threat’s retreated. “I had hoped we could’ve put an end to this Robin bullshit, but… I got fucking worked.” He explains to you the obvious, stretching out his posturepole as he tries to bend the exhaustion out of him. Looking back up to you, he takes note of your armor once again while panting a few deep times to catch his breath. “Yo… What the hell is with the dress?” He asks again between gasps.

“It’s a protective barrier that separates me from the Laws of combat.” You tell him as Princess of Havoc times out, your armor removing itself from your vessel. “It buffs defense, attack rate and damage, and makes my movements Paracausal, meaning things like Fate-binding spells or Immutable Laws like Gravity hold limited sways over me while wearing it.”

“…Why is it a dress, though?” He continues on like he’s heard nothing of what you just said.

“Dude, you’re too fixated on the dress thing.” You tell him while you find Amvinn’s severed leg.

“Nah, it’s whatever man, you want to go around wearing dresses, that’s cool.” He shrugs at you like it’s something to be embarrassed of. “That Heart thing though, you might want to nix. What in the Magical-Girl Shit was that?”

“I told you, some of Amvinn’s powers are still accessible, even with his body the way it is.” You explain. “When that Rogue put a pulse in his veins, it probably brought back even more than I had access to. Seemed to work out well.”

“Between that and the dress, it looked like a Sailor Moon transformation.” He scoffs while retrieving his palmhusk.

“There it is with the dress again.” You hum as he dials someone up, holding the device to his hearduct.

“They’re not answering…” He anxiously mutters after a moment of ringing. Turning to face the mountaintop hive that sits on the horizon, the Page anxiously taps his feet as he stares towards the direction the other half of your strife left in. “You think we can get there in time?”

“Time for what? To see your guard dog rip that weed apart?” You try to put him at ease, knowing the Monastery people’s 4v1 has better odds of success than what you were able to scrape by with in your 2v2. Nonetheless, the human remains unsettled. “Come on, then. Let’s see if we can’t catch up.” You tell him while setting down the trail back the way you came. He follows after as you go past, walking side by side with you as you slowly return to your group.

“…” Silently, the Page continues on with you, clearly struggling with the light incline the trail goes up after being sapped of his energy. Along with the fact that he’s too anxious to take his sightglobes off the monastery, it looks like he’s on the verge of another breakdown.

“…Hey.” You nod to him, catching his attention. When he looks your way, you offer an open grabber down before him. He observes the offer with a strange look on his face, confused what it is you’re proposing to him. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging man.”

“Is that… supposed to be a low-five?” He asks with an incredulous look.

“C'mon. We made it out alive, didn’t we?” You ask back. “You aren’t always so lucky. Seems reason enough to celebrate to me.” He looks down at the hand one last time, that tired look on his face slowly fading as he hypes himself up enough to swipe his palm across your own with a hearty -slap-. “Freakin' Solid.”

 

***

 

Your legs swing out as you pivot your hips forward, throwing your center of gravity to extend your jump as far as you can manage. Even still, with as fast as those two can fly, you’re beginning to lag behind. Damn it, Sara, you’ve always been able to keep a cool head before, what the hell’s got you so riled up now?

Landing against the cliffside, you grab hold of a lip in the rock face, quickly positioning yourself for a jump before springing off and shattering the stone surface of the mountain in the span of only half a second. In the single bound, you catch back up a little over halfway to your friend before your momentum reaches its limit and you begin to land back down, falling behind your pursuit once again. Colliding with the roof of a consort house attached to the side of the cliff, you nearly break through the tile when you touch down, having to roll across the terracotta to throw the momentum from you before throwing yourself back into a run. Booking it to the edge of the building you’re on, you take a leaping long jump out to a neighboring roof in this hamlet of ravine housing. You repeat the process a few more times before reaching the end of the settlement, nearly collapsing the entire third floor of the last house when you launch yourself from its heights.

“Sara! Back off!” You call after her at the height of your leap forward, your voice falling short with your heart pumping as fast as it is. You’re having a hard time raising your volume, having to focus too heavily on your breathing to keep pace with the Breath players. The feeling is a familiar one, having experienced it the last time you traded blows with the Thief, back when she tried recruiting you to her cause. The Overgrown Weed thins out the atmosphere whenever she gets serious, making it hard to catch one’s breath with her around. You imagine Sara hasn’t noticed the effect, with how fast she’s chasing after the Elf. Being so intent on playing Tortoise and the Hare, it’s also likely that Sara’s too hopped up on adrenaline to notice her lungs are being drained.

Like an old dog, this bitch has no new tricks. She’d tried the same thing with you, emptying out the breath in your chest and trying to cripple you with muscle spasms so she could work her Slave Magic unabated. You’d caught her by surprise when you powered through all the shit she’d thrown your way, but you can’t imagine Sara possesses the same mental fortitude to go for a kill-shot while suffocating to death with a vacuum leaving a void in her chest. On top of this, the Thief is looking for her opportunity to strike, as well. She’s been subtle about it, but the uppity Elf is slowing down just enough for Sara to gain ground on her, making it seem like sloppy detours and costly evasive maneuvers are allowing the Sylph to catch up with the Thief against her will. She’s biding her time, waiting for an large enough opening to appear, likely the moment when Sara’s let her guard down to strike. You’d hoped you would be able to catch up before then, but no such luck. These chicks are certified speed-demons in those windstorms.

Landing against the side of another mountain range, your fingers dig into the face of the rock shelf there, and with a powerful pull, you hurl yourself out again, bounding from side to side in the ravine. You’re getting closer to basecamp now. Only a minute out at the rate you’re going. Jason had said they were making a play for the Monastery after Rosebush made a break for the skies, but you can’t figure out just what the hell it is they want there. Jason’s their target, isn’t he? What are they aiming for by trying to Back-Door your Homebase? And how the hell is it they even knew where you were to begin with? The Thief had found you on the Land of Past and Vines, but that was before she knew you were teammates with Jason. Up until then, they simply thought you were a girl with a gripe against the Page. You’d thought it was just by chance that she’d come across you out in the wilds, but… was it? It’s clear they have a method to uncover information with how much that talking Shrub knew about you, but you thought it ended at just personal data. Yet it seems they were able to follow you, even through the Gateway’s randomized jumps. So they must’ve known where you were headed ahead of time! But how the hell did-

The other Thief. The Void player, of course! She must’ve been the one to extract that intel from one of you. But when? Just how close have these bastards gotten to you without your notice? Have they been waiting for you all to split up to pull this offensive? Was it them who planted those shrines while no one was looking? Damn it, why the hell didn’t you think of this earlier?! Forget it, there’s no point in worrying about that now. What is important is what the hell these people want from your Camp? If they’ve got a way of stealing away secrets, you’re better off operating on the assumption that they know everything about your escape plan already, and are taking active attempts to sabotage it. With that considered, the only thing you can think of that they’d be after is your Seer. Without her, you’d be up a creek with no way of finding useful bodies for the mission. It’s Dallra then. Pulling from your inventory, your Board-Breakers™ summons a construct mid-air which you shatter as you fly by while continuing your pursuit, snatching your phone from the subspace and dialing up your first contact. You don’t know the Seer’s handle, but-

“Yello~” Esspin answers with a chipper tone. She’s not with Dallra then. Even if the Void player was hidden from her sight, she’s be able to see the other two after they stepped through that portal.

“Esspin, listen to me, there’s-“ You begin to explain as you roll into a run on a trail parallel to Sara’s flightpath, looking up to her as she gains ground on the Thief.

“Oh, Mia! Have you already gotten to the Temple?” Esspin cuts you off, not realizing the nature of your call.

“Listen! We’ve got hostiles inbound for the monastery! Call Dallra, find her as soon as you can, they’re coming for her- Shit!” You cut your explanation short as you see Sara finally get within grabbing distance of her target. And as she goes for it, the Thief spirals into a jet turbine, evoking a Twister which encapsulates the both of them within its clutches. The winds around them roar a brief few seconds before it eventually slows, and as the air clears, Sara is there, having lost all her momentum, now beginning to plummet out of the skies. With the burst of a sonic boom, the Thief flies on for her destination. “She’s coming by air! South-Southeast from the temple, shoot anything that appears there out of the sky!” With that, you stow your phone and leap out from the trail you’re on, crossing the enormous expanse between the mountain ravines. Nearly colliding with her head on, you sweep in as Sara passes into the valley’s gulch, hooking around her stomach and carrying her off with you to the other side of the divide.

Slamming into the side of the ravine, you bury a hand into the stone there, trying to stop your descent before you go any lower. It’s a pitiful attempt, however. With only one hand to work with and having to grasp Sara with a light enough grip to not crush her, you can only slow your fall a small bit as you continue down into the valley, clawing a line through the mountain as you go.

“Agh-! Ahh!” Sara writhes while held over your shoulder. Seeing it’s too rough of a ride for the Sylph, you elect to leap off the rest of the distance, plummeting a few dozen feet until you land at the bottom of the valley with a crash. You stumble forward a few steps after setting down, feeling a dull exhaustion compress around your legs from the impact. Looks like your bones there still haven’t healed after all. You grit through it, regardless.

“Sara, you alright?” You ask while setting the girl down outside the crater your fall created. On the ground, the girl twists and squirms, unable to speak as air refuses to enter her body. Her arms and legs pull in towards herself, shriveling in as her muscles lock up. By the looks of it, her entire body is in a spasm, fighting itself to even move an inch. You recall when the Thief hit you with this effect. It felt like your lungs were on fire. Your air stolen and locked out by a closing throat. This isn’t good. You were able to go without air long enough for the effect to wear off, but Sara’s fading fast the way she is. “Come on…! Just-… just focus on small breaths! Try and tough through it and…” It’s no good. She’s so panicked, she can hardly hear you. With tears welling up in her bloodshot eyes, the Sylph looks to you with a terrified expression from behind her glasses, not knowing what’s happening to her. You have to do something!

Instinctively, your hand reaches out, crackling with a Powerful Rune printed upon your palm. You pull back once you realize what you’re doing. You can’t… You swore never again. Not after Jason… You take your hand away. Yet when you look to Sara once more, you notice a settling to her panic. The way a drowning man settles as the darkness begins to creep in around him. Screw it.

“Gaah!” Sara suddenly gasps as you cast your Magic on another once again. Your spell isn’t a healing one. The Thief’s hex on her is still present, and the cramps in her muscles are bad enough that you can see the constricted fibers coiling beneath the skin. Yet still she seems to regain some dominion over her body, breathing through the restrictive pain with a frantic rate. “Gah! Aah…! Aaah! RAh! FuAAAH!” She begins to twitch, overwhelmed by the Madness overtaking her. Moving in her state is likely doing considerable damage to her insides, but so long as she doesn’t suffocate right here and now, you’ll take that tradeoff. “Where is She?! Where is That BITCH!?!” The Sylph demands as she tries to force her way off the ground. “I’ll Sink my Teeth into her Fucking THRoaT! I’ll Carve her Cunt EYEs Out of hER SKULL! WherE The HELl Is She!?”

“Breathe.” You tell her, forcing her back down to the ground again.

“Get your Fuckin Hands ofF me!!!” She barks, grabbing hold of both your wrists in an attempt to protest.

“Focus, Sara. You’re not thinking straight right now. I put you into an aggressive mania, so your priorities won’t feel right for a few minutes.” You try to explain to the frenzied girl as she gnaws on the side of your hand to get it off her. “You won’t feel like yourself. Try to remember who you are. Remember what you’re doing here.”

“Raah! Aah! Ah… ah…” She mellows a small degree, the wild insanity in her eyes cooling to a furious stare. “…Mia. What’s hAppening?” She asks in a demanding tone, like she’s ordering you to answer her.

“The Thief stole your freedom of movement and you crashed. This was the only thing I could think of to try and counter the effects before the spell killed you.” You tell her now that she has a bit more of a level head. “They’re making a play for Dallra. They know she’s our eyes.”

“Those Uppity little FUcks are DeAD!” She riled back up again.

“Easy. You’re in no state to fight.” You tell her, resting her back down again. “I’ll handle this for now. Just focus on recovering.” Standing back up, you turn your attention to the skies above you. Even with the mist obscuring your view, you see streaks of gold tear through the atmosphere above. Seems Esspin’s started her defense of the monastery. You need to get there.

“Mia…” Sara calls once she sees you prepare to get back to the pursuit. You look back to see the Sylph has gone to the struggle of offering up an open hand, her grasp teeming with a wisping energy. A Fraymotif? “Rip her Fucking Head off!” Seeing the determination on her face, you accept it without question.

 

Wings Irato Vrock

 

Upon contact, your and Sara’s energies merge like the Spinning forces of a Twister coiling down the Spiral of Insanity. Overtaken by the hurricane of power, you feel your form become unshackled from this world, feeling light enough to jump straight to the Fucking Moon! Before you, your arms elongate to twice their length and disincorporate, radiating a dark haze as you are made one with the breeze. An Evil Wind Spirit, a Devil of the Sky. With the horrific aura encapsulating your new form, you take off, bursting up into the air, spiraling more and more into the sky until you reach the heights needed to see your Camp, arriving there in an instant with a single spring upward. Surveying the state of the courtyard before the temple, the wear and tear makes it obvious a little war has transpired there, with all combatants finding their theater inside. Swooping forward like a dive-bombing falcon, pouncing upon its prey, you sweep down and glide above the damage to the open court, close enough to smell the gunpowder still lingering in the air. Slamming through the half-closed doors to the monastery, you shatter the side of one to splinters as you violate this most holiest of hallowed grounds. Your haunting forms shrieks through the halls like a banshee, searching for your prey. You are hungry. You are ravenous. You are a beast bounding from hell, a hound of ill omens that will be stopped by nothing. Not until who you seek is torn to ribbons.

You cross nearly half the temple before you come across anyone, finding Esspin first as she hurries down a passage, the butt of her rifle tucked against her shoulder as she checks the corners of the crossroads she’s arrived at. Hearing your presence behind her, an ominous breeze calling through the halls to her rear, the Troll’s eyes widen when she turns to look, the first time you’ve seen the Highblood so stricken with fear before. She fires at you, not realizing who you are. The lead is thrown out, its propulsion accelerated by psychic beliefs. You spiral around it, your extending form stretching even further than it already has to bridge the divide between you and the Mage. Your upper torso wraps around the Troll from leg to head, encapsulating her within your wicked aura. Face-to-face, you hang over the girl, looking down at her as you set your hands upon her shoulders, razored claws gently gracing her flesh.

“Where is the Elf?” Your voice comes out like a furious whisper as the smoke pours over the Mage’s face. Through her terror, a spark of recognition crosses Esspin’s eyes, recognizing you behind the veil.

“I lost track of her in the foyer halls, but Dallra’s in her respiteblock back in the dorms.” She quickly tells, attempting to steel herself before you. With a direction, you depart without another moment’s waste, spiraling down the halls and passages with a frantic mania, squeezing through and pushing past wherever you can get through until you arrive there in the small atrium your resting quarters surround.

You hear them at the back of the hall, and in an instant, you twist past the obstacles in your way and arrive there at the threshold. The scene you find there is a typical one. The Thief has your ally held still, unmoving as a statue as she tries to drive the point of her ridiculous Umbrellakind specious into her throat. Only by the grace of her mechanical hand, immune from the restraining touch on the Elf’s magic, does the Seer fend her off, clamping down upon the neck of Parasols of Paradise, the anointed title of the deadly Brella. You tackle into the Thief full-force, your wispy form engrossing around the alien girl and slamming her against the wall of the room.

“Remember Me?!” You hiss at the creature as your talons carve into her arms.

“AAH!” She yelps at the sudden appearance of a competent combatant in her strife. You notice as you’ve got her in a hold that she’s regrown the hand you chopped off last time. It’s a darker hue than the rest of her, as if it’s Regenerated Rotten, a horrific graft of half-dead plant matter to replace that which you once took from the Thief. You’ll take more than just a hand this time!

As you reel back to slice the Elf’s head off, your attack is delayed as she shoots open the canopy of her umbrella, breaking the hold of your other hand and shunting you back with a burst of air. Pouncing on her once again, you shoot forward, pressing her defenses. You’re batted away a few more times by the twirling of the girl’s shield, a thick layer of whipping winds enforcing her guard and forcing you back. Realizing you’ll need a different angle, you accelerate your movements, slamming up and down and all around the small room, kicking up enough of a disrupting channel of winds to disturb her technique just enough to capitalize on. With the slightest of openings, a slight stutter in her hold on her weapon, you shatter through her defenses, reaching past to claw a gash in her face open. You see it then in her eyes. Even behind the black of her sclera, you see the Fear there. Terrified of the thing attacking her with such Fervor. You know her kind. All too confident to go running out on their own, pretending not to be afraid of what happens when they need someone by their side.

“Aww, well would you look at that. Little Miss Independent, being faced with the consequences of needing back-up when no one truly cares about her.” You share a few hateful chuckles her way as she’s too stunned to move. Tearing into her collarbone, your claws pierce her fruit-like flesh and you rip her from her stupor, hurling her out of the room and out to the courtyard. Her back slams into a small boulder at the corner of the zen garden, nearly cracking it from impact. Your long form slithers out after her like a snake pursuing an injured rat, meeting her upon the atrium grounds. “I told you this group was off limits, you ignorant Bitch. I’ll carve that lesson into your Flesh this time!” You ponce on her again, your talons clashing against the shield of her Parasol, the force of which knocks her about, forcing her to reposition her footing after each bout. You pull in and out, striking up and down at the pitiful Elf as she’s unable to get off the defense.

On one hit, you feel as she manages to activate her Vacuum ability against your lungs, sapping the air straight from your chest. It’s meaningless. You need not air. You need not the satisfaction of the impact on your knuckles when you strike your foe. All you need is her blood! You become reckless now, faster and faster, you throw yourself at the girl, not even aiming to get past her guard now, simply enjoying the terror you feel from her each time you slam yourself at her gate. Hahahaha! Squirm some more, you pathetic Worm! She takes a swing where she can. Slams the neck of her umbrella against your form, pieces its point into you here and there, cuts you across its bladed edge. It’s Meaningless! She can’t stop you! Steal my momentum! Take as much as you want! Your Entire Fill!!! It won’t stop me from Killing you!

“GAAAH!” The shrub shrieks out after one hit. You don’t even realize until afterwards the reason why. On the last slam, you broke through her guard by accident, cleaving her entire arm off all the way up to her shoulder by accident.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I’m Two-for-Four, Thornbush! I’ll Take your Fucking Legs Next!” You bellow out with jovial spirit. “You don’t mind a bit of Pruning, right!?! You wouldn’t have come here Otherwise!!!” The nervousness apparent in her entire body, or at least what’s left of it now, the Thief seems to realize there’s nothing she can do against you in this state. With her mission falling apart the longer this strife goes on, your Elf seems to cut her losses, launching up into the air, making a break for the skies once more. Not on your watch! You give chase after her, claws ready to pick even more pieces off of her! Come on, friend! Won’t you Stay a While?!

“Guh! You Monster!” The Thief derides as she flies up and Up and UP! Doing her best to escape from you! Wincing as her severed arm leaks and Leaks and LEAKS, a determination comes across her face as if making a decision to herself. “Hey, Freak! Can I Tell You A Secret?” Just as you’re catching up with your little toy, a rift in space cuts open, hanging above you in the sky! No, No, NO! She can’t leave Now! You’re having too much Fun, Fun, FUN! Catch her! Kill her! Keep her For a Tea Party! You dive for her, about to slice right through her tummy! Halve her right in the Middle! The meanie stops you before you can get to her. With all the Breath she’s stolen from you up until now, a Twister comes barreling down at you, thrown by the Elf Girly which spins your cool new form out of the fight, and you go crashing to the ground with a Boom!!!

You watch above you as the Thief disappears through the portal,and when she’s gone, the world seems to spin around you! Spin and Spin and SPIN like a merry-go-round! And- A-and… oh… oh man… You… you think you’re gonna vomit… Jesus Christ, your head is spinning like you’re paralyzed with vertigo… What… what the fuck was that?!

“Ow…” You grunt as you do your best to push yourself back to your feet. Taking a few steps, you eventually stumble off to the side like you’re on a rocking boat, landing against the boulder you’d thrown the Thief into. Looking down at yourself, you realize you’re a bloody mess, with bruises, cuts and slashes all across your body. You damn near let that Thief kill you! How the hell could you let yourself be so careless in a fight? That form… It was like you lost more and more control the longer you were in it. Spiraling further down into Insanity.

Taking another step forward, you end up stumbling the other way this time. Just when you think you’re about to fall, something catches you. Looking up, you find Esspin there, holding you by your shoulders to keep you steady, with Dallra by her side. Her mouth moves, but you hear nothing come from it. You try to focus on what it is she’s telling you.

“…-re yo…-kay?” Her voice spottily comes back as your world slowly stops spinning. “…-ho was that?”

“Our rivals, apparently.” You tell her, getting the gist of what she’s asking. Finally finding your balance, you signal that your friend can let you go. “They ambushed us on the path. Two of them tried keeping us occupied while one made a break here, but Sara and I chased after her.”

“Sara… Is she-… Where is she right now?” Esspin asks, hands balling into nervous fists as a clear dread wracking her shoulders, realizing the Sylph isn’t with you, and what that could possibly mean.

“She’s fine.” You assure her. “The Thief sapped all her movement speed. She’s a ways back, but she’s okay.” A visible relief passes over the Troll, as she lets out the breath she was holding in anticipation of bad news.

“These highwaymen.” Dallra states, joining the conversation with a concerned look. “They appeared on your path, but how? I-I-I would’ve-“

“A Void player brought them.” You tell her, figuring she’d be the one most in the dark about the situation. “Between the fact that they knew their Spy would be invisible to you and the fact that one of them made a direct path here for you in particular, it seems they’ve been doing their research on us. Specifically on members of our group pivotal to the escape.”

“You said Sara’s fine, but what of the others?” Esspin brings up, making you realize it’s entirely possible you’re down two morons. Leaving them to fight is like leaving a child armed with a fork unattended with a outlet. Something dumb is bound to happen.

“They’re okay.” Dallra answers with a distracted look in her eyes. “They’re headed back here as we speak. Sara’s also still down in the gulch shaking off the effects she was struck with.”

“I’ll go get her.” You tell Esspin when you notice the worried expression she’s wearing.

“In the state you’re in?” She looks over your injuries. Your Fancy New God Tiers are beginning to put themselves back together again, but the blood stains are taking a little longer to scrub themselves out.

“Forget ‘em. I’m fine.” You assure her, stepping past for the hall out of the dorms. “It’s more important we reunite right now than anything else.” With a nod, the Highblood concedes to your plan, seeing you off with her blessing. As you hurry back out through the monastery halls leading outside, granted at a much slower pace than you first entered in, a sinking feeling begins to set in on you. A thought, which had only occurred once you reviewed all the facts of the situation. The Thief of Breath approached you with the intent of recruiting you as an auxiliary member for her group. Specifically, she sought you out as a powerful asset that they could aim at Jason without any risk to themselves. After finding out your feelings towards Jay, they thought it would’ve been easy to claim you as a tool for their plan. A safe bet for them, had your IQ been somewhere around room temperature. But if they were able to scrounge up enough intel about you that they thought they could’ve just pointed you towards a target without question, how many others have these rivals of yours done the same for? How many more players received the offer to take Jason out?

 

***

 

“Okay, so I don’t think I’m entirely understanding the mechanics of it still.” You tell Haugrr as you continue up the path.

“What’s there to understand? It’s an emotion.” He quickly dismisses.

“That… does damage?” You glance at him.

“It’s like… indomitable.” He tries to explain. “Like a Triumphant Soul, you just can’t stop it.”

“Yeah, but like it crushes things? Like a forcefield?” You clarify what you’re struggling with.

“Love is the strongest force of them all.” He bullshits you.

“So if it was a different emotion, then it would’ve been a weaker attack?” You try to wrap your head around his jailbroken powers.

“If I felt less passionately, then it would’ve been.” He notes. “Love is just the emotion that has the highest passion-ceiling.”

“Not sure if that’s true…” You say more to yourself than him.

“Save your pessimistic contemplations for someone who subscribes to them.” He pushes the notion away. “Point is, the Passion Index directly correlates to the Influx of Power.”

“In the shape of a heart.” You add. “Like an anime transformation.”

“The biggest grievance I have with the power is that it’s called Radiate on the Ability Index, but I think it’s got more of a Radiance feel to it.” He informs you as you round a corner in the ridge you’re on, getting to the base of the monastery’s mountains. “I think I’m gonna edit it to that. Fits better that way. Cause the power has a kind of Radiance to it, ya know?”

“Edit it?” You look at him. “You can do that?”

“Yeah, I change things all the time.” He nonchalantly states.

“What…?”

“HEY!” A sudden shout comes echoing up from the cliff beside you, nearly scaring the soul from your body. Looking over the edge, you spot two purple and blue dots just barely visible beyond the mist. “Answer your fucking Phone, Greene!” Your phone? What is… where did you… did you captchalogue it? Why the hell did you-, you know what, not important. Cracking open your Retrieval Maze, you retrieve your telephonic device once more. Almost instantly, it starts to ring.

“Hello?” You hesitantly answer, knowing what’s on the other end of the line.

“Where the Hell have you been?!” Mia shouts at you through the phone. “I’ve called you like eight times now!”

“Sorry! We were focused on getting back as soon as we could.” You try to explain in a way that won’t end with her climbing up that cliff to throttle you.

“Oh yeah, I can see you were really worried, leisurely walking back like you’re on a Sunday stroll.” You can practically hear her eyes rolling.

“Dude, I just got my ass kicked, I’m not gonna be going at a hundred percent.” You justify your slow go of it.

“Why is it that every time I see you, you’ve just got done getting your ass kicked?” She asks back.

“I get in a lot of fights, alright! I’m not gonna win every single one!” You explain as you pace on the side of the road while Haugrr watches you walk back and forth.

“Have you even won once?” You have to take the phone away from your ear for a moment to compose yourself.

“Just-…!” You pause. “Get back up here. That’s Sara down there with you, right?”

“H-hi Jason!” You hear Sara call from beside the phone. She sounds off. Is she hurt?

“Sara, fly Mia up, would you?” You request of the Sylph. “And one of you get Creed on the horn. Let him know these fuckers are getting serious.”

“Uh… o-okie dokie!” Sara tries to hide her uneasiness behind a gleefully front. With that, you hang up the call, searching your contact list for your next ring. Pausing a second, you hesitate to initiate contact, your thumb lingering over the little phone icon.

“Come on, Jaybird… You got this.” You tell yourself as you resolve to press the call button.

“Did you just call yourself ‘Jaybird’?” Haugrr asks as the phone rings.

“Hey.” Dallra answers.

“Hey… Are-… are you okay?” You awkwardly ask, struggling still to put your all into it.

“A bit shaken up, but… I’m alive, haha…” She nervously tells you. You can tell by her tone that she’s trying to hide just how much all this is effecting her.

“I’m sorry.” You say almost reflexively. “I should’ve-… I should’ve anticipated this.”

“Jason, it’s not your fault.” She tries to assure you.

“No, I-… We knew they had ways of knowing things about us. I should’ve figure out they’d set their sights on you eventually. I was careless… I’m sorry I let them get this close.” You continue on with your apology. “There’s been a change of plans. Grab Esspin and the Consorts and take the lift down.”

“What, really?” Her voice perks up.

“How the hell should I know, why don’t you ask him yourself?” Mia barks into her phone as her and Sara reach the trail you’re on, setting down before you all as Sara carries her friend as though she’s hugging around her stomach from behind. The Sylph looks… a little weary. Like she’s hung-over or something. Guess it was a rough fight. “…Look-, no, I-… I didn’t stop to ask. There isn’t exactly a shortage of reasons someone might want to put Jason in a hearse, your guess is as good as mine… Yeah… yes… I don’t know… Well Jesus, Creed, maybe try locking your fucking doors! Just send Ryder to keep watch, he’s more than capable of handling whoever comes your way.”

“It’s not safe to leave you here now.” You continue on with your own conversation. “Robin’s group seem to have set their sights on you specifically, if them sending their Breath player after you is any sign to go off of. Right now, we need to circle the wagons around you and Creed, in case they figured out how important you two are to the plan.”

“You really think they’re after me?” Dallra asks while you watch Haugrr step next to Sara with Mia busy on the phone, reaching a hand up to her hair.

“AH!” She yelps as Haug plucks a golden strand from her head. “Haugrr! You Fuck!”

“I need it more than you right now.” He blandly explains while kneeling down with the strand. Pulling out the severed leg of Amvinn’s corpse, Haugrr dispels the ghost-foot he’s been walking on and lands his stump down on its severed limb. “Rule Breaker; Sylph String.” He states, illuminating the hair strand with a burning energy. Sewing the severed leg back onto himself with a surprising speed, Haugrr’s hands almost blur into a single mass at the rate in which he’s moving. Sara looks down at him work with a confused curiosity of what he’s doing. Standing back up and tapping his reattached leg against the ground a few testing times, it seems like the Prince was successful in repairing his corpse.

“I can’t think of any other reason they’d send a third of their party towards the monastery when we had them outnumbered to begin with.” You explain your reasoning. “If not to kill you, then to bring you over to their own side.”

“You think they’d really try to do something like that?” She nervously inquires.

“Stealing an ally is more the Thief of Blood’s profile, the freak it was, but a Thief of Breath would leave an excess of Blood in the wake of their heists. She steals your freedom, you’re left with a connection with her group. It tracks in the metaphysical aspect of the fight.” You theorize, going on a bit of a tangent. “On top of that, we’re trying to break free, aren’t we? Who better to snub our efforts than one who can steal our freedom right out from under us?”

“I’m… your Freedom?” Dallra asks after a moment. You have no idea what that is even supposed to mean, but you feel your face turning red regardless.

“Uh-… well, uh… Yeah! O-of course you are!” You stumble through it like a fucking moron. There’s a pause in the conversation, where all you hear is the static of the call.

“…Right! I’ll see you in a few.” She sweetly bids you adieu, cutting off the call. You linger a moment with the phone still by your ear. As if still expecting one last pleasantry to be exchanged on your end. Lowering the device, you let out a sigh, turning to the group of misfits before you as they ramble at one another like a pack of wild dogs.

“Alright, everyone.” You tell them. “We’re getting the band back together.”

 

***

 

There’s an miasmic aura laying over the room at the moment. The air is heavy with the smell of blood of all types. Most prominently, that of a Cobalt Troll’s, mixed in with the chlorophyll the Elven players operate with. At the moment, you’re stood, leaning at the door as you watch Robbie work, putting what’s left of her team back together again. The casualties were much worse than you’d anticipated, which on some level, you can’t help but feel satisfied seeing. Robin has a tendency to underestimate the logistics of a Fight, saying it’s as simple as entering a ring and walking out victorious, as though there’s no struggle to it. As though defeat could be avoided as easily as choosing not to befall it at all. Because of that, she’s always approached Strife with a rather laissez faire attitude. Not without hearing your protests, mind it. You’ve told her time and time again the consequences of going in half-cocked, offered tactical knowledge of what to do when facing an enemy where victory wasn’t assured. But Noo, why listen to you? It’s not like you’ve ever orchestrated entire full frontal assaults on the beaches of the Battlefield. Not like you’ve laid siege to the war-moons of Derse with nothing but an armada of chess wankers and walking fish. What would You know about Strife?

“aah… ahhh…” The Quiet one weakly groans as she tries to keep her stomach in her stomach. Seems the Page bore a hole through her torso, not unalike from the injury he gave you the last time you crossed paths. She’s lying on the floor next to the Preppy Elf girl, who’s had yet another piece of her ripped off by the Maid. With so many returning injuries, it’s like someone’s playing the Greatest Hits for all the kickings these pricks have given you. Between the two Thieves is Robbie herself, connecting to the girls through the Conduits she can summon through her back. They’re thinner than the one’s she pops out her wrists, less powerful than ‘em as well, but there’s more of them, so it lets her operate on multiple targets. Perfect for when you all get your collective bollocks done in at the same time, which is turning into a disturbing trend that you’ve noticed.

Anyway, reaching back behind her, Robin’s got a few Conduits hooked up to the Sloth one as he lies unconscious beside you at the entrance of the room. Daft bastard can snooze through just about anything, it seems. You’ve taken to using him as the go-to Battery for whenever one of you is knocking on death’s door. Might not be the most ethical thing to do to the wanker, but, well… you haven’t heard any complaints from him.

“Quiet.” Robbie orders the whinging Troll as she continues to work. She can heal the girls faster than she is, you’ve noticed. You’ve seen her fix an exploded heart in seven minutes flat before. Experienced it first hand, in fact. You think she’s taking her time with these two, though. Not just as a punishment for the Thieve’s shortcomings, but also as a reminder to the rest of your group of what happens if you underperform in your given tasks. The pained moans echoing the halls, a testament to the power she holds over you all. She’s your team’s White Mage, after all. And you don’t fuck with the White Mage.

“Robin, you’ll… y-you’ll make me another frond again, right?” The Preppy one asks as she grips the stump on her shoulder, trying to block out the pain radiating from the severed limb.

“You’d be useless to me otherwise.” She answers the Elf, not bothering to look at the girl.

“Do you… d-do you think you could fully restore it this time…?” She nervously asks, the faintest bit of hope hiding under the dread of knowing what the answer already is.

“Had you recovered the severed limb, I might have been more lenient with fixing you, but since you were careless enough to leave something as important as a body part behind, I have no choice but to ask Tabes for another donation.” Robbie breaks the bad news to the Thief.

“B-b-but-!” The Preppy one starts to panic, looking down at the corrupted arm Robin had fashioned for her when she first came back missing pieces, knowing she’ll be getting a matching set now. The thing was formed with borrowed cells from the other Plant Alien, the Gloomy one. Apparently, such a graft hasn’t sat well in the Thief’s mind since then, for one reason or another. Maybe you'll have Iris play therapist for her. See if she can't quell any of that mental anguish the Elf is wallowing in.

“This is the second time you’ve failed me, Aellocy. You’ll get what I give you.” She growls at the Fauna, quieting her down. You can’t help but chuckle to yourself, catching your Bird’s attention. “And what the hell are you smirking at, dumbass?”

“Not so fun when you’re the one on the front lines, idinit.” You shrug, looking over the disaster she’s put together. “If I recall correctly, I believe your exact words were; ‘wiped the floor with you’ ?”

“Oh, you’re so clever, LJ. How long have you been sitting on that one?” She sarcastically commends, causing your smirk to grow even larger.

“I know a Loss such as this one can be hard to cope with, but I promise to be there for you, Love.” You tell her with a phoned-in smile. “But… by all means, feel free to submit your written apology at your soonest convenience, would ya?”

“A Loss, huh? And where exactly are you looking, Gorgeous?” She asks you with a knowing smirk, confusing the boastful spirit you just had.

“You don’t consider… this… a Loss.” You try to make sure you’ve got this right, gesturing your hands in circles around the near-cadavered forms of her team members.

“Not in the slightest.” She smugly states, reaching forward to grab something in front of her. “Because I have this.” She turns back again, holding up a small device in her hand.

“Hm?” You hum at the item, unsure what exactly it is. Taking a step forward, you walk up before Robbie and crouch down to look at the trinket she’s presented you with. “…Well how bout that.” You mutter once you realize what she’s got. Guess you underestimated your Gal’s tactical mind after all.

 

LJ, get to Planning.

Chapter 73: > Interlude; Tales from the Veil

There’s a disturbance in the tapestry of spacetime. A distinct hum that radiates out like a calling from the deepest reaches of the dark. It diminuendos to nothing but a whisper, crescendos to the ranks of Thunder! It ebbs and flows, crashes and rolls, Snares and Plucks and Creeps and Strums! It is Music! A Story of Things that May Come. What is that Melody?

“Laverna, are you coming?” Remeter calls for you, breaking your attention. Glancing over, you spot your companion standing upon a nearby meteor adjacent from the one you’re on, looking at you upside-down as her platform rises above your own in space. You are Laverna of Clan Epsilon, and you are the Brigand of Doom. At the moment, you and your Countryman are exploring the outer reaches of the Arena, comet-hopping through the Veil for something interesting to occupy your time. Well… you say Countrymen, but the individual you’re traveling with isn’t kin to you. Not in any way outside of Loyalties. She claims she’s an Elf, but in all honesty, she looks more alike with one of the Beastmen of the grass plains Clan Lambda’s sectors are known for. Or like one of the Floral Bipeds seen roaming the Exclusion Zones of Clan Gamma’s research outpost after the outbreak of one of their mutative pathogens. She also claims to be a ‘Sylph of Bloom’, but you’ve never heard of either of those two Mythological Roles. If anything, you’d say she was a Dryad, but that could just be the Flower biology swaying your designation.

Regardless, you and she are traveling the edge of the Void, scrounging around for whatever you can find. You’re currently looking out at the space Derse is Fated to appear at one day, which is probably what’s causing this unusual feeling to emanate throughout the void. You contemplate trying to reach out and steal whatever you can from the inevitable wreckage the purple Satellite is destined to befall to, pondering what node of power you could possibly get from such a Monumental Fate, but you reconsider before your impulses can get the better of you, recalling just how well your last burglary went…

“Coming.” You tell her, leaping into the vacuum-space above you and swimming your way over to where she’s positioned. You’re glad that your tail still retains all its dexterity for maneuvering in a zero-gravity environment after your accident. You were worried it might be difficult to get around in the Medium, especially after you lost your ability to fly upon arriving in the Arena. Certainly would’ve been handy to know about that beforehand… Oh well, no point in crying over spilt milk. Anyway, you continue on through the void, eventually arriving upon the same rock as your Coadjutor. All this swimming around though the Incipisphere has you feeling nostalgic for your childhood, back when you were nothing more than a guppy, making your way from stone to stone in your local asteroid belt, tasting for any pockets of ore you and your kin could pawn off for a little pocket money. Swimming is much more easier for you now with the Tail you received upon Ascension, but nothing could beat the feel of leaping from rock to rock with nothing but your wits and a firm understanding of the Rules of your environment. Those were the days…

“You okay?” Remeter asks you as you approach, tucking a few cords of the thorny vines that are her hair behind her ear, clearing up her face enough to look at you with one of her vibrant blue eyes.

“Yeah, just enjoying the view.” You tell her while taking another glance back at the endless abyss lying just beyond the place on this rock.

“Come on, then! I thought I heard talking up ahead.” She laughs before hurrying on, taking a running start before springing off a small incline on the surface of the asteroid, breaking out of the gravitational pull of the rock as she floats towards her next platform. You spring off after her, much more easily able to maneuver up here in space with the Dwarven Fortitude you were born with.

“Wait, you said you heard talking?” You ask once you catch back up with the Elf, swimming parallel to her as she floats towards her destination. “Who would be out this far in the Arena?”

“You think they could be dangerous?” She glances at you as she twirls and pirouettes in a playful manner, taking the lack of gravity as an opportunity to enjoy herself. You can’t say you approve of such unsanctioned merriment, but you suppose that since it isn’t impeding on the current Obligations of your objectives, it really isn’t worth making an issue over.

“…Does it matter?” You ask after a moment of contemplation.

“No, but it’d be a nice change of pace from the usual crowd we’ve seen out this far in the Shade.” She notes while somersaulting into a mock-dive. “We’ve only come across the little scale-creepers in their funny metal locomotion-piles so far, haven’t we? A bit of diversity might make for some good entertainment.”

“They’re called ships.” You correct her weird Elf way of saying things as the two of you reach the next meteor in your string of hops. This rock in particular is one of the larger astral bodies in the Veil, one outfitted with laboratory resources and destined to hurl itself through one of Skaia’s Gateway Portals to the past at the time of the Reckoning. Perhaps you’ll delve into its reaches and see if there’s anything interesting you can get your claws on, Jurisdictions permitting.

Walking along the surface of the meteor, you eventually come upon a rampart in your way, one of the many buildings sticking out from the rock hull of the structure, likely a wing of one of the larger laboratories the celestial body hosts. From above, you begin to hear a quiet chatter, softly echoing out in the silent reaches of space. Seems Remeter was right, there really are people out this far. You exchange glances with your companion before flying your way up. Below you, Remeter conjures a grove of vines to grow within the walls of the building, the plant life well able to manifest within the hospitable conditions of the dark matter in the Medium. And using her tangle of forestry as an improvised ladder, the Elf scales the wall until the two of you reach the top of the rampart. Up another ways, you can hear the individuals more clearly now. They’re on the next roof up, adjacent to the building you’re on.

“Hahahaha! You might’ve beat me this time, Kota, but don’t get so cocky!” You hear a rather verbose voice call out from above. “Don’t forget, you had quite the head-start on me this go-around!”

“A handicap is no excuse to fall behind.” Another, more softer voice scolds. “It’s your responsibility to deal with the circumstances you run into out in the wild. We might not be able to control the world around us, but we can control how we react to it.”

“Too harsh! You know that nefarious brute has been after me as of late! It took forever to shake him off my tail!” The first voice complains.

“Excuses are the devil’s spoon.” The other retorts. Continuing your scaffold up the structure, your duo reaches the summit of this cluster of buildings, and peaking over the edge, you spot your culprits off by the other end of the roof.

“And you know how fat he can get!” The other laughs, throwing his head back. You haven’t approached yet, but you can already tell by their Billowing capes that these two are Agents, one of Breath and the other of Space.

“Oh, would you look at that. Knights of Chill and Garden.” Remeter comments as her head pokes up beside you. You feel the inclination to correct her, but stop yourself beforehand. Despite being incorrect in her statement, there’s really no point in trying to debate someone on a difference in something as basic as designative conventions. Instead, you climb the rest of the way up and begin crossing the roof towards these new Champions with the intention of getting a better angle to inspect them at more closely.

“So I take it that you were able to ditch your pursuer for good this time?” The second voice, the ‘Garden Knight’, asks. Walking up to the two, you notice they’re lounging about the place, one sitting with his legs half-crossed as the other leg hangs off the edge of the roof, the other letting both legs hang off entirely! Such infractions to Standard Safety Regulations is not something you can just ignore! And look at that, in between the two of them, a bag of chips completely opened up, using the foil as a plate to eat the snacks from. Unsanitary Conditions within a Sterilized Environment. Tack that on to their other violations; Prowling, Loitering, Disorderly Conduct. If it weren’t for your current condition, you’d put these two knuckleheads through the ringer with Fines! They’d be lucky not to Break Bank just trying to pay it all off!

“Indeed I was. Although, with how ferocious a villain he’s been, I can’t say I’d be surprised if he finds his way across the divide I’ve left between us.” The Agent in Blue sighs, reaching into a cooler beside him to pull out two suspicious looking canisters. “So much ire, and yet I still can’t figure out just what I did to the Fella. What could spur on someone to be such a thorn in a total stranger’s side?”

“Maybe you’ve just got a really punchable face.” The Agent in Black shrugs as his companion tosses him one of the two canisters.

“Hardy-Har.” The first Agent rolls his eyes as they crack the tabs at the top of their containers in unison with an overlapped and audible set of -pops-. “Well, for now the Heir of Rage is in his free-range prison on Lowac. And if I’m lucky, he’ll stay there.”

“Here’s hoping.” The second Agent notes, proposing a cheers as the two of them reach between one another to tap their canisters together, drinking from them afterward. Glancing about the area, you notice an additional few empty canisters discarded around the Agents. They appear to be containers for an alcoholic beverage.

“Outrageous!” You shout, beholding such blatant disrespect for the Sanctity of the Law! “Just who the hell do these Hooligans think they are!?” Littering, Public Intoxication, Underage Drinking, Providing Alcohol to a Minor, do the violations know no bounds?! Is nothing sacred anymore?!

“I think they’re humans.” Remeter answers you in earnest while leaning out to see the faces of the boys.

“What are humans, again?” You sigh while joining her beside these 'humans', setting aside your grizzled frustrations, knowing you can do noting with them regardless. “They’re like Shadow Skulkers, right?”

“Seems that way.” She shrugs, sitting down next to the Space Champion. It’s at this point that you question why it is these young men haven’t taken notice of you, despite the two of you being right next to them. Well that’s a rather fooling question. You’re both Dead, of course they wouldn’t be able to notice you. The usual procedure for those within the Arena would be to be placed within a Mental Fugue upon Expiration, in accordance with the Ordinances of the Medium you reside in. Fortunately, the two of you have been Exempt from the process of this system through a Passive Talent you both happen to have, this being the Skill; Persistence. You had found it unusual that a Life Champion such as Remeter held such a Talent like yours, however, the Elf has proven to be of a trustworthy character, so you can’t imagine she’d have done anything illicit to acquire such Resources.

“Anyway, it’s not like I’m alone when it comes to unusual stalkers.” The Breath Agent comments as they crush their now-empty canister against their head and toss it behind them. The audacity of these barbarians. “Isn't that one gal still after you?”

“All the gals are after me, G-Man.” The Space Agent cooly retorts, eating a chip as he stares out at the endless reaches of the Celestial Stage.

“You know the one, the Hope gal, the Maid, right?” The first clarifies, pointing at his companion. “She's still after you, isn't she?”

“Last I checked.” He confirms without much fanfare.

“Well, hell, let’s go knock knuckles with her, then!” The Breath Agent proposes, blushing your cheeks something fierce at the declaration of Combat. Yet another charge; Public Indecency. “I’m always up for a scrap, especially if it’s on behalf of a good buddy! And who knows, maybe it’ll be a good chance for you two to bury the hatchet together.” Bury… the hatchet… together…? What sort of voyeurs have you stumbled upon!?!

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The Space Agent rejects the notion, at least showing some sense of modesty in public. “Dwarves have unusual ways of looking at relationships. If we showed up, talking about making peace, I imagine we’d both be dead before the words ‘truce’ could leave our lips.”

“Really?” His Ally asks him with intrigue.

“Trust me, I’ve been dealing with these folk for years now. It’s best to let sleeping dogs lie with them.” He confirms. So, there’s a human already familiar with your kin. Hmm… Unsanctioned Contact with an Alien Species is an incarcerable offense, and you see no visible mark of a Clan claiming him. Because you’re feeling quite gracious today, you’ll assume, for now, that his experience is through anthropological channels, perhaps done by a Gamma Research Team looking to study these primates, and not through a direct violation of Dwarven Conduct.

“Then you just want to avoid her entirely?” The Breath Agent inquires, pulling one knee up to his chest as he continues to sit at the edge of the roof.

“I’m not exactly choppin’ at the bit to meet her again.” The Space Agent scoffs, leaning back on the palm of his hands. “Besides, it’s best not to go messing with her. She’s Fully Sided.”

“Fully sided?” The other asks.

“She’s gained the Boon of her Title’s Inverse.” He clarifies. “It makes for a dangerous combo. Bolsters the hell out of your main Power Set, and for a Hope player, that can go a long way. So yeah, I’m gonna leave some space between me and her.”

“Fully Sided… What an odd concept…” You mutter to yourself as you observe the boys.

“You know, I was Fully Sided before I died.” Remeter tells you, catching your surprise.

“What?” You turn to her, unaware that the Elf has killed anyone in the first place, let alone her Mythological Counterpart. What even is the inverse of a ‘Sylph’, anyway?

“Yeah, the Prince of Wilt. Weird looking thing, it was. Scruffy Petal-Fur with these strange orange thorns popping out of them.” She describes her victim. “And these giant Yellow Pixie Wings on their rear-stem.” She continues, glancing at her own back for emphasis. “The opportunity sort of presented itself, so yeah, I took it.”

“And when was this?” You face her completely now, baffled to hear this news.

“Oh… maybe like… the first hour after the games began?” She shrugs, seemingly feeling embarrassed now seeing your reaction.

“You got the First Kill in the Blood Games?! You didn’t even wait, you just jumped right into the deep end?” You ask to make sure you’re hearing her right. She nods, like it was a simple task.

“They were with a Seer of Essence, and the two of them were walking by a cliff, so I just kind of… put a vine in the way of their frond, and they fell to their death when they tripped off the side.” She explains how she did it. Wait, is that how she got her hands on the Skill; Persistence? By killing a Champion who’s Aspect held the power? You suppose it is in compliance with Arena Rules, but… it’s just that you’ve never expected something like this from such a passively seeming individual. “Is that bad…?” She nervously taps her fingers together, seeing your reaction.

“It’s a little bad…” You gently break it to her. Tricks and Cunning are one thing in a fight, but to sneak up on an Opponent that doesn’t even know your name and trip them to their death? If you weren’t so fond of her, you’d be giving Remeter an earful about the Sanctity of Honor on the Battlefield right about now. Turning back to the humans to take your mind off the potential crimes of your Ally, or at the very least the violations she’s committed against the Spirit of the Law, you notice something strange about the Agent of Breath now that you look at him more directly. “…This one is going to die soon.” You announce as you Read his Fate.

“Really?” Remeter asks, coming over to take a closer look at the boy. “He looks as healthy as a Pull-Pill to me. Are you sure he’s going to die?”

“Positive. It won’t have anything to do with his physiology, but the Path he’s on.” You explain while trying to read further into the Unfortunate End he’s destined to meet. “His death, it’s… so violent…” You shutter, beholding the shape his fate has taken. Crushed by Two Existences, the World around him Torn Asunder, Rendered Nothing But Ash. Watching what is to become of him, you feel a conflicting pull. You have no reason to intervene, and yet… you feel you could not walk away from this person with a clear conscience, knowing the path that they now walk. After a moment of unsmiling contemplation, you reach out to the young human, taking hold of his Fate and adding yourself as a Cosigner to his Debts. You extract the Condemnation from his flesh, removing it like strips of leather from a beast’s hide. The Runes of Fate coil through the air around you, requiring a proper foundation to find their place upon now that they’ve been Confiscated from their Host. You offer them the skin of your arm as Compensation, cementing them upon your brawn like a tattoo circling up to your elbow. Almost immediately, your painted limb begins to burn, forcing you to activate Chapter 13; Codebtor Stay to avoid being completely consumed by the Fate. If this is how this Curse behaves when you’re already Dead, you’d hate to have seen what would’ve happened had there still been a pulse in your veins. It likely would’ve killed you outright the second you’d made contact, being exposed to such raw Unlife.

“Are you alright?” Remeter asks you, seeing the trouble you’re having taking on the Debt.

“Fine-“ You tell her, holding a hand up to halt her when she tries to heal you. A Curse this powerful, when exposed to as pure an Energy as your Ally can muster would be like prodding at a wild predator. There’s no telling which way it’d lash out. “I’m fine.” You tell her, recomposing yourself with Chapter 13’s assistance, making the burden you bear much more manageable. Really, it’s not a big deal… Those who bear the Mark of Epsilon have long been the handlers of dirty works other Clans had no interest in. Your Lineage in particular has a prominent history of Sin-Eaters who’d travel from territory to territory, doing just as you’ve done for the human boy before you. Taking on their Sins to cleanse their Death. This new marking on your flesh… This is nothing.

Looking down at the boy one more, the change is subtle, but not unnoticeable. He’s perked up, the Bad Omens no longer silently weighing him down. You notice then something you hadn’t before. The Agent has another Fate, now unhidden from beneath what you had removed. This one is slack, however. As if he’s drifted away from it without noticing. It’s Equivalent Exchange, then. Nothing can be Taken without then being Payed Back. You've taken something from him, so something must be given in turn. In which case, you reach down and tighten the Doom he’s bound to, ensuring the human not fall to a Fateless Limbo. In the process, you become a Guarantor on this new destiny he’s traveling to, insuring he arrives there one day. You tie this Obligation around the Vow Finger of his left hand in the shape of a Forget-Me-Knot, forming a small incorporeal band there. Taking effect nearly as soon as you complete the knot, the Agent perks up, as if struck by a sudden realization.

“Shoot! I’d nearly forgotten!” He exclaims, shooting up on the single leg he had tucked to his chest, standing in an instant. “I have to meet someone!”

“What?” The Space Agent looks at his Ally with a boredly confused face as he pops another chip in his mouth.

“On the Land of Chess and Foresight! I have to meet a guy there!” The Breath Agent explains while turning to the other with a slight panic in his voice, realizing he’d made a Promise to another to be somewhere. “You remember that guy, right? He was wearing red! Or... red? And he was fighting that one guy! Who was… also in red…”

“They both wore red…” The Space Agent repeats, giving him an unimpressed look at the recounting.

“Yeah, I remember it now, kinda. The one guy had this really long hood and he had some kind of clock magic!” He continues. “And the other fella wore those crazy glasses! It was like a month ago! You were there!”

“Was I now.” The other replies with an uninterested demeanor as he finishes off the snacks.

“Hey, listen, I’ve gotta go find this dude real quick, so let’s meet back up in a few days.” The Breath Agent schedules their next reconnection as he begins to fly out, floating in the space before the rooftop lookout.

“Oh? And what about our next Race?” The other Agent inquires with a smug grin. “I thought you’d be jumping at the opportunity to try and beat me after I schooled you so hard last time.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get the whooping you deserve once I’m back.” The Breath Champion laughs. “But this is more important for now.”

“More than trying to get off your losing streak?” The other asks back, tilting his head to the side.

“Hey, the men of my family Keep their promises.” He tells his Ally with a proud voice. “It’s one thing to shirk the responsibilities you got saddled with without your say-so, there’s no shame in that.” You disagree. “But to abandon something you’ve taken on of your own Freewill? It’d be Treason against yourself! Like sullying your own Spirit from a lack of Will!”

“You certainly have a way of saying things.” The Space Agent shrugs, standing up and wiping the crumbs from his hands before looking up to the Ally floating in the space before him. “Tell ya what, then. Be back here in three days, and I’ll race you to the Land of Progeny and Tree Houses.”

“You’re on!” A determined smile cuts across the Breath Champion’s face, one last pleasantry before the human takes off at a blinding speed, soaring out into the dark without a moment’s hesitation.

“That moron.” The Lone Agent happily sighs, watching his Ally disappear within the void of the Medium.

“Wait a sec…” Remeter pauses, a clear look of heavy thought behind her viney hair. “Long hood and clock magic… that’s the Flesh Devil who killed me!” She shouts in realization. “That Shaded Bastard knows the Heir of Cycle?! Laverna, quick! Put that Death Doom Thingy back on him before he can escape!” She orders while tantruming, pointing out at the direction the Agent had disappeared in.

“Forget it.” You tell her, knowing even if you were to do such a thing, the human is too far out now to reach him. “Let’s get going again.” You add as you turn to walk away, observing the new markings upon your form, lightly running your hand over the skin of your tattooed arm.

“…” Remeter pauses a moment, looking back at the remaining Agent as he digs in the cooler for another illegal refreshment. Realizing you no longer have an interest here, the Elf jogs after you to catch up, slowing once she’s by your side again. “Why do you do that…?” She asks, gesturing for the marks on your skin.

“It’s… it’s just what I’m supposed to do.” You inform her, hiding your arm down by your side. “You wouldn’t get it…”

“…I might.” She shrugs with a sad smile at your curtness. “If you tell me, I can try.”

“……My people are supposed to alleviate the struggles of our Kin. That’s our role in society.” You tell her as the two of you enter into the building you’ve been loitering on, descend the steps of the stairway down. “It’s almost like a biological response. When we see another in distress, it’s second nature to reach out to help them… Which is fine, so long as it is in service to both Culture and Clan, but sometimes… we overstep our bounds. Dwarves of Clan Epsilon adhere to strict Legislation as a way to balance out our genetic inclinations for Love. Otherwise, we’d be branded as Pariahs, psychotic outcasts fixated on circumventing the Results of the Battlefield. We understand when it is acceptable to help and when we must stand by tradition. That human… well, he doesn’t apply to Dwarven Code. It’s fine then that I help him. That’s all it was…”

“What of the one who killed you?” Remeter asks, causing your breath to grow heavy. “You had taken the Dying Wilt from him as well, had you not?” Upon the mention of the Beast you’d come across, a tingling sensation runs up the length of your tail, tracing the tattoo burned into your flesh there, pulsing with the the power you’d garnered taking on the Fate he was destined for. “Why put yourself in such peril for the sake of these strangers?”

“It isn’t about whether I know them or not, Rem.” You tell her while you lead your duo into one of the laboratories of the meteor. “What I decide to claim as my own has nothing to do with who I take it from. It’s my decision and mine alone, others aren’t a factor.” The room is aglow now with the buzz of several enormous cloning tubes, empty with no carapacians or underlings to modify. “It’s not like I get nothing from the exchange… Holding a multitude of Curses can prove a power of its own. Conflicting Fates can ensure I’d befall neither of them. I made the decision to take the Baron of Life's Fate for myself. I wanted it. He simply got the better of my foolishness before I could realize he was a danger to me.”

“Why did you take his Death from him to begin with?” Remeter asks, causing you to stop, standing out in the middle of the lab as she speaks. “You knew how carnivorous he was, didn’t you? You saw all the people he culled. Surely you must’ve realized.”

“I… I’m not sure why… I did what I did…” You look down with a shameful feeling, knowing your own twisted psychology finally got you killed in the end. You had faltered from what you knew was Right, and you were forced to Pay what was Due. The fault falls on you and you alone, and you know this. “It was selfish of me to not consider his feelings before I approached him... but when I saw his eyes… he looked so very, very sad to me… I thought…… I don’t know what I thought… Perhaps he just needed a ♦Friend♦.” Had any other Dwarf with their head turned on straight heard you say such words, you’re sure they’d Throw the Book at You, right on the spot. “Perhaps he just needed someone to calm the Melody playing in his head… and I thought… maybe that someone could’ve been me……… I guess not…”

“…” Remeter remains silent for a moment, softly frowning as she listens to your woes. Eventually, though, she gets a determined smile on her face, not unlike the one the Agent of Breath had shown his Ally before leaving this place. And suddenly, the Elf takes your hands. “Well screw ‘em then! If that frickin' Sapling doesn’t think you’re a prime Inosculation Buddy, then he doesn’t know what he’s missing! Cuz you’re a Great Friend, Laverna! In fact, you’re the bestest friend I’ve ever had!”

“B… bestest?” You mumble to yourself, feeling your face turn flush.

“Bestest in the Whole. Garden.” She reiterates, making you feel a conflicting mix in your stomach, knowing you should be perturbed by such tenderness, yet loving every second of it.

“T-thank you, Remeter.” You humble yourself before your Ally-… No, your Friend! Your Bestest Friend!

“Common, then!” She nudges before leading you party forward through the lab. You glance down at the hand of yours she’s tenderly holding you by, observing the gentle connections with just as much care as you feel there. Gazing down at the bridge between your person and hers, you can’t help but notice as well that an ability of yours is still running, it’s black tattoo slowly etching itself around the wrist and forearm of your otherwise untainted appendage as time goes on. It’s a Curse that you’d placed on another Champion a while ago, back before you died. Chapter 7; Bankruptcy, a wicked Hex that causes one’s Death to Accrue Interest, growing larger and larger as it creeps back on the person’s timeline until it meets with the person at the present moment. In essence, it fast tracks an individual to their own Doom, allowing you to garner all the Profits once they eventually kick the bucket, giving you a major power boost in the process. You’d placed this curse on the Wizard of Hope some weeks ago when you had run into him. You thought he would’ve croaked right away, considering his kind typically don’t live long as is, to your knowledge. Yet, if the fact that Chapter 7 is still accruing interest is anything to go off of, you take it that the Wizard is still alive. Meaning his Eventual Demise must have been near Eons away from the moment you’d cursed him if it’s still creeping its way to the present. You wonder if that means he’s destined to succeed in Surviving these Ordeals, becoming the Last Remaining Champion among you all. Seeing as you’re out of the running for it yourself, you can only wish him well, you suppose.

As you watch your Chapter 7 tattoo gain another small notch in its length, growing it ever further onto your forearm, the Dryad stops her stride where she is, halting you in the process. Looking up to see what’s stalled the Elf, you find you’re in the Inscription Halls, a section of the Frog Temple that houses the code for STUBB within its Hieroglyphics, and a place those Fated to create the Game will one day find. That means this meteor in particular is Fated to be one of the first hurled towards Skaia upon the time of the Reckoning, and the first to land upon the world of those who will one day arrive here. You can practically feel the hum these hallowed halls radiate with, buzzing with the Monumental Doom it is bound to. The power you could get from a Destiny like this… But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t dare tamper with the sanctity of something as Pivotal as the Temple Ruins. Not only would the ramifications be Disastrous, but more than likely, it wouldn’t matter how powerful you’d be after taking this Fate, you’d be bound to this very spot until the time of the Reckoning, taking on the Temple’s Destiny of arriving at the Champions' home world. A Frozen God, unable to even twitch their tail as they wait for their long off time to come. You go to tell Remeter that you shouldn’t linger in this place when you notice that the Runes aren’t the reason why she’s stopped you. Standing at your flank, just before one of the clone vats at the edge of the room is… is… You don’t know what it is. A small creature, wrapped up in a fog of Death so thick, you can’t see its face. It… it looks like a child… Stepping out all around you now, as if spurred on upon noticing the first are several more of these creatures, surrounding you now. You count eleven in total, forming an imperfect clock, missing it’s Midnight. Seeing them there, Remeter takes a few steps in the first one’s direction, the way one would approach an injured animal with the intent of providing aid.

“Don’t get close to it.” You tell her, not knowing the nature of these entities. The way they move, the way they act, so mired in restrictions… It’s like they’ve been doomed since their creation. Walking Curses.

“What… what are they?” Remeter asks as you step before her, taking the lead with broaching the entities. 

“Some form of Phantasm.” You theorize, unconsciously beginning to crouch lower to be on level with the small form of the creature, mimicking the childish turn of its head upon your approach.

“You mean Ghosts?” She picks up just a bit of what you’re putting down.

“No… something much more than that.” You mutter as you’re near enough to examine the entity in much closer detail now. These aren’t just Curses wrapped around them… it’s much too Permanent to be called that, like comparing the bark of a tree to the titanium hull of a Void Cruiser. This is Damnation, cloaking their forms like a second skin. You reach out to the creature, an instinctual urge to help the weak and weary in their time of desperation. For when they look up and shout ‘Save Us!’ …what other choice is there but to whisper back ‘Of Course’. “Help me with this.” You request of Remeter, who’s joined you at your hip behind you, peering at the creature from over your shoulder.

“O-okay!” She nervously nods. Fulfilling your request, you feel as the Elf coils her vines around you, wrapping themselves around the hand you’ve reached out as you touch the lost soul. The Life Energy she imbues upon you makes you feel almost corporeal for a moment, and you let out a gasping breath that might have sounded like a laugh to those unfamiliar with you.

And as you feel your spirit connect and intertwine with the Perdition this thing has been locked in, you see it all. The full history of pain and suffering it has been inflicted with. You trace over every scar the countless lashings it has endured has left, you see the stains left upon its flesh by the sorrow of all its hardships, you learn the sum total shape of its Soul. It is a mass. A lump. A collection of tumors in the shape of a person. You are crying now, unable to hold at bay the stream that leaks from you eyes in the face of such a pitiful creature. And there are so many of them. You look around the room behind you to the other ten Shades. These Revenants, just shy of a full dozen. What has happened to these creatures? What made them so? What authority would allow such cruelty?

As the layers and layers of Death Manifested are stripped from the entity before you, Remeter’s influence is the only thing standing between you and the Hell you’d fall to upon Confiscating the Fate of these creatures. You watch as the Curses burn off from your hand as soon as you remove them, rendered nothing but ash as Remeter weaves an everblooming love through all the pain and hatred that terrorizes the lost soul. And as more and more of this Damnation is cleared away, whisked out to the endless reaches of the void on the breeze flowing through this infernal laboratory, you feel a twinge of hope manifest in your chest. With this meager deed you offer… perhaps these poor broken things might have the chance at a peaceful life now. One different from the malignant cancer they’d been saddled with.

“E-excuse me, miss…” A voice breaths out through the waves of infernal wrath, sounding weepy and tearful. You're close now! You're close to breaking the veil that traps this Revenant. And as you burrow deeper towards the thing beneath the shell, you begin to see aspects of what it once was poke through its Curses, taking form again what it used to be. The first thing manifested in the shade are a set of teeming golden eyes. “Do… do you know where my mom is?” A chill shoots up spine, and you can find no words.

 

Laverna, discover what Lies Beneath.

Chapter 74: > An Obligation Met

*Bum-Bump* *Bum-Bump* *Bum-Bump*

 

The car you’re on jostles every so often as the train continues down its path. You look out at the orange hills with an occupied mind, worried over the invisible threat hiding just on the other sides of them. It seems like every other hour now that a new threat takes a stab at your group, and you’re beginning to feel that paranoid fear creeping into your mind again that your enemies are all around you, just out of sight. Watching. Waiting. Looking for the perfect place to place their daggers. You had thought your group was just hitting its stride, but it seems in the span of only a few days, everything’s back at square one. With the amount of delays your schedule’s run into, you find yourself checking the Trans.-Temp. Camera more and more to see if your recruit targets are still breathing. Sure enough, both are right as rain as far as their Pillars are concerned. Knowing so does nothing for the anxious bounce in your leg, however.

“Are you sure about this course change, Dal?” You ask your Seer from across the booth your seat lies in. “We could’ve been on Lohrac by now, right? Wasn’t the initial plan to meet Creed and the others in their hideout?” Mindlessly, you rest a hand on the head of your daughter as she lies curled up in your lap for the ride.

“I-it was, but…” Dallra says, her face blushing a light green at having to add yet another detour into your journey. “A-a storm blew in! Right in the way of our path. After everything that’s been happening, I figure we shouldn’t risk cutting through on the off chance someone is trying to use it as cover for an ambush. It might be a bit overly cautious, but… better safe than sorry…”

“Hey, you’re the one with Sight beyond Sight.” You shrug, finding no problem with her adjustments. “Detours are fine by me, so long as we keep moving.” She seems to settle a bit, seeing you’re not trying to guilt her on it. “So Team Witch-Hunters is already planet-side, huh?”

“That’s right.” She nods, getting a distant look in her eyes as she observes the other half of the group. “Creed and the others set down just an hour ago. They should be waiting for us at the next station by the time we arrive there.”

“From there we’re heading West, right?” You ask, remembering the brief charter Dal had explained when you were first leaving.

“To the Gateway temple for Locaf, yes.” She looks your way with that distracted gaze still. “Once we’re at the next stop, it’ll pretty much be a straight shot for the Witch from there. The junction we’re headed to has a connecting rail that’ll lead to the Temple Gates, and there’s a station built into its side that we can get off at. From there, I’ll be able to program a landing zone within a mile of a Logaw Temple.” Hearing the entire plan, you look out at the rolling hills once more, still feeling that anxious buzz of anticipation, having nothing left to do now but sit and wait.

“You really are amazing, Dallra…” You mindlessly hum to yourself, not realizing what you’d said. Hearing a quiet peep from the Seer, you look back to where she is across from you, seeing the frazzled smile crookedly crossing her face as she looks down, trying to hide her embarrassed expression. “Uh, w-well… I guess we’re all set, then.” You hurriedly add on, surprised at how easily Dallra responds to praise. Or maybe… it’s just praise from you? God… why the hell did you have to learn about Lex… You were really starting to get used to the idea of being with someone, but now everything feels so complicated between you and her. Like you can’t even feel the way you feel about her without somehow thinking it’s disingenuous or been unknowingly forced upon her. You want to compliment her! You want to be close to her. And yet, every time you try, it’s like you’re not even talking to her anymore. It’s like you’re pretending to talk to Lexie. Like you’re somehow using Dallra as practice for when you meet her again. Damn it! Why do you have to feel this way… Why can’t you stop your thoughts from drifting there!? What was it Haugrr said? Treat her like her own person…… “Dallra, I-“

“UUUAAGH!!” Gretel suddenly yawns herself awake, stretching her little back as she stands up on your lap. She smacks her lips together a few times as she glances around her surroundings with barely-opened eyes. “Mmmh…”

“H-hey, kiddo. You feelin’ okay?” You ask the young lady as she quietly grumbles to herself.

“Thiiirsty~…” She moans while falling against your chest.

“Oh! Okay, um.” You look to Dallra who’s just giving you a knowing smile, as if to shrug ‘what are you gonna do?’. “I’ll go grab some juice then.” You pick her up with you as you rise from your booth, stepping over to where Dallra sits in the seat across from you. “Sorry, I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t mind me, Mr. Lusus.” She smiles back at you.

“You mind watching her a minute?” You ask as she’s already taking Gretel from your hands. Jades are the caretakers for the Trolls, weren’t they? Guess it’s only natural she’s so nurturing, even if she claims not to be. “I’ll grab you something as well.” You offer, to which she quietly nods before settling with Gret in her arms. As you're leaving, you notice a slight frown form on her face, along with a faint twitching near her eye. Seems you’re not the only one on edge at the moment. You wonder what she just saw...

Stepping into the aisle of the train car, you wobble a bit as the ground beneath your feet jostles with the curve of the track. It’s bizarre, being on this thing. It wasn’t something you’d ever thought about before, but you never thought you’d ride another train again after Earth was destroyed. Ships and jetpacks or even cars are one thing, but all those items can be alchemized, along with the fuel to run them. Trains, on the other hand, require mass infrastructure and maintenance only a society can provide, not just one kid with a fancy craft-platform and some grist. Which begs the question, though… where are all the consorts on this Land? The entire planet is empty, but moreover, something else is unusual about that as well. LOFASM was a barren Land too, but that felt purposeful, like it was a part of the Land’s story. All the consorts driven out from their homes by the Denizen’s sea monster hoards or something along those lines, if you were to guess what the Player’s journey would be. But here, it’s as if everything that’s supposed to be present on this Land has vanished. Spirited away. Maybe the ‘Ghouls’ in ‘Ghouls and Bar Cars’ is metaphorical? The real Ghouls were the friends we made along the way, type deal? And that somehow translates to no consorts? You guess that’s fine. After all, the trains still run on schedule, seeming completely automated or spiritually conducted or however the hell things in a Medium operate. Honestly, SBURB Game Mechanics can get so tiresome after a while. You kind of miss the old days, when a person couldn’t breathe in space and a house’s power and internet weren’t magically supplied to it. Back when you needed to build something to make it, and couldn’t just magic it into existence with a crafting power. You’re rambling again. What were you doing?

That’s right! Getting your daughter something to drink. You continue down the aisle to the front of the car, exiting the room and closing the door between railcars behind you. Outside now, you feel the breeze blowing past, taking a moment to enjoy the fresh air as it goes by while you stand on the hitches connecting the train. The sights you can see of the Land parallel the tracks is narrow with the cars heavily sheltering your view, but regardless, it’s an enjoyable sliver you’re able to behold. LOGABC is a rather hilly or, for a lack of a better word; bumpy Land, yet still, the small mounds and mountains all about the place make for a quaint atmosphere in the world. You don’t have time to admire the view too much, however, and continue on, entering into the next car. By the looks of it, the place seems to be a bunk car, meant for overnight rides. As you walk through the side hall in the room, you glance into the various cabins as you go by. All empty except for one, which you spot Sara and Esspin in. Your Mage seems to be knocked unconscious, sprawled out on one of the beds with the purple lizard consort sleeping alongside her, his torso stretched reaching over her face, covering her eyes like a sleep-mask. Sara, on the other hand, sits in the corner of the room, mindlessly looking out the window at the rolling hills. She’s been a little off ever since the ambush on LOMAM happened. You wonder if she’s injured or ailed in some way. Thieves can really do a number on their Aspect’s Sylphs when going head to head, but a Thief of Breath in particular could drain the gusto out of anyone. By the look on her face, you can tell she’s worn out, at the very least. Where the hell do you send someone who’s hurt when they’re the damn healer? Maybe Creed can do something for her if she’ll allow him to poke around her Mind. In the meantime, you’ll just have to keep an eye on her.

Moving past, you exit out of the bunk area and pass between railcars yet again, this time finally entering into the bar car, as the Land is so famously named for. And you can see why. The place is like a Palace Ball! Regal wood carved tables and drinking areas, grandiose bar with a fully stocked shelf before an enormous mirror, there’s even a few small chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, shaking ever-so slightly as the train moves. Topping off the fancy atmosphere, there’s even an ambient bit of music playing in the background. There’s a record player on one of the garnish bars in the corner, and while you imagine it’d normally be playing some kind of orchestra ensemble or jazz cabaret number, for some reason, it’s playing a country song at the moment, bringing an unusual but not unpleasant vibe to the room, making it almost feel like a high-end cowboy saloon. The only other person in the room is Haugrr, sat at the bar, slightly hunched over the counter. Curious why he’s here, you approach, walking behind the bar until you’re across from him. Looking up with a subdued surprise, it seems the Prince has only just realized that you’re here.

“Haugrr.” You greet, noticing he’s poured himself a glass of something, the amber liquid sat before him on the table.

“Jason.” He greets you back, picking up the glass to take a sip, but stopping when he notices you looking at it. “Want one?”

“I’m not old enough to drink.” You tell him.

“According to who? Your governing bodies all exploded in hellfire.” He says back with a quiet scoffing laugh.

“Can you even get drunk?” You question somewhat out of spite at the attitude.

“If I want.” He shrugs, taking a thoughtful sip from the glass. At the same time, a dark spot appears on his chest, right over the Heart aspect of his vessel’s tunic, with a visible amount of liquid running out the hole punched through the corpse. With that, the Undead Prince leans forward. “Hmm…” He sighs, resting his head on the bar top.

“What’s up with you?” You ask him with an unsure squint of your eyes.

“Just… feeling nostalgic after today…” He informs you while glancing at the hand he’s left resting in front of him on the bar.

“Nostalgic?” You repeat.

“Amvinn’s Aura. When his body was revived, I could feel it return.” He explains, a melancholy tone in his voice. “It’s like he was right there again. Like how when a person walks through the door and their energy just… fills the room they’re in. And after it disappeared… it was almost like… I lost him, all over again…”

“Weren’t you the one who died first?” You say with a mouth full of peanuts you found under the bar.

“That’s not what I mean.” He glares at your nonchalant attitude. “Amvinn was gone long before he died. Before he even entered the Arena...”

“How’s that work?” You continue to snack as you poke around the bar’s stock for non-alcoholic beverages. “Hey, by the way, what kind of drinks do Trolls like? I wanted to make one for Dallra.”

“You really don’t understand the heart of a girl at all, do you?” He sighs, leaning back in his seat as he cranes his neck behind him, glancing back the way you came, in the Seer’s direction.

“I didn’t know I had to have such introspection to get someone a drink.” You mutter, peering up from behind the bar at the Prince who’s already left his seat.

“Forget it.” Haugrr dismisses, walking for the front of the train and taking his drink with him.

“Sorry?” You apologize, unsure what’s got his feathers so ruffled all of a sudden. Something’s always got that guy ruffled. Like he’s in a constant state of preening at all time. Watching him leave, the Prince opens the door to the next cabin, running into Mia who seems to be returning from further up on the train at the same time.

“Where are you going?” She asks the husk, seemingly annoyed at having her stride interrupted for even a moment.

“Mind your own business.” He tells her, suddenly -zapping- past her as teleports to the other side of the door, mid-sip of his drink.

“God damn undead...” Mia scoffs while continuing on, slowing once she notices you behind the bar. “Hittin’ the booze early, huh, Greene?”

“Hardy-har.” You roll your eyes, pouring a small glass of juice on the table. “What are you up to?” You decide to make idle chit-chat while you’re in the room, figuring the awkward silence between you two will only be compounded by the banjo playing on the record player in the corner.

“Nothing much. Getting a look at the rig we’re riding, mainly.” She tells you while leaning back on one of the tables. “Coal engine, but no one to shovel it. Makes you wonder what’s driving us forward, don’t it?”

“The world may never know.” You sigh, thrashing about a cocktail shaker filled with various mixers you'd found to… huh… You don’t really know what these things are supposed to do. You guess it makes the drink more… flavorful? Bubbly?

“This train, which has been running for the past two hours that we’ve been on it, and god knows how long since before that, has no fuel source, and that’s your response?” Mia crosses her arms. “You’re not the least bit curious?”

“Not really. No.” You shrug, pouring out the mocktail into a chilled glass.

“It’s operating as if its obligations are still being met to make it go, yet the components expected to deliver these obligations are missing.” She continues to theorize to herself, leaving you unsure if you’re supposed to interject or add anything to her tangents. “It’s as if the things meant to fulfill these tasks are being pulled elsewhere, yet are still meeting their obligations…” Hearing her talk to herself, you raise an eyebrow at the girl, taking a particular interest not in what she’s talking about, but rather why she's talking about it. Since when was Mia so interested in the Functionality of Machinery? That’s never struck you as something she’d ever paid attention to before. In fact, she usually disregards how most things are supposed to function completely and beats it until it complies.

“Hey, have you noticed something up with Sara recently?” You ask her, figuring to change the subject before you can overthink things. “She’s been looking a little down since we regrouped after everything.”

“…Suppose I have.” The Maid says as her face darkens, suddenly glancing away to avoid your gaze. “She should be fine soon enough.”

“Should be?” You look more closely at her now, your attention fully caught by her words.

“I… I used my Magic on her during the fight with the Thief.” She admits, still looking off to the ground by the car’s exit door.

“Your Magic?” You mutter, realizing what she means. “I thought… you didn’t… do that anymore?”

“Yeah, well it was either that or let her suffocate to death.” She harshly tells you, turning to face you with a flustered look. “I made my decision, and I stand by it. What, you want me to fucking mope about it? Like I’m not sure if it was the right thing to do?”

“I-… No.” You quickly answer, unsure what to say. “I’m… I’m sorry that happened.” Maybe Haugrr was right, you have no fucking clue how to understand a girl’s heart. Why Mia has such a hangup with her powers is beyond you. You’d thought she was finally feeling guilty about doing what she did, but if that were the case, wouldn’t she at least be a little nicer to you about it? Right now, her problems seem solely revolved around her powers themselves, almost like her magic is this fire she refuses to get close to, having already been burnt before.

“…I talking with her. Sara.” Mia continues after an awkward moment of banjo filling the silence in the room as the performer on the record sings about love and life on the mountain. “To see how she handled it after everything.”

“And?” You ask her to continue.

“And she said she needed time.” She complies with a remorseful yet stern expression. “She said it shook her up, but that she’ll be fine in a day or two.”

“What do you think?” You inquire, already seeing she has a few things to say about this.

“I think she’s just trying to be nice.” She says without a doubt in her mind. “I think what happened really scared her, and she doesn’t know how to deal with what’s going on inside her head now. Not to mention the damage it likely did to her insides, I’d say she’s more than just shaken up, but because it’s me that did it, she doesn’t want to say so.” As she speaks, you notice a wavering in Mia’s eyes. They aren’t misty, no tears have welled there, but it looks almost as if they should’ve. Like a carriage without a horse, or a train with no conductor. An obligation met without its components.

“I can have Creed speak with her, if you think it’s that bad.” You suggest.

“So he can what? Pry her brain open and take out all the parts we don’t like?” She sneers at the idea.

“No!” You quickly interject, not wanting her to think you were suggesting what she thinks you were. “I know Creed’s not exactly a psychologist, but he still might be able to help.”

“Don’t bother. It won’t do much good anyway.” She dismisses regardless, settling into herself. “The consequences of my Magic isn’t something you can just talk away. Trust me on that.” She continues, looking at you directly when she says it. “I’ll talk with Esspin about it. She hasn’t seemed to notice yet, but maybe she’ll know how to approach her.”

“Suppose that’s good enough for now.” You sigh, setting both drinks on the tabletop as you get ready to leave. As you do, you notice a small cooler built into the floor behind the bar, and you get an idea. It’s been forever since you were last able to restock your Mini Fridge with anything of value, refreshment wise. With a place like this, overflowing with drinks-a-plenty, it seems like the perfect opportunity to build back your Hydration Reserve. With a quick dive into your inventory, and a quick breeze through a Maze puzzle, you deploy your Nuclear Energy Mini Fridge onto the floor behind the cooler, and prepare to initiate the resupply ritual. Crouching down and cracking open the train’s refrigeration device, you take out-… a Cobra Cola…? Looking down at the open cooler before you, you find that… it’s all Cobra Cola?! The entire fridge, packed with what must be 50+ cans of this shit! What the hell!? Why are there so many?! And why the hell can’t you escape this infernal brand!!? “Damn it…” You sigh, standing back up as you kick the cooler closed, uninterested in the spicy, and more than likely venomous, soft drink. You’ll just swipe some of the cocktail mixers and bottled waters for now. Hopefully you’ll come across something better soon enough.

“The hell are you doing?” Mia asks you as you clink and clatter an assortment of refreshments into your Mini Fridge, positioning them around the half-drunk mason jar of Universe-Lagoon Water, which was pretty much the only item you had left in the chill-device. You can’t help but take a sip from the snow-globe-like beverage when you see it again, curious if it tastes like battery acid still. Yep. Like syphoning fuel from an airliner. BLUH!

“Stockpiling.” You answer simply, continuing on with your business as you wipe your tongue free from the substance. Continuing through the bar stock, you find a white block of… something. You inspect the item to find it labeled in some strange SBURB consort hieroglyphics, calling it ‘сыр’. Chips? But it looks more like cheese… Whatever. Yours now.

“Uh-huh…” She gawks at you with skeptical unimpressment, as though what you’re doing is notably weird or unusual. “Anyway… the hell is up with this god forsaken music you’ve got playing?” She pivots, looking around the room like she’s able to see the physical notes of the music being played as they echo in the car.

“It was on when I got here. If you want to change it, be my guest.” You waver her away as you continue shoving pretty much anything that looks moderately refreshing into your thermal hull.

“Just might have to…” She mutters to herself, wandering over to the record player’s place in the room. Completing your task of total hydration acquisition, you close your Mini Fridge and captchalogue the device once more, reaching out to take the drinks you’d left on the tabletop. Before you can grab them, however, a sudden jittering catches your attention, as your Sylladex begins to glitch out. Checking to see what’s wrong, thinking perhaps you might’ve overpacked your fridge and it ended spilling out into your remaining item slots, you’re surprised to see that your relic; Grandpa’s Bootstraps is what’s causing this disturbance in your subspace backpack. You go to deploy the thing, curious what’s got the card up in such a tussle, but before you can even select it for retrieval, the artifact goes shooting out from your inventory, shattering the would be Maze you would’ve had to solve otherwise. In an instant, the pickaxe-shaped enigma is launched across the room, and to your horror, nearly slams into the back of Mia’s skull as it is flung, only missing her as she ducks her head out of the way, leaving the item to embed itself into the wall just above the record player with a heavy -bang-, knocking the table it’s on to the floor in the impact.

“A-… ah…” You silently shriek as you see Mia straighten herself upright, her back cracking itself into place as she does.

“O-hoho, you did not just do that.” She laughs with an unbridled fury only just kept at bay as she looks back at you over her shoulder.

“I-I really didn’t!” You throw your hands out, trying to seem as submitting as possible before she embeds your teeth into the tabletop of the bar. What the fuck was that?! Why did your Sylladex just launch a random artifact from your inventory?! Shit, Mia looks really mad right now. Okay, think. How do you calm her down… “H-hey, let’s just calm down, alright?”

“Calm? Why wouldn’t I be Calm!?” She growls through her teeth, approaching the bar while juking from side to side as you look for an angle to escape from. “It’s not like some little Shit just chucked a fucking Anchor at my head!”

“It was my sylladex, h-honest! It just freaked out outta nowhere!” You say, committing to making a break for the caboose. You don’t get far, unfortunately, as Mia pounces on you as soon as you leave from behind the bar, clamping down on your neck, racking you in a headlock. “Ah! Mia, uncle, Uncle!”

“Oh, you think you get to tap out?” She asks while tightening her grip on your throat. “I’ll ring your god damn neck, ya little weasel!” Ah, fuck, you’re actually starting to black out. Doing the only thing you can think of, you activate a Time Displacement, shunting yourself back to where you were just a moment ago behind the bar. With the brief opening you’ve bought yourself, you go to vault over the counter towards the front entrance of the car. Before you’re completely over the bar, however, it seems Mia has grown wise to your tricks, whipping around while you’re still mid-jump and dragging her hand across the bar for any kind of projectile she can get her paws on, finding a hold on one of the bowls of nuts, which she whips at you like a speedball, beaning you in the side of the face. The force is enough to turn your head to the side, spinning you into a twist as you’re going through the air, fucking up your dismount and crashing you into a nearby table.

“AUGH!” You exclaim upon impact, bouncing off the tabletop and skipping to the floor with a slam. Nursing the fresh bruise you’ve undoubtedly just received on your ribs in the landing, you hear the clack of Mia’s shoes hitting the floor as she slowly paces over to your place in the room.

“Learn your lesson yet?” She asks, looking down on you as she leans over the table you’d landed on.

“Seriously, I didn’t-… I-… oh my god…” As you raspily try to explain yourself, you notice something quite strange from your new perspective lying on the floorboards. Off in the distance, sitting high in the sky, above where someone standing would normally be able to see in the car’s cabin, is an enormous storm, completely surrounding the top of one of the taller mountains in the area. “What the hell is that…?”

“Like I’m falling for that old trick.” Mia scoffs while you crawl across the floor to get to the window.

“No, really.” You emphasize, standing back up beside Grandpa’s Bootstraps, which still remains embedded in the wall by the now-skipping record player. Opening up the window to stick your head out, you have to crane your neck to get a proper view at it, it’s so high up. But there it is again. A gargantuan cyclone of raging storm clouds, circling the top of an enormous mountain at the summit of the sky. Being as high up as it is, it’s no wonder you hadn’t seen it before, but… why didn’t Dallra? She would’ve mentioned it otherwise, wouldn’t she? “You’re seeing this, right?”

“Yeah…” Mia says with a steeled voice, appearing by your side as she glances up through the window. “I’m seeing it.”

“What the hell is doing that?” You ask, more rhetorically than anything, but when you look back to Mia, there seems to be a kind of recognition in her eyes. A grizzled kind of annoyance trying to hide something deeper. She turns away before you can ask, going over to stop the music from skipping. In the meantime, you go back to observing the storm, wondering what the source of all this is.

“…” From the corner of your eye, you see as Mia crouches down to grab something off the floor, pausing a moment while she’s down before slowly standing back up. “Jason Greene, a Life of Country…?”

“What?” You turn back, unsure what exactly she said to you. When you look, you see Mia standing there with a baffled expression, holding the sleeve of the record that’d been playing just a moment ago. Noticing your stare, she turns to you as well, holding up the front of the album for you to see. There on the cover is the black and white image of a man sporting a full beard, dressed in denim jeans and a plaid jacket. Atop his head is a cowboy hat, and upon his back is an old banjo. He’s standing out in a field of tall grass on what looks to be a mountain valley, glancing behind him in a way that faces him towards the camera, positioned in a manner that hides the top of his face in the shadow of the brim of his hat. The title of the album sits just below where the man’s torso disappears in the tall grass, stating; Jason Green: A Life of Country. “……” Seeing what she’s held up, you find yourself in a similar stupor as Mia, too confused to even know what to say, and a silence falls upon the cabin of the railcar, with only the slight shake of the train to fill that gap.

It feels like an eternity in which you and her stand there, exchanging uncertain looks. Yet, fate sees fit to once again shatter this silence, as the tension of this moment is broken by the sounds of a distant explosion ringing out further down the track. When you look up to see what’s caused it, you find that the upcoming bridge your rails pass over has begun to collapse.

 

***

 

“And you’re sure this is the right configuration, human?” Perses inquires while peering over your shoulder to criticize your programming abilities. “Because if you get this wrong, your gorgon probably won’t make it to the river.”

“Quiet. I’m working.” You hush the petulant child as you place the final touches into the Gateway’s design. Had you been a more uncertain individual, perhaps the words of the alien at your rear would’ve made you doubt yourself. But you aren’t, and so you don’t. Luckily, Dallra sent you all the permitters for your travels before you left LOMAM, because even if you had a need to double-check with her, no one seems to be answering their messages at the moment. No matter, however. You’re almost done here.

“Hey, I don’t mean to set off the alarm bells or nothing, but I’m pretty sure the van you hot-wired down there is about to explode.” Perses continues, now peering off the ledge of the platform you’re currently on, One Eighty-Seven’s bag still upon his back. Not that is matters, as you’ll be leaving within the next few seconds, but you and your knight-errant had traveled the mega highways of old, running off cargo truck and civilian vessel alike from the streets you rolled down with Perses at the helm of your armored vehicle, a position in which he insisted upon. Your reign of terror upon the concrete slabs lasted until your troop arrived at your destination; Swamp Gargantua, a vast lake of mud and chemical fumes. You had initially elected to stop and figure out your passage through such terrain, however, the Baron had other plans, breaking straight through the concrete barrier separating your raised road to the marshes below, plowing through the mucky depths while pushing the engine of your metal steed to its absolute limits. It seems in the process of cutting through the mud, your van ended up destroying itself, though not before ramming into one of the foundational beams holding up the Gateway Temple first. The form of this temple has come in the shape of a monstrous Oil Rig, sitting out in the shallow waters of the swamp, as is to be expected of this toxic dump of a planet this place is. Nevertheless, you and he crawled from the wreckage of your discarded vehicle and scaled to the upper rungs of the Rig, finding your portal at its top on one of the observation deck platforms. “It’s giving off, like… a lot of smoke.”

“Then by all means, feel free to go down and fix it if you see fit to do so.” You sarcastically advise, unable to help the roll in your eyes at his concern over the trivial.

“Hmmm… nah. I can probably do that from up here.” He mutters to himself, before you hear a sudden concussive burst of force from behind you, followed by what you can only describe as a fireball explosion and the sounds of twisting metal, as the platform of the Rig you’re on is suddenly jerked to the left, before slowly drifting to the side more and more. You turn back to Perses with an unamused look, finding him glancing back himself with a nervous smile. “Uh… fixed it?” He half-laughs as the Temple continues to collapse.

“Get through the portal, Perses.” You instruct, unmoved by the chaos of this child.

“Yeah, I got it.” He mumbles while hurrying forward to the Gateway you thankfully had just enough time to program with your destination. The two of you lay hand upon the hardlight of the transporter, wisping away on the transient ride until arriving to the imperative Land of Streams and Conquest. Opening your eyes, you scan your immediate surroundings, on guard for any possible traps the competition might’ve laid in the landing zones. The area you’re been taken to is cramped, a small room built from deep red, almost brown bricks, with a single passage leading out. There’s a smell of mildew in the air, with there being little ventilation in the room. From what you can tell, you’re in the clear.

“Did One Eighty-Seven make it through in one piece?” You ask, looking back at your ward-like warden.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking.” He snips at you while venturing forward, out through the only passage in the room. You see as he goes by that the bag on his back is still intact. “We’re getting close now, aren’t we?” You hear his voice echo from ahead in the hall as you follow after him.

“Fifteen to twenty-five miles left, based on the landing zone we were estimated to arrive at.” You update the boy as you exit out into a cave system, noticing a small stream of diluted red fluid running parallel to the small ledge Perses is traversing down. “We should be able to make it by the end of the day, given we run into no other distractions.”

“Yeahaha? And how often does that happen?” Perses laughs, glancing back as he continues on. You pay him no mind. Crouching down to analyze the stream, you notice an increased level of iron within the fluids, but not nearly the levels you’re looking for, and not nearly the volume you’ll be needing as well, either. Seems you’ll have to make the entire journey, after all. “Hey human! You know the way outta this place?” You hear the brute call for you from down the hall, having ventured on without you. “Cuz I’m about three seconds away from just blowing a hole through the cave wall and boring my way outta here!”

“Hold on!” You call back, knowing he’d make good on his promise. “Before you end up collapsing half the bloody caverns in.” Following the path, you spot the childish neanderthal down one of the side tunnels from the one you’re on. “What did I tell you about wandering off?” You firmly ask, walking up and snatching the boy by his ear, leading him away from the dead-end he near-immediately wandered into. “It’s this way.”

“AH! Okaaay! Gosh!” He whines as you pull him back to the main tunnel, having to lean down to as you keep his ear at your height. Finally back on course, you let him loose again by the small stream in the cave. “What now then, oh grand Navigator~? Are we just supposed to follow this dirty river water to salvation?”

“Have you no sense of cause and effect? Water erodes, Perses. If you follow it downstream, you’ll have a chance of finding the passage it created out of a cave or into whatever larger body it connects to.” You explain while marching him forward through the rugged walls of the cavern.

“Well if water ‘erodes’, then why not go upstream?” He mockingly mimics your lesson. “Wouldn’t the source of a river have the most erosion times?”

“Most underground water flows from pores and cracks within the stone. You’re more likely to find a wall than a way out.” You explain. “You only go upstream once you’re certain downstream is a fruitless venture.”

“That doesn’t make any sense…” Perses complains as he goes. It isn’t long that you’re on the path until the pungent smell of iron permeates throughout the air. You’re getting closer to a larger source of the blood mixture…

Coming upon the end of the walkway beside the stream, you find a thin opening in the cave wall, just wide enough that you can slip through. From the other side, you see a minor amount of light shining through, leading you to believe you’ve come across your exit. You stop Perses then, advancing before him knowing he’ll have to remove One Eighty-Seven’s bag and pass it through one at a time if he’s going to fit. You’re about to explain the process to the Baron when you hear the faint presence of a voice echoing in from the other side of the passage. In an instance, your movement slows, growing more careful not to make any unnecessary sounds. You gesture Perses to do the same as you creep forward, making yourself flat against the opening before passing through.

Exiting out of the rugged stone enclosures of the cave, you enter into a more refined area of this underground cavern through what seems like an unintentional crack in the wall. Around you now are a series of pillars, arranging the room into a large open grid pattern. The architecture is late gothic, by the looks of it, with a fine detail carved into the columns holding the room up, and the floor below you is a polished stone, with a small level of the Land’s red water pooling up from it, creating a quiet ripple as you step out into the area. At the center of the room is a well with an open skylight above it where the light was coming from, likely meant to catch and store rainwater in. You’re in a cistern, then.

Directly in the room now, you can clearly discern that the voice you had heard was a faint weeping, bouncing around between the walls and pillars of the water harvester. Glancing back through the cave’s opening, you make eye contact with Perses, nodding to the bag on his back, gesturing he pass it through to you. He does so with a faint annoyance, as though opposed to the concept of caution in this situation. You assume Dallra has yet to receive your notification of crossing yet, so you doubt she’s surveyed your path on LOSAC, meaning just about anyone could be lying in wait for unsuspecting contestants to pass through. Regardless of his personal feelings, Perses complies for the moment, removing the straps from his shoulders and moving to hand One Eighty-Seven through the passage. As he does, part of the fabric of the bag gets snagged on a particularly pointed edge of the stone there, and Perses jerks it free, evoking a small ripping sound to tear out.

“Quietly!” You whisper, reminding him of your proximity to a rival competitor.

“Oh, whatever!” He whispers back with a roll of his eyes before stepping through himself. “Where to now?”

“Light is coming in from above the rain-catch, meaning there’s likely an opening we can climb out from.” You point him in the direction of your exit.

“Good enough, I guess.” He huffs, slinging One Eighty-Seven’s bag back onto his shoulders with a crude comportment. Stepping out ahead of you, the oaf begins practically stomping through the water covering the floor, uncaring for the noise his footfalls creates, splashing about everything in his way.

“Hey!” You hurry to him as silently as you can. “There’s someone nearby! We have to be careful not to alert them to our presence.”

“Who gives a damn if anyone else is here?” He glances back at you while still proceeding forward unabated. “Why the hell do you think I’m on this dumbass quest to begin with? To blow away anyone who we come across so we don’t have to do pointless things like sneak around places.”

“Even still, we shouldn’t proceed carelessly. We don’t know who’s around us yet or what they can do.” You scold him as you try to slow his brutish steps even a little.

“No, but I know what I can do. And that’s all I need to know.” He arrogantly explains as the two of you arrive at the rain-catch. Seeing that he’s thrown caution to the wind, you figure you might as well expedite your process as well, stepping up onto the lip of the catch to better glance up through the opening above it.

“There’s definitely a clear way out.” You tell him, peering up at the cloudy red skies you can see through the pit. “You can make the climb, right?”

“Can a Keter Class Plasma Cannon glass a planet?” He responds in the only way you could expect from him.

“Yes or no, Perses.” You glare down at him, unamused with his antics.

“Of course I can.” He clarifies, seeming almost insulted at the ask.

“Good, then let’s… let’s…” As you’re looking down at your companion, you notice something over his shoulder, lurking out in the shadows that hang at the edges of the room.

A figure hangs there, floating weightlessly above the damp floors of the cistern. Not flying, not levitating, but simply… floating. As if weightless in space. Slowly spiraling in their stagnated flight, the figure’s been left upside down in the air, curled into themselves as they hug their knees to their chest. Around them, their hair trails just as unburdened by gravity as the rest of their body, drifting the way it would if suspended underwater. The movement gives the dark locks an almost living aspect to them, swaying as though they were a coil of snakes interlocked amongst themselves. And through that living tangle protrudes a series of orange pointed horns, twisting around one another as though to compliment the serpentine nature of the hair they guard. A Troll, hailing from the aliens’ Gold Caste if the torn up wing-stumps on the figure’s back are consistent with the mix pumping through their veins. You hear more clearly now with nothing to muffle or throw their voice that the form before you is the source of the crying you’d first herd, quietly weeping as they tightly wrap their arms around themselves, honey golden tears dropping once every few beats from their source, creating small ripples as they join the larger red body below them. Around the person’s legs are a series of bandages, wrapped taught as they lead up to the dark brown pants of their robes, the ensemble waving wispfully in the same suspension that coats their hair.

“Wh-h-h-… who’sssss there…?” A weary voice asks, hissing like a snake as the head of the capsized individual begins to stir from the embrace they’ve wrapped themselves in. Your breath stops when you notice, freezing where you are as to not to move an inch, hoping whoever this is will be too caught in their stupor to notice your exit. However, much to your horror, when you turn to your companion, signaling that you take your leave while you still can, it seems he shares no such interests in finding your way out from this place. Instead, the foolhardy bastard steps away, his boorish feet carelessly trudging through the waters as he approaches the form of the person before you.

“Perses, what are you doing?!” You whisper still, hoping the Baron will come to his senses and leave with you before anything more can happen.

“Here. Let me show you that there’s nothing to be afraid of.” He proudly states, reeling his fist back as it teems with a powerful force. “Hey you!” Perses calls, making sure this person notices him without a shadow of a doubt before he acts. “Turn to Dust!”

Taking the motions to swing his fist forward, the Baron’s form suddenly wavers, his technique slowing as something halts his attack before he can throw it. You see then that beyond Perses’ stature, the one in the shadows has untucked their face from their swaddle, enough to peer out at the individual shouting at them with a single, hateful eye. A chill comes over you when your gaze meets theirs, and before you can even react, the shutters on your ocular units slam shut, leaving you in the dark. Shocked at the sudden malfunction, you check your action logs and find that Emergency Protocols have been engaged, with the sensors in your equipment detecting a harmful effect targeting you via your optic nerves. Quickly shifting your normal vision to Thermal Imaging, you regain visuals on the room, finding that while Perses has remained where he is, the figure in the dark is gone. Oh hell…

As your ocular processors work to develop a filter against whatever it was that tried attacking your nerves, you cautiously approach where Perses stands, hoping to retrieve the ignoramus before he can do any more damage than he already has. Yet you see no reaction from the once lively moron as you draw near, and what’s more, his thermal signature has gone cold, appearing as cold as the pillars around him. You’d never bothered to check if Trolls were cold blooded or not, but from what little contact you’ve had with Perses, the boy radiated at least some heat.

“Perses… Perses, come on, we have to go!” You whisper, reaching out to physically turn him around. “Per-“ Your voice falls short when you touch the Baron, his skin feeling in likeness to stone. Pulling your hand back, stunned at the coolness it’d felt, you realize then why he gives off no heat. Is he… surely not. Monitoring his vitals, you pick up a faint heartbeat emanating from beneath the stone. He’s alive, still. Switching your optics from Thermal to Radiography, you peer through the earthen shell that surrounds Perses, seeing the musculature and bone structure of the boy remains unchanged. He’s only been encased, or perhaps the upper layers of his epidermis has been transmogrified into a rigid substance. That person did this, with a simple glance of their eye no less. But… where are they now?

“Leave thisss placcce…” A voice hisses at you from the dark. You switch your vision back to Thermal, checking your surroundings. “Or Die!” Behind you! Whipping around, you spot them there, the figure now aglow in shades of orange and yellow under the view of your radar. Even still, the person floats above the shallows of the cistern, refusing to connect with the ground. You can make them out more clearly now. Servant robes with a slash upon her chest. She is the Maid of Blood, and your Sentinel just ticked her off.

 

Mary, Reap the Consequences of another’s Actions.

Chapter 75: > The Unstoppable Force

Still reeling from the artifact Mia had shown you, it takes you a moment to process that the train you’re on is currently hurtling directly for a God Damn CLIFF!!!

“Shitshitshitshit!” You fearfully chatter as you practically fling your head out of the train window, back into the bar car, tumbling ass-backwards over a table behind you and back onto the floor. Pulley thing! Where’s the pulley thing? The one they put in every cabin, in order to stop the train! Like in the Polar Express! Shit, there’s no pully thing. “Life is never like the Polar Express…” You lament as you shoot back up again, booking it for the front of the train. There’s gotta be something there that can screech you to a stop. You practically rip the door off its hinges as you struggle to open it properly with the fuckin’… god damn… worthless push button that opens the thing!

“Time powers!” You hear Mia call as you tear out of the railcar to the next in the chain, sounding rather relaxed, all things considered. Oh, right! “Dumbass…” You barely hear her mutter as Time Dilates around your form, (20 sec. your time =1 sec. local time). Shooting through the next few cabins, you nearly trip when you catch up with where Haugrr is on the train, having to practically slide against the side wall in the hall you’re in to get around him, accidentally hooking your foot on his leg as you go by.

“God damnit!” You huff as you hop the rest of the way through the car on one foot, trying to recover. Not even bothering with the door to the locomotive, you dive straight through the glass window of the barrier, slamming down onto the wood floor of the engine room, breaking your concentration as the train rounds the bend leading into the un-bridge. Glancing up, you see it there, the train’s clutch or break or whatever the hell that stick thing that stops this blasted thing is called! You lurch forward, still half on the ground, clamping down on the stick and ripping it back. “Polar Express!!!” You chant as you fight against the brakes of the train screeching against the rails they ride upon. You can’t see it, but the sparks you’re kicking up from the wheels probably look crazy! Like a shower of golden flames. A golden shower, just pissing everywhere across the orange hills of whatever this planet was called. Boxcars or something? It’s been a long day, you really need to rest at some point. “Ho… ho-shit…” You huff while sitting up from the floor, looking out at how close you’d cut it with the bridge. Only a couple more feet and you’d have been on the scaffolding of the crossing, and with the weight of the train, what’s left of the bridge likely would’ve crumbled like wet cardboard, leaving your transport in a free fall. Jesus… you need to take a moment to decompress from that…

“Look at that, just in the nick of time.” You hear come from above. Turning back, you see Mia there, sitting on the roof of the next car back with Grandpa’s Bootstraps slung over her shoulders, letting her legs dangle like you all didn’t just ride headfirst into a fucking pit.

“Glad to see this is all still just a joke to you.” You say as you try to get control of your breathing again, excited from both nearly dying as well as having to do a hundred yard dash at the drop of a hat.

“You do know Sara can float an entire skyscraper if she had to, right?” She asks while hopping down from the roof before you. “Even if we went over, we would’ve fallen like a leaf on the breeze.”

“Y-… Yeah! Of course I knew that, you think I don’t know the powers of my teammates?” You bluff. “I just… didn’t want the train getting wrecked before we got where we’re going…!”

“Sure.” She nonchalantly agrees, making you feel that much more looked down on. “If you throw this at me again, I’ll rip your head off.” She tacks on, pushing your mysterious relic back into your arms, causing you to let out a light ‘oof’ from the force. Looking over the faux Pickaxe with it in your actual hands now, you feel the temporal presence radiating within the device. That’s strange… Usually Bootstraps is dormant. You normally have to channel a bit of your own temporal energy into it in order to sense the potential it holds, but right now, it’s like it’s brimming with power. Not that you know how to actually wield it… Before you can toy around with the item any further, the door to the first car behind you suddenly opens, and Haugrr walks through, covered in what you assume to be his former drink.

“Heey, who the fuck tripped me?” He asks in a tone too upbeat to be genuine.

“Sorry…” You apologize as Mia disembarks from the locomotive, hopping down to the side of the tracks.

“I take it this stop isn’t just for pleasure?” He glares at you through his inquiry, moving to the front of the engine to look out the windshield while simultaneously chucking his empty glass into the coal shoot.

“Something took out the bridge.” You tell him, climbing down to join Mia as she surveys the damage. As soon as you get off the rig, however, your attention falls first and foremost to the storm hanging above the nearby area, taking up a good portion of the open skies.

“Riveting…” Haugrr sighs, uninterested.

“You see anything down there?” You ask Mia as you walk up beside her to peer into the gulch you’d nearly plummeted into.

“Nothing of note.” She sighs, crouching down to squat before the crossing. “Although, it looks like whatever knocked out the framework did so halfway down. Right there, see.” She points out to the large gap in the scaffolding where the collapse sources from, the damage there appearing to have emanated from an explosive force spreading out in a sphere, leaving nothing in its wake. Looking down at the scene, you feel a kind of buzz at the back of your mind, drawing you in.

“Huh…” You hum to yourself, trying to decipher the feeling.

“Jason!” You hear called out behind you. Turning around, you find Dallra there, racing up beside the train as Esspin slowly trails behind, confused as to what’s going on. “Jason, something’s happened!”

“Yeah!” You sound back, heading to meet her halfway. “I think… that goes without saying!” You continue, glancing back at the destroyed bridge on your path.

“Not that!” She breathes out as you reunite at the engine’s hitch, a clear concern on her face. “It’s the Rogue. Her and a few allies just touched down planetside.”

“What…?” In an instant, your blood runs cold as you check your surroundings for the incoming attack. How the hell did they recover so fast?! Between Mia and Haugrr, your team should’ve put them on the defense for longer than this. “Who's with her?!” Readying Grandpa’s Bootstraps, you join Dal by her side, prepared to deflect any more attempts on her life.

“The Rogue, a Life Page and the Knight from their first assault.” Rich… “They aren’t nearby.” Dallra tells you, placing a hand over your own to gently lower your guard. “Four hundred kilometers Southwest of us, but they’re already looking to acquire transportation in our direction.”

“Shit…” You say to yourself, the anxious bouncing in your leg threatening to bore a hole through the dirt as you repeatedly slam your heel there. They’ve got your scent… The Seer from the other day, the one who struck down Frank, could they be working with the Rogue? Guiding them to where you’re going? It’d be consistent with how often they’ve been accosting your group, yet something isn’t adding up. It took them nearly two weeks to track you down to your Home Base on LOMAM. If the Seer of Breath is working with them, their tracking process is slower than this, Robin should be days behind you after you left the Monastery.

“Friends, what is it that’s stalled us?” Esspin inquires as she catches up with you all. “There is news of our pursuers?”

“They’ve appeared in the Land of Ghouls and Bar Cars.” Dallra fills her in. “Far enough away to still have time, but close enough to not be a coincidence.”

“Bad tidings, indeed.” Esspin hums, resting her hands on her hips.

“Is Sara alright?” You ask the Highblood when you notice her Sylph is missing.

“Just a bit under the weather, still. She’s watching the little ones.” She assures you. “I take it, though, that there’s a reason other than the arrival of our rivals that we’ve stopped? We aren’t facing them head-on once again, are we?”

“The bridge is down.” You nod back to the scene.

“So we’re walking, then?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Maybe… There’s something I want to check out before we get to that.” You update them on the state of your transport. “I’ll be right back.” You say before heading back to the gulch.

“Jason.” Dallra says as she joins you by your side, walking in step with you. “About the bridge…”

“Did you see what happened?” You glance over to her as you go along.

“N-… no, I’m sorry.” She apologizes, her shoulders slumping a fair amount in defeat. “Creed had asked about the whereabouts of his party’s next train to the meet-up point. It was running behind schedule and they were getting stir-crazy, I-I was figuring out its arrival time when the explosion went off. The damage was already done by the time I looked.”

“Damn…” You sigh, getting tired of today the longer it goes on. Glancing off to the side, you take note of the unprecedented storm capping the nearby sky once more, reminding you of something else you’d wanted to ask. “Dallra… why didn’t you mention the storm?”

“The storm?” She repeats, slowly looking up to the dark clouds in the distance like she hadn’t even noticed them before. “I… I don’t know… I guess it was just… far enough away that it didn’t seem like a problem.”

“Even in passing?” You look up with her, watching the clouds twist and fold over one another like a den of snakes.

“Well… it’s not like it’s very unique on this planet.” She tells you. “It’s a Land feature. A-at least, I’m pretty sure. There are storms just like it all over the place.”

“Really?” You turn back to her, confused by what she’s telling you. LOGABC is a very soft aesthetic planet, with relaxing geometry and a comforting atmosphere. The storm seems to clash against the overall themes of the Land. You’ve already seen the bar cars, so you guess the storms are where the Ghouls are? “What’s up there, anyway?”

“I’m not sure. There’s too much corruption for me to see it properly.” She says as you reach the bridge once more.

“It’s another blindspot?” You inquire, thinking that’d be just another body for the corpse-pile that is this day.

“Not like the ones we’ve seen with the Prince of Life. It's visible there, and I can get glimpses of what’s happening in them, but it’s distorted. Almost like my vision there glitches out when I try to look.” She elaborates with an almost pained expression on her face, as she’s likely attempting to peer into the storm as you speak. “Something’s happening there, for sure, but like I said, it seems far enough away that we can skirt by without much problem.”

“I guess that’s true…” You nod before turning to face the gulch you’re stood at.

“You said you wanted to check this out?” She moves on, seeing you’re focused on the damaged crossing.

“Yeah. Something’s down there.” You say, feeling that same buzz pulling you towards it. “I just don’t know what yet…” Slinging Bootstraps onto your back, you free up your hands to equip your Rocket Boots + Gloves, shakily step off into empty space as the boots engage their jet engines.

“Be careful.” Dallra calls out as you slowly descend down, still not 100% with your flight gear.

“Yeah, it’d be a shame if you fell and broke your neck.” Mia adds, appearing by the ledge beside her. You give the ill-mannered girl a smarmy smile back as you fly out to the rail supports, using what’s left of the scaffolding as a makeshift ladder, rock climbing your way down to the blast wave that hit the bridge.

As you creep further and further down the structure, scuttling your way across the divide, you notice that the wood of the scaffolding is growing darker and more hard the closer to the collapse you get. Curious of the notable changes, you take a closer look as you go, finding that after a certain point, the harness of the wood begins to degrade, crumbling into mushy splinters if you grip too firmly on it before completely ending off further down at the collapse. It takes you a moment to realize that the scaffolding of the bridge wasn’t blown up, it collapsed on its own. This wood is ancient, probably a couple hundred years old, judging from the wear and tear alone. But… the wood closer to the cliff only looked to be a few years out since its refinement, maybe a decade or two old at most.

It’s at this point that you notice a disturbance behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, you find that Grandpa’s Bootstraps is going crazy, shaking and thrashing like it’s coming to life. Overly active now, you feel your temporal reserves naturally gravitating towards the artifact on your back, like a blackhole burning through space there, slowly drawing your entire existence on this chronological plane into it, falling backwards into its clutches. Taking it off your actual person, unsure what it’s doing, the thrashing only grows in the object as you bring it around to your front, making you worried it’s about to explode or-…… explode… Looking around, you realize you’re at the center of the collapse in the scaffolding, hovering in the gap left between the two sides of what’s left of the bridge, at the center point where the wood would’ve been the oldest before it folded under its own weight. That’s when it clicks. The wood aging as it grows closer to the center of the destruction, that buzz in your head leading you down here, Bootstraps being activated despite no energy being put into it. This place is a Rift in the Timeline. Something exploded out, washing the area in temporal forces that aged everything hundreds of years in the fraction of a second, causing the structural integrity of the crossing to falter in an instant, collapsing in on itself. Wait, so is that what Grandpa’s Bootstraps does? It detects temporal anomalies? Huh. You guess that’s cool. A little anticlimactic, if nothing else.

As you’re floating around through the ravine, conducting your investigation, you recall something from your newly given powers the Arena’s bestowed upon you. Opening up your Ability Index, you scroll through the resources at your disposal, finding what you were looking for a few rungs down. Time Restore. You’ve never used it before, but it seems relevant. You have no idea what it’d be for if not this very scenario. Selecting the ability, your arms are suddenly engulfed with a torrent of chronomantic power, your left arm only consumed up to your forearm, while your right seems to tingle all the way up to your shoulder. Okay… you think you get the gist of how the power works. Reaching out with your small arm, you focus on the area you aim to ‘Restore’, and with your large hand, you begin to turn back the clock, motioning in a counterclockwise manner.

“What’s he doing?” You hear Dallra ask, her voice echoing softly through the gulch.

“Something dumb, probably.” Mia answers, her voice echoing more harshly around you.

Ignoring the prying eyes, you channel the rewinding energies into the dismantled scaffolding, watching before your very eyes as the bridge is pulled back together, the wood fiber that’d long disintegrated into nothing reappearing from thin-air as the stakes sticking out from each side of the divide grow closer and closer together, eventually forming one final mass, completely restored as the Rift in the area is dismantled, almost like Space has Restored Itself once more. Whoa… Time Powers are so Awesome! Turning back to the girls at the edge you’d descended in from, you give them the thumbs up at your completed work. Dallra smiles brightly at you while Mia shakes her head, walking away. Well, you can’t please everyone, you guess.

Just as you’re about to fly back to them, your attention is turned back when your Ability Index reopens itself before the now-repaired bridge. Huh? You… didn’t do that… Oh, it’s already highlighted over an ability. Local Time Summons? Another power you’ve never used before. Hesitantly, you hover back to the screen construct and after a moment of inspection, you engage the pre-selected ability, and as you do, your eyes are suddenly ablaze with temporal energy, consuming your sight with a rhythmic twitching, keeping pace like a metronome. Resisting the urge to bury your eyes into the palms of your hands, which are currently jet engines at the moment, you focus yourself on the task at hand. You’re summoning something?

Looking before you now with an enhanced awareness, you notice a physical disturbance hovering through the area the Rift you just fixed sat. Hey, you’ve read about this before. This is a Ley Line, a channel that runs through the Tapestry of a Universe, bending Fate to a focal point of importance. And… you can summon something from it? Beyond your eyes, it seems this ability also has a presence in your fingers, with your digits cutting through space like a warm knife through butter. Moving forward towards the channel of spacetime, you try to go with the flow of the ability, digging your hands into the fabric there, prying open a passage through the timeflow. Forming as you pry further and further with this power is the Time Aspect’s symbology, a giant Cog construct growing larger as it rotates into existence before you as you pull whatever it is you’ve caught in the Ley Line to the present. There’s a resistance, however. The gridlock on the Timeline preventing you from fully bringing this Summons to fruition. From the moment you feel this pushback, you can instinctually tell that you’ll only be able to get a glimpse of what lies on the other side of this passage. Only gleam at the enigma Fate has wrapped in this instance. Pushing as far as you can, you finally enact the Ritual required of this power! And summoned to the stage you’ve set is…

“Oh shit…” Floating in the space you’ve allotted in temporal reality, frozen in a static plummet beside the bridge’s support beams, is the Heir of Time. The same bastard who had ambushed you alongside the Mage of Blood back on LOHAN. He’s completely upside down, falling-head first into the ravine in the moment you’ve summoned him from. Yet despite his predicament, a determined look dominates his face. Before him, the Heir holds his hands out, his palms facing parallel to one another, and in the space between them, he has conjured three spectral gears which clash against one another, activating an ability of some kind. He’s only a construct manifested by your Time Summons, yet even still, you can feel the power crackling at his fingertips. It was him. He set off a Temporal Bomb that took out the bridge. This power he’s activating must be some kind of Rapid Aging technique that sends the area it affects through hundreds of years the instant it goes off. But then… “Where’s the Heir…?” You say to yourself.

Peering down into the valley the bridge hangs over, you scan the area for anywhere the Heir might’ve ran off to in the aftermath of his little sabotage. Is he still nearby? Dallra didn’t mention him when she told you about Robin’s group arriving. If he was here, it’s possible he could’ve escaped through a Void Portal if their Thief is recovered enough, but how would he have gotten this close in the first place without Dallra noticing? It’s not like he could’ve jumped Back through Time to try and ambush you here, not with the Gridlock in place. Maybe he just Paused the Timeflow when Robin’s group arrived and ran all the way here? No, it’d take days to cover the distance between you and where Robin appeared on foot. There’s no way he could’ve stopped Time for that long. Can he attack through Time then? He wouldn’t have to travel through Time to do it, just send back disruptive rifts on the Timeline to retroactively detonate like a Reverse Time Bomb. Perhaps Robin’s group is only a scouting party, looking for places for him to attack you from in the future. Would that mean that they don’t know where you are? Just where you might be passing through? But that doesn’t make sense either. Destroying things through Time would be the Prince’s territory, and he’s been dead for a while now. Unless the Heir has his Boon…? No, the Thief of Heart would’ve claimed the Prince’s Boon, shouldn’t she have? Who else could’ve claimed it? Damn it, there’s too many angles to consider! It certainly doesn’t help that you know virtually nothing about these people! Is this Coincidence? Intentional? Did they have this planned out? You have nothing to gauge any of this off of with these people! You don't even know what you did to piss them off in the first place! You just want to get out of this hellhole alive!

Damn it. You don’t have time for this. No point in worrying about an ambush that’s already failed. What’s important now is getting that train moving again, and putting as much distance between you and Robin as possible. With your investigation concluded and your mind made up, you hit the boosters on your jets, flying back up to the top of the cliff, setting down on solid ground once more.

“That ritual you just performed… Was that who I think it was?” Dallra asks you as you unequip your Rocket gear.

“The Heir?” You glance back at where your Summoning took place. “Yeah. Seems Robin’s group is up to some Time Shenanigans.”

“Should we be worried?” She sighs, sounding just as exhausted with all this as you are. You shrug as she walks you back to the locomotive.

“Probably.” Returning to the side of the train, you meet back up with the three others of your group, Haugrr leaning over the engine’s railing beside Mia and Esspin. “I’m not sure on all the details, but an enemy Time user getting crafty with their offense doesn’t sit well with me.”

“There’s an Enemy Time User?” Haugrr asks with a bored expression, resting his cheek against his fist as he glances down at you.

“Yeah, and he was Already Here, which means we need to not be.” You explain to them. “Let’s pack it back up and get this rig moving again.”

“That mean you fix the bridge?” Mia skeptically peers at you.

“The best I could, yeah. It should be able to hold our weight, at the very least.” You inform her as you board your transport. “Regardless, I want to get to our next Gateway asap.”

“About the Gateways…” Dallra begins, anxiously tugging at the side of her hood, which she’s drawn over her head. “We… we need to change our destination.” She says, catching your attention fully. “We’ll be… we’ll be… going north… to the Lodaf temple.”

“Lodaf?” Esspin is the first to speak up, surprisingly enough. “Have we not been going west to the Locaf portal? For what reason does our expedition change?”

“I-… I’ve been looking over our possible routes, a-and going through Lodaf will save on time.” Dallra explains with a nervous tone. “And b-besides, the Lodaf temple is closer than the one to Locaf. With the Rogue’s group planetside, it could be beneficial to get off-Land before they realize we’re here.”

“The quicker we’re off the same world as Robin, the better, I suppose.” You nod along with her reasoning, surprisingly unopposed to another change in the plan.

“Are you sure?” Esspin presses her regardless of how good the idea of a shortcut is. “You seemed pretty confident about going to Locaf.”

“This way is best…it’ll be faster in the long run…” Dallra assures her before turning to head down the side of the train. “I’ll reach out to Creed and make sure they’re updated.” She says before hurrying away.

“…” Esspin watches silently as the Seer goes, looking as though she’d wanted to say something else, yet remains quiet nonetheless.

“Alright, back on board, you two. We’ve got a schedule to keep.” You tell the remaining girls as you turn your attention to the engine controls, trying to figure out how to get this thing moving again.

“Yeah, yeah.” Mia rolls her eyes as she jumps aboard, leaving Esspin to linger there a moment longer, deep in thought over some contemplation. There’s a worry on her face, yet unalike the general anxiousness that’s been plaguing your team as of late. There’s a knowingness to her distress. The way a captain watches a storm on the horizon, knowing it’s heading for their crew. You wonder what’s got her so unsettled…?

 

***

 

The optic units in your eye sockets dart from side to side, their analytic processors running on overtime to try and determine an exploitable pattern in your opponent’s attack rhythm. Their movements are quick, as though zipping from place to place around the cistern in an instant without so much as a sound. You’re having trouble getting measurable data on the Maid, only catching glances of her as she vanishes before you can get a proper reading. Damn. This is proving to be quite the conundrum you’ve found yourself in.

While you’re busy attempting to locate the threat in your vicinity, it seems the threat has already found its way to your doorstep, with a solidified bolt of blood hurling towards the back of your head without your notice. Moving you on its own, your Reflex Defense Matrix engages just in time to avoid total impalement, allowing you to walk away with only a gash against your lower jaw. Pivoting around, you manage to glimpse the tail end of the Maid’s abscond back into the shadows. Running your fingers across the opening in the side of your face, you determine the injury is negligible. No need for anesthesia to stay focused. Pulling away, you see your hand painted in a warm orange and yellow, the warmth in your blood still burning in your Thermal Sensors. That’s about all the mod is useful for. The Maid seems to be able to cool her body temperature enough to camouflage in your vision, making her near-untraceable with your current setting. Lord, it reminds you of when One Eighty-Seven would attempt to play hide-and-seek in the middle of the night without telling you first. Moving you once more, your Defense Matrix ducks you low, avoiding the two bolts that go shooting overhead. While crouched, you notice a disturbance in the field before you, the Maid advancing towards you head-on, her glide having a slight weight to it in the way she maneuvers, dragging slightly in her flightpath and creating a dip in the cistern waters. So her levitation isn’t perfected.

Reaching down before her, your opponent scrapes her palms against the floors of the cistern, reorienting the blood upon the grounds into a mass of shooting spikes, barreling out for your torso. Unfurling themselves upon your back, your Undulation Wings flutter awake, pulling you back as you dodge from the kill zone. With an actual target front and center, you equip Bertha to your grasp, taking aim and firing in a single fluid motion while you still have the opening. Your cannon is too cumbersome for combat this close of quarters to use actively, but with how hard pressed you’ve been so far, you’d gladly accept a lucky shot with enough power to level a building.

 

KADOOOOSH!!!

 

Your projectile rings out, electromagnetically propelled at a rate of Mach 5 towards the Maid. Yet with the reflexes of a cat, the Troll enacts her alchemy in a fraction of a second, conjuring from the blood about the room; a wall, no, a shield, in which your shot connects with, crashing with a tremendous snap! Hard enough to catch your oversized bullet, this Barrier the Maid has created erupts, as does your spent rod, shattering with an overwhelming payload that scatters the both of you. An unstoppable force meeting its immovable object.

Spiraling through the air, you come to a crash, landing prone upon the floor of the cistern. When you look up again, you find the Maid has vanished once more. Before you can even attempt to find her out in the dark, a bolt goes flying into your shoulder, hurled from the shadows to your flank and only barely kept from piercing through to your neck by your Reflex Matrix repositioning you last second. Blast it all, you’re like fish in a barrel with how quick she is! You’ll need to find some kind of reprieve soon if you are to last.

Scanning the room, you find your answer in the shape of Perses’ frozen form. If he’s the reason you’ve gotten into this, the least he can do is act as a shield for you in the meantime as you fix his mess for him. Springing forward, you throw yourself upwards, allowing your Wings to carry you the rest of the way until you reach beside him, positioning your back against his, performing a five point scan of the room, searching for the slightest of movement in the cool blues and purples in your view.

A lull comes in the Strife as you search. She’s looking for an opening. Fine by you. Keeping alert to your environment, you begin the steps involved with reloading your Main Battle Cannon, going through the motions like muscle memory to deploy another cartridge rod into Bertha’s launch chamber. As you work through the reload process, you think you see something slither up one of the pillars in the room from the corner of your eye, but when you turn to look, nothing is there. You hear on the other side of the room then as something slinks through the water. She’s toying with you. Well then, Little Miss Artful Dodger, if you think your body temperature trick is enough to get one over on this ol’ gal, you’ve got another thing coming! Blinking your eyes, you switch your sensors from Thermal to Infrared, swapping the field of hot and cold to black and white. She might be able to subdue her heat, but there’s no way she can completely throttle her electromagnetic presence entirely!

“Where are you, specter…” You mutter to yourself, swapping to Perses’ front to continue your scan. It’s then that you see a white figure zip between pillars, a living blur as she repositions from place to place about the room. Spiraling her way up to the top of a column, the Maid perches herself at the rooftop, conjuring to her grasp a bolt of blood that forms from nothing in her hand. God, you hate the magical arts… Hurling her piercing lance at where she deems to be a weak enough point on your person, she had intended to target your right thigh, still thinking you were lost in the dark, unaware of where she is. Juking out of the way, you whip yourself around, dragging Bertha’s enormous weight with you until you’re on the other side of your bodyguard, taking aim and firing while your opponent is still in the followthrough of her throw.

 

KADOOOOSH!!!

 

This time, the Maid hasn’t a second to react, as your projectile sinks into the stone of the pillar she was clung to like it were a soft soil, shattering an enormous chunk of the roof as its kinetic payload delivers on impact. It feels as though the entire cistern rumbles from the force you’d unleashed, shaking loose from the roof a fair bit of dust and gravel. Not good. As effective as Bertha is at dispatching the tougher nuts you need cracked, she’s not made for sealed combat like this. Any more discharges and you might collapse the whole room. And judging by the white blur that goes racing by, it seems it wasn’t a direct hit. Drat… You’ll need another strategy, lest you entomb you all down here.

Captchaloguing your Launcher, you instead substitute your Abstratus for the Bonesawkind, summoning to your hand the trusted Gullible Dancer, its mirror-like blade shining in monochrome before you. The surgical equipment isn’t in your grasp a full three seconds before you’re clashed at from above, the Maid upgrading her simple blood bolts into a fully formed Halberd, French in make, which she swipes at you from her perch upon the ceiling. You parry it well enough to not be completely thrown from your feet, but not much more can be said in this regard. You’re slashed at twice more before she’s able to slice open a diagonal cut across the back of your forearm, and once she does, you feel a twisting force course through your musculature there, as a significant blood flow is channeled from the relatively shallow slash. A curse to bleed you dry, you theorize. Have you mentioned that you hate the Magical Art? Because you very much do. You Very Much do.

Pulled away by the influence of your Undulation Wings, you manage to withdraw from the Strife a wide enough distance to recompose yourself. The Maid gives chase, of course, and with how fast she is, you can’t imagine you’ll be able to evade her very long. It’s at this point that you think you should probably reach back out to home base for advice. Attempting to establish a call with your allies, you find yourself faced with an ever-ringing response when you call Jason.

Pressing on you with a fervor now, the Maid reaches close enough to start taking swipes for your vitals once more. You aren’t particularly adept with martial combat, but your Reflex Matrix carries you enough to at least be proficient at keeping pace with your far superior opponent, managing to parry roughly 95-97% of the attacks she’s aimed for you. It’s that last 3-5% of attacks that land that’s posing the problem, however, opening up more and more ports for her Blood Curse to bleed you from. Despite being shallow nicks, your injuries let out blood at an exorbitant rate, all collectively bleeding the equivalent of a major artery breach. You’ve manually set your heart rate to a slower BPM to try and counter the effects, but you’d estimate you only have a few more minutes left before you’ve hit dangerous levels of blood loss. And since neither Jason or apparently Dallra are answering their cellular devices at the moment, you’re becoming hard pressed in this fight.

As you fence your way around the cistern with your pursuer not giving you a moment to recompose yourself, you move on to your next contact, hoping at least one of them has their notifications on. Suddenly, the call connects, and you’re greeted with an answer as the line crackles to life.

Hello[inquiry]
Creed’s voice comes through in your comms.

Mr_Ledermen</>If_I_recall_correctly</>you_were_well_versed_on_the_subject_of_Arena_Contestants</>were_you_not[inquiry]
You inquire, your words synthetically manufactured by your device as they’re translated directly from your brain's speech center.

I_guess_you_could_say_that;
I_inherited_some_info_about_Godtiers_when_I_merged_with_the_Boss\s_Mind_a_while_back;
He answers in the affirmative, allowing you a slight sigh of relief.
Why</>what\s_up[inquiry]

I_seem_to_have_found_myself_in_a_bit_of_trouble_and_was_wondering_if_you_could_provide_some_insight_on_the_matter;
You explain as you fly yourself into a dead end in the cistern, your back slamming against the red stone walls. Ducking to the left, you narrowly miss as the edge of the Maid’s blood axe berries into the brick your head just a second ago stood before. Kicking up, the reinforcements in your legs force the Maid off of you as you strike her in the underside of her jaw, spiraling back as she floats through the air. Taking the moment, you form a guard that looks as though you’ll go on the offensive, hoping a small bluff will buy you a bit of time. And buy it, it does, as the Maid backs off, attempting to vanish into the shadows behind her, watching you ever-present from behind her weightless tangle of hair.
Tell_me</>what_do_you_know_of_the_Maid_of_Blood[inquiry]

Maid_of_Blood-;
Hmm</>that\s_a_tough_one;
I\m_unfamiliar_with_their_specific_profile</>but_I_know_enough_about_Blood_and_Maids_on_their_own_that_I_could_probably_take_a_guess;
He explains as the Maid slithers from pillar to pillar, seeming to gauge that you’re able to keep track of her now, her ghostly appearance in the Infrared registering as you follow where she goes.
Wouldn\t_you_rather_ask_the_Boss_directly</>though[inquiry]
I\m_sure_he\d_have_a_lot_more_information_for_you_than_me;

No_one_from_home_base_is_answering_their_cellular_devices_at_the_moment;
And_as_it\s_rather_urgent</>I_don\t_have_much_time_to_await_a_response;
Suddenly, the Maid raises her clutching claws up, like a conductor indicating a crescendo, and beneath you, the bloody waters of the cistern shoots up, solidifying into spikes that try to impale you through your legs. You’d noticed a moment before as the waters shimmered, lifting up on your wings to avoid the gouging.

No_one</>huh[inquiry]
Last_I_checked_in</>they_said_they_were_having_a_pretty_chaotic_day</>but_I_guess_they_really_meant_it;
He hems, taking his time to ponder the inquiry now.
Okay</>Maid_of_Blood</>right[inquiry]
Well</>Maids_are_typically_beholden_to_others_for_their_Aspect</>almost_to_a_fault;
They_rely_on_others_for_guidance_when_it_comes_to_their_Aspect</>because_they_themselves_don\t_know_anything_about_it;
At_least</em>at_the_start_of_their_journey</>that_is;
While you’re airborne, the Maid lunges for you, the dagger-point of her halberd aimed for your heart when she strikes. You block her attempt with the side of Dancer, the flat point of the saw stopping the tip in place. Shifting her weapon off of yours, you shoot forward, carving a large gash across the back of her dominant arm with your saw, hoping that if you manage to disable the limb, you might slow her enough to handle.
Once_they_learn_how_to_use_the_Aspect</>they_are_freed_from_its_servitude;
They_no_longer_answer_to_others_or_even_the_Aspect_itself</>becoming_the_ones_who_set_the_parameters_for_how_their_house_is_run</>so_to_say;
Essentially</>they_decide_where_their_Aspect_should_end_and_where_it_should_begin;
They_create_and_create_through_their_Aspect</>which_in_this_case_would_be_Blood</>so_bonds_and_relationships</>or_in_its_literal_case</>blood_itself;

Apologies_to_ask_then_caveat</>but_I_don\t_need_their_entire_bibliography</>Creed;
You interject before the boy can start on another ramble, cutting to the point of the call. At the same time, the blood from the cut you inflicted on the Maid reorients itself, forming a golden armguard that seals and compresses the injury. Right. Creates with Blood. How novel.
I_need_to_know_how_to_counter_their_speed;

Speed[inquiry]
He pauses as you try to pull away from the Maid, finding difficulty when she shoots out a stream of her own ichor towards you, its form reorienting into a chain that wraps around your leg. With you caught, she attempts to reel you in like a common trout. Summoning a hearty strike, you send Dancer through the magical chain, shattering its link and freeing yourself.
Sorry_but_I\m_not_sure_what_you_mean;
Blood_Players_aren\t_known_for_speed</>if_anything_you\d_expect_them_to_be_slower_than_the_average_Player;
It\s_Breath_Players_that_are_the_fast_ones</>Blood\s_inverse;
Although you are loose from her grasp, the Maid is on you in an instant, using her entire wingspan to wind up a swing with her Halberd. You raise your guard, reinforcing Dancer at the back of its blade in anticipation. The swing hits, square on your saw’s serrated edge, but it’s halted with enough muscle on your end, holding the edge of the axe at bay for the meantime.

That_can\t_possibly_be_true[exclamation]
Breaking your little contest of strength with the Maid, you reach out, grabbing hold of her Halberd’s shaft to claim dominion over her grip on the weapon. With a hold on it, you rip Gullible Dancer forward, sawing her crafted weapon in two, too small to wield properly with the power she’d been putting into her attacks. Making an escape, you kick out, slamming your feet into the Troll’s stomach to spring off of her, using the momentum to launch yourself back to the ground, readying an overhead guard once you land.
I\m_facing_her_at_this_very_moment_and_I_can_hardly_keep_up[exclamation]
Her_flight_is_slower_than_when_she\s_on_the_ground</>but_even_then_she\s_nearly_a_blur;

Flight too[inquiry]
And_you\re_sure_this_is_the_Maid_of_Blood[inquiry]
Recovering from the hit, the Maid reorients herself upon the stone of the roof, looking down with an anger brewing on her pale face. Throwing her hands out, the two pieces of her bisected weapon liquify once more into blood, reforming back into two long daggers, rearming her once more.

Creed[exclamation]
You shout at the boy to hurry along as the Maid leaps down at you, dagger-end aimed for your eyes. You deflect her lancing attack, slashing the blades away against the edge of your saw as she lands. Before you, the Maid crouches to slow the momentum of her fall, and you attempt to carve a gash into her while she’s so close. However, by the time you’ve completed your swing, she’s already vanished from her space, appearing behind you.

Sorry</>it\s_just_that_only_Breath_Players_retained_their_ability_to_fly_on_their_own_in_the_Arena;
Creed continues as the Maid hugs around your shoulders, attempting to drive her daggers into your chest while behind you. You raise your guard out, struggling to hold your opponent at bay as she slowly presses the tips of her swords against your flesh
But_if_you\re_sure_it\s_Blood</>then_it_sounds_like_they\ve_inverted;

Inverted;
What_is_this</>and_how_does_one_counter_it[inquiry]
Unable to physically force the Troll off of you, you instruct the tendrils of your Undulation Wings to act in your defense. The Black tentacles coil back before springing forward, plunging themselves into the eyes and mouth of the Maid, prying her off of you with shock alone.

Inversion_is_what_happens_when_a_Player_gains_accesses_their_rival_Aspect\s_powerset;
It_can_be_brough_on_by_going_Grimdark</>receiving_a_deep_enough_trauma</>or_maybe_even_something_like_they\ve_messed_up_their_Godtier_Progression_so_badely</em>they\ve_started_gaining_Levels_in_the_opposing_Skill_Tree;
Pulling away from you, disgusted by the probing nature of your Wings, the Maid retreats back to hiding behind the pillars in the cistern, trying to lose your focus so she can stage another attack.
As_for_how_to_counter_it</>I_haven\t_got_a_clue;
Your_idea_is_as_good_as_mine;

You\re_a_creative_boy</>Creed;
I_implore_you_to_venture_a_guess;
Zipping around you, the Maid searches the room for an angle to pincer from, slithering from cover to cover, getting harder to track the faster she goes.

Alright;
Best_guess</>try_getting_the_Maid_to_flip_back_from_Breath_to_Blood;
You_do_that</>and_I\m_willing_to_bet_she\d_lose_that_fly_speed_that\s_been_giving_you_such_grief;
He theorizes as you’ve completely lost track of the Maid now.

Any_specifics_on_how_to_do_that[inquiry]
Slowly, you rotate around the room, scanning your entire surroundings looking for your opponent, keeping your guard up the entire time. She’s got to be here somewhere…

Dunno;
Blood_is_about_connections</>maybe_you_can_do_something_with_that;
Your contact unceremoniously notes, verging on being very close to unhelpful territories.

And_how_exactly_do_you_suggest_I_do_that[inquiry]
You ask back, starting to feel faintly perturbed by this entire situation. The anticipation of the Maid’s next attack is at an all time high now, driving your fight-or-flight response crazy.

If_this_Maid_is_so_far_gone_that_she\s_developing_Breath_powers</>I\d_be_willing_to_bet_she_still_relies_on_others_for_her_relationships;
She\ll_probably_be_pretty_easy_to_take_charge_of;
He clarifies his suggestion.
Oh_hey</>Boss\s_train_just_pulled_in;
You_want_me_to_go_hand_the_phone_over_to_him_real_quick[inquiry]

Thank_you</>that_will_be_all_Creed;
You sign off, ending the call. It’s at this point that your ocular units inform you that they’ve completed the filter for the Maid’s petrifying attack and have implemented them into your normal vision. Seeing as she’s grown stealthy enough to bypass Infrared anyways, you decide to swap back to nominal sight, greeted once more by the dimly lit hue of the cistern. She relies on others for relationships, was it…?

This may be crazy, but you’re out of ideas at this point. Returning Gullible Dancer back to your Strife Deck, you unarm yourself before stepping out into the open space of the room, looking out to the shadows around you, where you know the Maid lurks. It’s faint, but you feel as though you can feel her gaze fall upon you, leaving a chill to run up your spine, a prey-response to the lurking predator.

“Excuse me.” You call into the void of the cistern, knowing the Maid will hear you. “I feel as though we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I’d like to speak with you, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“…………” The room falls silent upon your offer of a peace-talk, the only sound permeating being an untraceable dripping of water from somewhere in the vicinity.

"...Scout's Honor, this isn't a trick." You call again, holding your right hand up as you press your thumb to your minimus, holding up your first three fingers for the Oath.

“…………………" Still nothing.

"If nothing else, we could-" Suddenly then, another blood spike comes rocketing out from the dark, a lightning bolt from a storm cloud. However, this death-craft doesn’t appear to be aimed for your person at all, landing into the ground before you, stabbing into the polished floor. Regardless of intent, the attack gives you a jolt, nearly causing you to double back on your call for a truce.

"..." And even still, in the aftermath of her attack, the Maid says nothing.

“Alright!” You shout into the dark with as stern a tone you have. “That is it, Young Lady! I’ve had enough of these games! Now you are going to come out right this moment, or so help me God, I will collapse this room on top of you!”

“…………” Still quiet enough to hear a pin drop, you receive no response. Unable to gauge how well your threat is registering with no one to read, you have no other choice but to double down.

“You have until the count of zero to come out.” You continue with this attempt, keeping your eyes peeled for any more attacks. “Five… Four… Three… Two…!” You don’t even get to one before you hear the splashes of footfalls on the flooded grounds, ringing out to your left.

Turning your attention there, you watch as from the dark, the Maid appears, bearing the posture of a scolded child, head down and anxiously rubbing the side of her arm. Seeing her there, you press your fists against your hips in annoyance at her taking so long to unveil herself. Creeping all the way up until a few feet from you, the girl stops, keeping a notable distance between you and her, too hesitant to get any closer than she already has. You march your way over the rest of the divide, standing before her with a stern and expecting disposition.

“s…sssorry…” She hisses at you.

“Excuse me?” You snap at her half-hearted apology.

“I-I-I’m sssorry!” She tearily hisses once more, catching your curiosity as to why she speaks this way. Looking closer, you notice the girl has a few awkward fangs that seem to jut into her tongue when she speaks, inducing a slight lisp in her ’s’s, making it sound almost like she’s hissing. After a moment of contemplating the proper apology, you decide to respond.

“I forgive you.” You promptly tell the Maid. Looking at her clearly now, you notice that her hair still seems to retain the waviness as when she flies, still giving it that living appearance it has. You also notice that she keeps it in messy bangs that cover her upper face, completely hiding her eyes. Looking her up and down, you find that the golden armband she’d formed around the cut you inflicted on her arm has vanished, leaving the laceration exposed to the air. “Are you okay?” You ask while looking at the injury.

“Um… yesss, I’ll be fine…” She passively tells you, her fingers on that hand twitching ever so slightly, clearly pained by the cut.

“Hold on.” You tell her, deploying your bag to the damp ground of the water-catch. Crouching down, you open the old gal up, searching for and eventually retrieving a small treatment pouch. “Here, let me see.” You tell her, gesturing for her to place the afflicted arm in your possession. She does so, albeit hesitantly, resting the belly of her forearm against your palm. Hm… Seems you got her good with this one. “This’ll sting a little bit.” You explain before spraying a disinfecting cleanser over the injury, causing the girl to flinch slightly. Washed properly now, you place the disinfectant under your arm as you pull out a gauze pad, draping it over the slash before wrapping a bandage roll overtop to secure it. “There. All better now, right?”

“Y-…yesss. T-thank you v-…v-very much.” She nods, seeming hesitant still. You notice that the girl continues to face down, refusing to look you in the eye.

“You really shouldn’t leave your hair down in your face like this, dear. It'll get in the way.” You tell the girl, moving a hand up to brush the tangled locks from her eyes. As you do, though, she quickly pulls back from your touch, almost instantly frazzled by your intention.

“W-wait, you can't!” She frantically tells you. “Not my eyesss! Don’t look!”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous, I’m sure you have beautiful eyes.” You tell her, continuing to reach regardless.

“That’sss not it!” She tries to pull away again, but you manage to catch her, clearing a patch in her messy bangs. Yet even still, she keeps her eyes welded shut. “Anyone who ssseesss them getsss frozzzen! Pleassse! I-I-I can’t control it! It’sss the Creeping Vine! They have a mind of their own, I-I can’t ssstop them!” Reaching out gently, you place your hands on the sides of the panicking girl’s face, slowly easing the fright from her body as you embrace the poor girl.

“Hey.” You kindly say, catching the girl’s blinded attention. “It’s okay.” You assure her, coaxing the girl out enough to peek her eyes open just slightly enough to see what’s happening. Seeing you there, unaffected by whatever she thought might happen when you saw her eyes, she slowly opens them up even further, a kind of starstruck awe overcoming her expression as she beholds you. You were right. Her eyes are gorgeous.

“But… but…” The Maid begins to stutter as little trails of honey begin to fall down her face, the tears streaming off her chin.

“Your eyes… they’re the reason you’re down here all alone?” You ask, seeing how broken up over the subject she’s getting. “You poor thing.” You say while removing your hands from her face to wrap them around her in a hug. “It’ll all be alright.” You assure her as you hold tightly to the Troll. You feel her pull away at first, unsure what you were doing to her, but settles when she feels the tenderness of the squeeze. She moves her hands under your grasp, raising them up slightly, as though contemplating if she should hug you back. This contemplation soon turns to hesitation, however. And after a moment of this embrace, the Maid breaks free, shirking you off as she steps back a few paces. There’s a startled look in her eyes. Not quite panicked, but certainly shaken up, like suddenly waking from a stupor, realizing she’d done something she shouldn’t have as she sobers to the world. Holding her hands out still, though this time to try and keep you at bay, the Maid breathes a few heavy breaths before darting away. “Wait…!” You call after her as she reaches the well in the cistern. She gazed back one final time with a conflicted look in her eyes, but without another word, she springs up, flying out through the rain catch in an instant. “……What a fickle young girl…” You quietly sigh to yourself, letting your shoulders slump as you can finally decompress from the Strife. Your opponent settled on Absconding in the end, it seems. Too bad. You’d have very much liked to get to know her better…

Glancing down at yourself, you find that while drenched in your ichor, the injuries that’d invoked such a bloody torrent have all tampered off, no longer affected by the Maid’s curse. As shallow as they are, you decide they aren’t serious enough to require any bandaging and can be allowed to scab over on their own. Turning your attention over to where Perses stands in the room, you find that unlike you, the Maid’s power still hangs over him, continuing to trap the Baron within his statued form. Walking over, you run a quick diagnosis of his condition, finding his vitals are still stable. He’s unconscious, from what you can tell, leading you to theorize that the instant cut-off from a source of air sent his body into a state of shock, knocking him out as a way to conserve the oxygen he had in his system. You aren’t sure if that’s typical of Troll biology, but nonetheless, if he were to stay like this, you imagine he’d asphyxiate before long. You should probably act fast, then. Equipping Gullible Dancer once more, you saw a small patch from the stone exterior that encases the Baron’s left arm. You have to pry quite a bit to remove it, and once you do, you end up revealing a bit of musculature underneath, confirming your hypothesis that the upper layer of the boy’s skin had been transmuted in this ‘Creeping Vine’ process. Luckily for you, and by extension Perses as well, this isn’t your first rodeo with petrification. There was a pesky strand of Basilisk in your session that proved quite the nuisance to deal with on your own. You still have a few doses of decalcifying agent left, and you just so happen to be feeling particularly charitable at the moment. With an injection site exposed, you deploy the unfreezing solution into your companion’s body. It takes a moment, but you notice as pieces of the stone on Perses begin to flake off like dust shaken from a rug, likely the dead skin cells that can’t be unpetrified by the agent leaving his form as the flesh is made well again.

“Ach-! Guh!“ Perses weakly mumbles as the stone of his face begins to move, regaining motor control there once more. Expectedly, the boy suddenly falls forward, landing on his knees as his joints unlock from their place without warning. As he lands, the rest of the dust on the Baron is shunted off of his form, like a tree losing all of its leaves at once, leaving the boy fully restored in the aftermath of your work. “Auhh… Oh god, w-… what the hell happened…?”

“And that’s why we don’t go around picking fights, young man.” You tell your ward, hoping he learned his lesson from all this.

“F-… fight…?” He repeats as his mental faculties return. You notice as the boy clenches his fists that a look of recognition flashes across his face. “That floating sow! Damnit! I swear to god, if I see that no-good xeno’s face again, I’ll rip her worthless head off!” With a disciplinary smack, you strike Perses across the back of his head at such a notion, knocking him forward. “Ah!”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort.” You inform him as he rubs the place you’d hit. “Now. Let’s do what we should have done in the first place, and climb out this well!”

“Yeah, yeah…” Perses sighs as he gets up again, slowly trailing behind you as you make your way over to the exit in the cistern. “So…” He grumbles while observing the damaged battlegrounds. “What’d I miss?”

 

***

 

“Attention, passengers, this is your conductor speaking.” Creed’s voice comes in over the intercom on the train. “We’re arrived at our destination, I repeat, we have reached the Final Station of today’s schedule. Please stand clear of the doors until we come to a complete stop and watch your step while disembarking. Thank you for traveling with Rail-Lederman, aaand we hope to see you again very soon.” You’re physically looking up at the speaker by the end of his announcement, unsure if he’ll think of anything else to tack on to his speech to make it sound more official.

“He’s having too much fun with that.” You decide, getting up from your seat as the train -chungs- to a halt, the momentum trying to throw you to the ground as your body continues forward a short bit. Looking around your cabin, you watch as the others ready themselves as well. Gretel throws back the rest of her glass of apple juice before scooting off her seat, landing on her feet and turning back to retrieve her backpack from where she just sat. “Everyone ready?” You address the car as Gretel dawns her pack and climbs up to perch on your shoulder. The rest of the room, being Mia, Ryder and Leah, seem to ignore you for the most part, heading to the exit on their own. Fair, you guess. From the way they’d described their journey so far, Team Witch Hunter has done a bunch of meandering through the cold and rain while out in the wild. Guess it’s fair that they aren’t in the best of moods. And Mia is just being Mia.

Unbothered by the disregard, you follow after the three, hopping off-board the train for hopefully the final time in the foreseeable future as you enter into a dark tunnel. Unlike the supposed Gateway Temple for the Land of Constellations and Frogs, which supposedly had a station built into its structure, the Temple to the Land of Dust and Fury has no such luxury. The most it has is an underground tunnel that passes through the catacombs beneath its foundation. You’ll have to ascend through the maintenance passages in order to enter the temple proper.

Stepping out into the damp tunnel, there’s a dank smell in the air, causing your nose to crinkle slightly as the scent. A few dimly lit sconces light the length of the tunnel enough to see a decent bit of it, but other than that, there isn’t much else to say of the place. It gives you an eerie feeling being here, so you hurry your pacing, not wanting to linger. As you walk along the side of the train, having a limited amount of space with only a small walkway in the tunnel to move on, you’re greeted with Esspin as she disembarks from her car alone. She looks forward towards the front of the train first before turning her attention back towards the caboose, her eyes lighting up when she notices you.

“Ah, Jason. Have you a minute?” She asks, fully descending onto the walkway as you go by, taking the spot beside you to walk.

“Nothing but!” You cheerfully reply, realizing you haven’t properly spoken with Esspin one-on-one in quite some time. “What can I do you for?”

“…Is……” She begins, only to pause, glancing back again towards the cars you’d just come from. “Is Dallra with you?”

“She actually went up to the engine a few minutes ago.” You tell her, realizing she must be looking for the Seer. “Said she wanted to get to the Gateway first so she could program the landing for everyone before they got there.”

“About that… Dallra has been acting strange lately, no?” Esspin inquires, glancing down at you to gauge your reaction. Gretel switches shoulder on your back to perch on your side closer to the Troll as she speaks.

“Um. Not… really?” You shrug, looking up at her with a confused look. “I mean, I guess she’s been a bit stressed, but it makes sense with all that’s been happening. We split up, and as soon as we do, it’s like we’re being attacked from every angle. Even Mary and Pers had that run in just today, apparently. She’s probably just trying to keep things straight the best she can.”

“I believe it might be something deeper, unfortunately.” She disagrees with a concerned shake of her head. “Dallra has adjusted our plans from time to time, but she’s never changed course so suddenly or drastically, for that matter, before. And never this close to our intended destination.” Esspin elaborates, bringing up Dal’s most recent pivots in your roadmap. Sure, it was a little last minute, but given all the new information you’ve learned about Robin, it makes sense that you’d have to make these changes. “And why Lodaf? I’d spoken to her about the planet before, and she told me it was a Partial Dark Zone for her. Dark Zone, as in; someone was blocking her vision there, and has been for quite some time now.”

“Well… that is a little weird, but… whoever it was blocking her sight probably just moved on to somewhere else.” You admit before thinking through what could be happening, seeing a reasonable explanation for what might be going on. “I know it might be a little stressful to go off course so suddenly, but it’s just a shortcut. You don’t have to worry about it too much.”

“What of you, Mia?” Esspin calls up ahead towards where the Maid trots along, causing her to glance back. “Surely a skeptic such as yourself has noticed something amiss in all this.”

“Eeh. This entire operation has always been one step away from collapse. Poor travel planning doesn’t strike me as anything out of the ordinary.” She dismisses the idea as well, slowing a bit to walk amongst you both. “Aside from the barely functioning mess this one tries to pass off as organization,” She notes, throwing a thumb your way. “I’d say it’s entirely possible that sense of dread your feelings is just you realizing the situation we’ve always been in. This plan has been operating on borrowed time for a while now.”

“Appreciate the vote of confidence, Mia.” You sigh as your trio reaches the service door that leads into a stairwell your group is cutting through. As you do, you feel on the top of your head as your Daughter gifts you a comforting few pats at your dejection.

“What I really want to know about is this little number.” She says, pulling out that country record you’d seen earlier, with the name ‘Jason Greene’ plastered on it. Gretel in particular takes an interest in the item, leaning over your shoulder in awe to thoroughly inspect it. “Any thoughts, Life of Country?”

“Umm… n-no idea.” You have a rather solid idea, actually. If you were to guess, you’d say Samantha and Ameliasprite left behind a relic from their inventory when they passed through LOGABC, and you just so happened to have the misfortune of stumbling upon it. Existential crisis withstanding, you’re rather nonplussed to find out that… that was your career in the rebooted timeline. You mean… country is alright, and yeah, you played the Banjo for a little while, but… really? What were you, some kind of mountain-man, hillbilly type? You’re pretty sure one of the lyrics in a song that played was about going blind for a week due to a bad batch of moonshine, for crying out loud! What the hell was that You up to?

“You’re lying.” Mia declares immediately, narrowing her eyes at you.

“It’s a common name, I’m not responsible for every Jason in the multiverse!” You defensively deflect her press as you try to hurry your ascent up the staircase.

“Every Jason Greene, though?” She raises an eyebrow at you.

“See, this is what I was speaking of!” Esspin exclaims, jumping back into the conversation as she recaptures both of your attentions. “You were both so eager to move on to the next topic like the previous didn’t even exist! It’s true for the others as well! Dallra racing ahead to the Gateway, as though dying to reach this new goal of Lodaf before she could stop to reconsider her decision. Creed and his team, agreeing to every alteration to their journey’s course! It’s as though we’ve all been yoked as livestock, and are being led without question. As though our possibilities are being plucked one by one, like the petals of a flower, drawing us closer to one inevitable eventuality. Bound to a single path, unable to acknowledge anything else as truth.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?” You suggest, hearing what the Troll is saying yet still finding it hard to believe everything she’s proposed.

“This is dangerous, Jason. Very dangerous.” She stresses, unaffected by your doubt. “There are forces at play that we have yet to realize. Beyond our Rivals, beyond the Dream Summoners that’ve coveted against us. Something is out there.” Reaching the top of the small stairway, you’re let out into a hollowed cavern at the centre of one of the Land’s plateaus. The entire place looks as if it’s been carved out over the course of centuries, with the interior stone so smoothly finished, it’s as if the rock here had naturally formed this way. Which of course, it had, being generated in congruity with the rest of the Land when the Medium was created.

“You’re sure of this?” Mia asks in a manner that lets you know that while she doesn’t believe what she’s hearing, she’s allowing the person who’s saying it the benefit of the doubt.

“For whatever reason, you all can’t seem to notice it.” She says, gazing down at the ground as she steps forward onto it. “Not the way I am able to… Until now, we’ve allowed ourselves to be guided by the Invisible Strings of our Fate, like a thread of twine that’s been leading us to the exit of a grand labyrinth.” Esspin slows her steps at this point, eventually stopping as she keeps her attention aimed towards the ground. Seeing this, both you and Mia follow suit, waiting back with her. “Yet now, it is as if a phantom threat has snipped that string, drawn it astray from our goals, off towards the unknown. Perhaps I have been too lackadaisical in dealing with this, but it is coming to a head now, and it feels as if it is too late to do anything about it. I don’t… I don’t know what to do anymore…” There’s a look of guilt on the Mage’s face as she speaks, a clear notion that she has failed in some regard, unable to live up to a responsibility she feels is owed to the group.

“Okay.” Mia says as if she’s decided something, raising her chin at the Highblood for emphasis. “I believe you.” You pause, unsure if you heard what you just heard. Mia… trusting something? Someone?

“You… you do?” Esspin asks, as though she can’t believe it herself.

“You’ve proven you know what you’re doing plenty of times before. If you’re convinced that something is happening, I have no reason to doubt you.” Mia explains to her Troll friend as a misty presence wells in the alien girl’s eyes. “If it’s too late to avoid now, then we’ll just have to keep our guards up. Whatever it is you’re sensing, we’ll take it down as soon as it rears its head.”

“But-“ Esspin begins, pausing to sniff away the tears. “But what if it proves too terrible a task to handle?”

“It won’t.” She assures the Mage. “Whatever may come, I’ll put it in the dirt, no question about it. Put your Faith in me, Esspin, and I’ll make sure it doesn’t even get close.”

“Miaaa…” Ess tearfully says before diving into a hug around the girl, nearly taking her off her feet as she swings her back and forth like a rag doll. “Thank whatever Heavens sent you!”

“Easy, girl, easy!” Mia grunts while regaining her footing, forcefully stopping Esspin’s throttle over her.

“You have my Undying Devotion, my friend!” Esspin declares with gusto while cuddling the Maid.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t go screamin’ it from the rooftops.” Mia begrudgingly accepts the praise, prying her way out of the embrace as she continues forward. Esspin trails behind, however, holding her by her shoulders to maintain a physical closeness with her friend.

“I still think you guys are overthinking things.” You comment while following after the two. “Honestly, I have a good feeling about this.”

“Then why have you been worried about enemies hiding just out of sight?” Esspin glances over her shoulder to ask.

“W-!” You’re taken aback at not only how direct, but how accurate the question is. “How do you know about that?!”

“You dream about it often.” She nonchalantly drops on you. “Of the Packfiends circling our camp out in the dark.“

“And since when can you see dreams?” You suspiciously question the girl with a narrow eye.

“Jason, I’ve directly spoken with you while visiting your dreamscape. Don’t you remember?” She asks back with a genuine surprise. You guess she gets her answer when she sees your confused look back at her. “It’s a sad day when a man no longer recalls his dreams. A sad day indeed.”

“Yeah, Jason’s pretty sad, alright.” Mia adds on, glancing back as your trio reaches the next passage up in the way of a series of notches etched into the Temple walls, forming a stone ladder.

“Alright, why is this about me now?” You protest as Esspin takes the lead, climbing up onto the earthen rungs. As she rises, Mia reaches out a hand, resting it on the Troll’s shoulder and seamlessly allowing herself to be carried up the wall by the Highblood. “In fact, I’d say I’m actually pretty happy at the moment, thank you very much.”

“Keep telling yourself that, bud.” Mia chuckles, glancing down at you from her mount while you’re forced to do the climbing yourself. Reaching the top of the ladder, you struggle to fully get yourself to the next level, throwing your leg up to the ledge to try and get a foothold on the landing. Gretel ends up crawling off of your back and onto the platform before you, grabbing one of your pant legs, pulling your lower half with all her might onto solid ground again. With a laugh, you give her a ruffle on the head at the assist before she scales your arm, back onto your back again. Practically jumping to your feet, you hurry after the girls who hadn’t even waited for you, trotting up a few stone carved steps as you rise into the roof of the cavern, entering a domed room in the ceiling with large porous gaps cut through their walls, letting the outside world peer through above you. At the center of the room site the Gateway, already prepped and ready, with you being the last to catch up with the group. At least… you thought you were the last person, but it seems you’re missing some people. By headcount, it looks like Sara, Ryder, Leah and Haugrr are all gone.

“Is everything alright?” You ask, noticing the noticeably empty room.

“A few people ended up going through early.” Dallra informs you as she patiently waits besides the portal. “Don’t worry, I’m keeping an eye on them.”

“Oh…” You note, finding it odd that they’ve gone through already. At first, you were a little startled to see your group down a few members without reason, but thinking it over, you don’t see anything wrong with it. It’s not like your group hasn’t split up before, right? “Well… let’s not leave them waiting, right?” You do your best to recover from the strange feeling welling up in your stomach.

“Huh. Sara is one to wander off, I suppose… but she usually lets me know beforehand…” Esspin mutters to herself, concern reappearing once more on her face.

“Ess, we should talk about that.” Mia begins to broach the subject of Sara’s condition with the Troll, a notable chagrin in her voice.

“Boss.” Creed greets you as you walk up, Ragnaa at his side. “Any of this strike you as odd?”

“Not really.” You shrug, relatively unbothered by the events taking place. “Why?”

“It feels like my sixth sense is trying to warn me about something.” He tells you while crossing his arms, frustrated with his conundrum.

“There’s danger nearby?” You inquire, more alert at the sudden prospect.

“That’s the thing. I’m not sure what it’s trying to tell me.” He glances off in the distance with an unreadable look, thoughts occupied behind those cracked glasses of his. “It’s like it’s been activated, but it has no message to deliver. Nothing but static.”

“Maybe you’re just tired?” You suggest, knowing he’s been burning the wick at both ends since he left with the Triplets.

“Hm.” He grunts, neither positive nor negative. “Rags, you had something you needed to tell him?” Creed glances over at the girl. She jumps a bit at being called on out of nowhere.

“U-u-um… I’ve… been… seeing visions of the Land we’re traveling to.” She bashfully explains, sounding unsure of herself. “It started a little while before we met back up at the last station, but all of a sudden, I had a clear vision of the world in my thinkpan, peering at me through the storm clouds. The longer I looked, the… the more the world started to break. Cracks formed at its edges, penetrating deep down to the core of the planet. Until…” She trails off.

“Until?” You prompt her to continue.

“Until it completely broke apart.” She warns, causing a chill to run up your spine. “Enormous chunks the size of continents, left drifting away from one another as the planet was shattered to pieces.”

“Your premonitions are only abstract, aren’t they?” You ask the girl, hoping this is just some overstated Omen she’s seen. “Y’know, open for Interpretation?”

“Or do we have to seriously factor in the threat of the ground beneath our feet falling away?” Creed asks the tougher question.

“Most of the time, the hallucinations I see are symbolic of something more, but what I witness in The Gloom is almost always happening in concurrence with the present.” She tells you both.

“Don’t suppose D’s mentioned anything about the whole World being Destroyed, has she Boss?” Creed asks while glancing over at Dallra, who’s busy maintaining the Gateway’s configuration. Hearing his words, the image of Arnimonemus flashes through your mind of your last meeting with the Great Fish, his words echoing in your head. Puller of Strings; Destroyer of Worlds.

“Not that she’s said to me…” You mumble, deep in thought. The world is coming apart? Could this be related to what Esspin was saying…? No, surely it has to be a coincidence. Right?

“Excuse me, Mr Jason?” Gretel says, leaning over your shoulder. “I’m not sure what event you’re all talking about, but LODAF is only supposed to experience an Age of Darkness. There’s nothing in their prophetic texts about the total destruction of the planet.”

“…It’s possible what I saw… could only be analogous for something?” Ragnaa shrugs, offering you an alternative to fit your thought process.

“Well… it’s not like we can back out now. Even if something bad might happen there, half our team is already on that rock.” You inform them of your situation. “We can’t just abandon them there.”

“…Suppose so.” Creed agrees as he looks at the Gateway portal, the faint hum of its energy filling the room.

“Speaking of which,” You look to Dallra, who glances back herself to you, curious what the hold up is. “We should get going. Hopefully we’ll be able to cross through Lodaf quickly and quietly.”

“None of us have gone through early before.” Ragnaa says as you take your first step away, causing you to pause when you hear her. You turn to watch her as she thinks through her statement longer. “We’ve only ever gone through Gateways as a group.” She continues with a genuine inquiry. “Why do you suppose some of us went through this time?“ The question ties a knot in your stomach, and that same feeling that came over you when you first saw your missing teammates returns tenfold. Why did they go through first? What caused them to want to venture forward alone? Just then, something Esspin said roars through your mind like rolling thunder;

 

The Invisible Strings of our Fate

Drawn astray from our Goals

Off Towards the Unknown…

 

“We need to go.” You quietly tell them, leading the way to the portal. Your footfalls are heavy, like you’re trying to walk underwater, like you’re in a dream. You don’t know what else is said, or if it was you who said it. You don’t particularly recall. All you remember is when you place your hand upon the hardlight of the Gateway, warping away from where you know you are safe.

Emerging back into reality on the other side of the threshold, your immediate task is to find your team. This task is completed near-instantly as you search your surroundings, finding Haugrr waiting patiently in your landing zone, leaning against a nearby wall. Inspecting where it is you’ve wound up, aided by Gretel who looks around alongside you, you’re surprised to find that you appear to be under a very large bridge, with an arching brick ceiling hanging over you with a cool feel to the dank air. Ahead of you sits the exit of the tunnel, blaring with a bright light at the end of it.

“Made it, finally?” Haugrr nods as he sees you appear.

“Where are the others?” You demand as you step closer to the light.

“Exploring, I think?” He shrugs, unconcerned that your allies have apparently gone frolicking through the wilds of a battlefield. “Something’s up with this Land. There’s a weird buzz hanging over the place.” He adds on while pushing off the wall he’s leaned against, walking over to greet you. “I don’t like it.”

“And this is unusual?” Creed asks him, appearing by your side.

“Of course it is, what the hell kind of question is that, I just said the planet was buzzing.” Haugrr chastises him in a single breath. Suddenly, you’re taken by the hand and pulled forward.

“C’mon!” Dallra enthusiastically says while stepping past you as she takes the lead. “Let’s meet back up with everyone else!”

“Y-yeah…” You agree, confused at her sudden gumption. Glancing back, you see that Mia, Ess and Ragnaa have all made it through safe as well. Good… So long as you’re all together, you should all be fine.

Hurried through the tunnel, you almost have to ask Dal to slow down, she’s pulling you so fast. Eventually, the clacking echo of your shoes hitting the stone floor beneath you are muffled, as your footfalls fall foot first onto something soft. Grass? Or is it a moss…? Whatever it is, it’s like stepping onto a cloud… Exiting out into the wilds of this new world, you’re shocked to find that instead of a Land of Dust and Fury, you’re instead met with soft rolling hills shining with beautiful rays of light. Gazing up, you see that while the light shines down on you, you’re still technically within a cave. High above you sits the roof of the enormous cavern you’re in, with a few porous voids weathered into the ceiling opening up to the skies of LODAF from which the light shines down through in the shape of large spotlights. Nearly every inch of stone down here is covered in this moss substance, crawling up the walls and out through the voids in the ceiling, leaving a lush atmosphere in this subterranean world. A light breeze even blows past you, with the cave being large enough to have its own climate, it seems.

“Right?!” Dal excitedly asks upon seeing your befuddlement, glancing back at you with a giddy smile. “It’s beautiful…” She swoons, leaning into you as she tightens her grip on your hand. Watching her as she looks out at the sight before you all, you can’t help but notice a twinkle shining in her eyes.

“What is this, the fucking Shire?” Creed asks as he walks up beside you.

“This looks just like…” Esspin appears by your other side with Dal in between you.

“Like the Brooding Caverns, doesn’t it? It’s a bit overgrown, but it’s just like back on Alternia!” Dallra continues excitedly describing the place. “It’s like something out of a Dream…!” You look back out to the large subterranean space, trying to appreciate what it is that Dallra sees in a place like this. It’s pretty, you guess, but… was this… Did Dallra change course just so she could get a glimpse of home? You get it, you suppose. If you could return to Earth, or hell, even your house back on LORAH, you’d take it in a heartbeat, but… why didn’t she let you know what she was planning?

“You’ve been having dreams of Alternia?” Esspin inquires with a tone serious enough to catch your attention. Looking at her, you notice she seems to have come to the same question that you have, wondering if this shortcut was orchestrated for the sole purpose of easing the homesick your Guide’s been feeling.

“Here! There’s so much to show you!” Dallra excitedly begins to pull you forward, ignoring the question delivered to her. You glance back to see Esspin looks as if she’s about to call after you, but her focus is pulled away when she notices something past where you stand in her sight, causing her to dawn a sad and worried look on her face. When you turn to see where she’s facing, you spot the center of her attention off on a nearby hill that crests higher than the others in the area. Sara is there, sat in the grass with a distant look as she gazes out at the miles of endless cavern before her, lost in thought, arms hanging limply out before her as they rest atop her knees. She’s alone, and from what Mia’s told you, that’s probably not a good thing.

“Hey, so we’re really close to the Logaw temple now, right?” You ask Dallra as you glance towards a few different horizons in the cave, noticing a handful of small consort houses on the hills in the distance towards the left of where you are.

“Yeah! Super close.” She nods, glancing back to you to point forward to a darker spot in the cave where only a few holes in the ceiling shine through with light in. “We’ll just have to pass through this next blindspot, and the temple is basically on the other side!”

“Blindspot?” You stiffen up upon hearing the word.

“Yeah, one of those gaps in my vision?” She clarifies, misunderstanding what it is you’d asked. Esspin was right then, LODAF was still a Dark Zone for Dallra. You could see her taking you through a blindspot if it was a quick enough shortcut, but why hadn’t she mentioned anything about it? Was she afraid you wouldn’t sign off on the detour if you knew the risks? Was she really that desperate to see this cave in person that she’s risk attack like this? And why-… and why are you so worried about this…? Dallra knows what she’s doing. You have faith that you’ll be fine in her hands!

“Oh, right.” You nod, no longer stressed over the little things. It’s the big things you’ve got to worry about. The enemies that are closing in on your team. They could be anywhere, remember? You should get moving as soon as you can, shouldn’t you?

Continuing on, you reach the edge of the area you’ve arrived in, finding yourself at the top of a rather large valley in the cave that leads down into a flatlands at its bottom, extending far off in the direction of your path forward. From this high up, you get a good lay of the land, spotting a small village in the distance. This area of the cave in particular has nearly no gaps in its ceiling, leaving the lowlands in an almost night time state, with the village lit aglow with lights in their windows like a picturesque country villa you’d see on a postcard. A few rays of light shine down here and there, but the holes in the roof they come from are all small, too narrow to light up more than a spot or two, and they’re so few and far between one another, you could easily miss them at a glance. Still though, it’s a stunning view. You can see why Dallra had you take this detour now!

“Amazing, isn’t it?” She asks you as Gretel takes in the scenery as well, looking from your shoulder.

“Yeah…” You respond as you gawk at the sight, a light breeze passing over you as it blows in from down in the valley. “It’s beautiful!” Turning to her, you find a calmness on Dallra’s face that you haven’t seen in what seems like forever, since before you’d woken up on LOCAL, you think. It feels as though you’ve weathered the storm, coming out on the other side not unscathed but whole nonetheless. It feels as though this is what it was all building up to, this very moment in time. All the hardship and heartache. Gone. You’re finally on the other side. “And so are you.” You tell her, caught up in the moment. She looks back at you with a goofy smile that seems to melt her where she stands. You lean in, but she’s the one to meet you first, lips gently pressed then locked against one another as you feel the burdens shirk from your shoulders, relief finally uncoiling the hateful knots your weary form had collected all this time. A kiss to celebrate the pinnacle of your triumph. It feels as though this could be just a fantasy…

“Hey now, let’s keep it PG, y’all.” You hear from further down the hill leading into the valley, causing Dallra and you to pull away with a giggle. Glancing to the speaker, you find Leah and Ryder before you a bit down the hill, your Knight stood to address you while the boy lies on the incline, stretched out in the grass on his back while his head rested in his hands.

“Leah, how goes it?” You cheerfully greet the girl.

“Doin’ a bit of scoutin’. Coast seems clear enough.” She reports with a raise of her chin.

“Excellent.” You smile deeply at her attentiveness. You’re so lucky to have these people in your life… “What of you, Ryder? Do you find this an acceptable route?”

“The hell are you asking me for?” He scoffs, glancing up at you from his resting spot. From his perspective, you must look upside down to him. How funny! “Well… I guess it wasn’t really what I was expecting.” He continues when you say nothing in return and simply smile at him as a response. “This place doesn’t really scream ‘Dust and Fury’, ya know?”

“It’s actually kinda nice.” Leah sighs with an admitting tone, a faint smirk crossing her face. “Gotta hand it to ya, Doll. Maybe taking this short cut wasn’t so bad after all.” Color you impressed! You didn’t even think Leah was capable of smiling.

“You too, Sister?” Esspin says, suddenly appearing behind you at the precipice of the valley. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed it either! You of all people?”

“Noticed what now?” She tilts her head to the side at the Mage, resting her hands against her hips.

“I had hoped your doubtful streak might’ve shielded having your sensibilities from this plague, but it seems only I can see the work at play here.” The Troll sighs, dejected as her shoulders slump more than they usually do in her stature.

“You worry too much Ess.” You beam at the girl, trying to cheer her up. Hearing you, your Mage cocker her head to the side to glance your way, as though unsure of if she heard you correctly. Though once she gets a good enough gander at you, she turns completely to face you, suddenly concerned over something she’s seemed to notice. Grabbing hold of you by your face, you’re surprised to say the least when your Highblood friend begins forcibly turning your head from side to side, closely inspecting your features there. “H-hey!” You protest as Gretel slumps herself over the top of your head to avoid being bumped around.

“What madness…” Esspin mutters to herself while looking you over, her face falling paler and paler. “Blind Faith…”

“You mind?” You ask, gently removing the hands from your cheeks. “I’m not sure what’s gotten into you, Ess, but you seem unwell. Would you need us to stop for a while?” Pausing a moment, Esspin gazes off through you, likely lost in thought trying to figure out what’s happening to her.

“We keep moving.” Mia declares, appearing with the rest of your team following her in tow. “Esspin. I’ll worry about Jay. Look after Sara for now, okay?” The Maid assures her, nodding back to the rear of the group where Sara trails behind. Seeing her responsibility to the girl, Esspin winds up to say something more, but settles, remaining silent and simply nodding back to Mia, agreeing with her directions and moving to join the Sylph. “We ready?” Mia turns to you now with a look too ambiguous to decipher. Is she disappointed? Angry? Tired? You never know how to read that girl.

“No time like the present!” You emphatically declare, moving forward to lead the others, heading downhill towards the flats of the valley.

“Already, huh?” Ryder sighs, glancing at you as you go by.

“Off your ass, runt.” Mia orders as she passes as well. You hear him loudly huff before making a distinct rustling sound in the grass, signaling he’d risen to his feet.

“What took y’all so long to make the jump?” Leah asks while joining Ragnaa by her side. “Almost thought that we lost ya a ways back.”

“We had a few last minute details to discuss about the plan.” Creed informs her as your group makes the slow descent down the slopes. “It seemed better to stop and organize before taking the crossing.”

“Details? What kinda details?” She presses, sounding incredulous of the perceived secrecy.

“Just a quick chat regarding the safety of our travels, nothing to get bent out of shape over.” He rests her assures with linguistic mastery.

“It’s even worse than in my visions.” Ragnaa mutters while rubbing her shoulders, the way you would if you were cold. “I don’t like this place…”

“You and me both, chica.” Haugrr huffs, appearing alongside them. “The air is too crisp on this planet. It cuts at your throat like razor wire. And the silence of the cave makes you feel like you’re walking through a minefield…”

“Try to tough through it for now, okay?” Leah tries to comfort her Seer the best she can. “It should only be a little while before we’re at the next launchpad.” Looking about the group, the Knight turns from side to side, searching for something. “Where’s Ryder?” She asks after a moment. And as if to answer her, the Page goes shooting down the hill beside you all, sliding across the grass on the heels of his feet.

“YEA-HE-HE-HEAAAAAH!!” He shouts while going by, overjoyed to be going so fast as his momentum accelerates.

“Wha- Ryder! Don’t go running off ahead!” The Knight tries to scold him, perking up to see over the heads of the people in front of her to keep eyes on the boy.

“It ain’t runnin’ if you don’t lift your feet!” Ryder calls back, giving no mind to the girl’s concerns.

“Dang it…! Hold on, Rags, I’ll be right back.” Leah tells the Seer while stepping beside the group to hurry down the hill faster, giving chase after the Page and eventually copying the same surfing technique to descend the incline.

“Hmm…” You hear Mia raspily hum as she watches the pursuit. You know that hum, you’ve heard it plenty of times. She’s annoyed by something she’s seen and is trying to think of a way to change whatever it is.

Continuing down the hill as your group makes idle conversations, you eventually catch back up with the Knight and her Page as the girl tries to scold him over his careless attitude towards safety measures. Ryder doesn’t seem to care, however, and simply continues on with the group as they go by, leaving Leah forced to follow after, still spouting her lessons to the boy. You try not to pay much attention to it, not letting anything ruin this roll you’re on right now. You lead the pack for a while as you cross the vast cavern lands, eventually coming to the edge of night in the cave, finally reaching the cusp of where the last large opening in the ceiling shines down to. One by one, you all venture past the visible border of the land, entering into the shadows of the cavern. It almost reminds you of when a large enough cloud passes over the sun, hiding the world below it within its shade.

A notable change in temperature comes along with this transition, with the heat from the light no longer gracing your skin. You don’t mind it much, however. Gretel is practically a living heat-pack, snuggled up on your neck the way she is, and Dallra is hanging close enough to exchange warmth with you as you walk. If anything, you’re even more cozy in the dark. You hear as some of you lag behind, though.

“What’s wrong?” Sara’s voice travels to you, catching your attention. Glancing back, you see as she waits behind with Esspin, who’s stopped at the cusp of darkness, refusing to leave the light.

“Nothing, it’s just… for some reason, it feels as though I’m about to walk off into an endless fall if I take another step forward.” She explains, her eyes glued to the visible line where light meets dark. “And I suppose I’m just a little bit afraid of that… haha…” There’s a nervousness on the Highblood’s face that you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. Esspin is usually so merry and high spirited, but now she’s acting like a cat being presented with a bath. Maybe there really is something wrong with her. Perhaps you should take refuge in the upcoming town to see what’s up with the girl.

“If you feel like you’re falling, then… I-I’ll be sure to catch you!” Sara tries to summon enough enthusiasm to motivate her companion, still sounding exhausted herself.

“While I appreciate the gesture, my Love, I wasn’t speaking of a literal fall.” Ess says, swallowing a gulp before nervously smiling, eyes still locked on the ground before her. Sara’s shoulders slump a bit hearing this, and she gazes off towards your group as it grows further and further from them. Contemplating what to do, the Sylph looks down at the ground as well, though not to scrutinize the borders between known and unknown the way her partner has, but to perhaps think of what to do next while at this crossroad she’s found herself at. And after another moment longer, she turns to look at the Mage.

“I can’t go on without you.” You barely hear her say you’ve gotten so far away. Upon this decree, Esspin’s attention shoots up from the moss-laden floor of the cave with a surprised blush. She stays there a long and dragging moment, looking like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming semi, before straightening out a bit, nodding as she takes the first steps into the dark to join the Sylph. Sara, delighted to have the Troll join her, leans against the Highblood, hugging onto her arm as the two walk at a leisurely pace, uninterested in catching back up with the group right away. Before you turn back forward again, you notice as Esspin bows her head towards the Sylph, nuzzling the side of her cheek as she leans in to whisper something imperceivable from this distance. Whatever it was, Sara seems to lift in spirits a bit from it, a content smile crawling across her face as they walk.

Turning forward again, you focus on enjoying your own embrace with Dallra by your side, however, the moment seems to slow as you notice something ahead of you on your path. At first, you think your eyes are playing a trick on you. A decent ways away, a ray of light shines down from one of the few gaps in the ceiling in this area, cutting through the darkness of the field you’re in like a knife. And just on the other side of this light, you thought you saw movement. Dallra hasn’t mentioned anything, but… you’re in a blindspot, aren’t you? You peek over at the Seer to find her happily walking along, her eyes closed as she lets you lead her on the walk. You’re getting that strange feeling in your stomach again…

Looking back to the ray of light ahead, you notice you’re approaching the breach through the void at a faster rate than you’d realized. Squinting to try and get a better look, you find that, yes, there is in fact movement on the other side of the sunbeam, hidden just behind it as whatever it is out there sits at the edge of the dark. There’s someone there. A person? At first, you think it could be a consort or two from the village, lounging about in the fields outside their home, but as your group draws near, you see whoever or whatever this thing is, it’s tall. Not monstrously, but enough that you can tell it isn’t a consort. Despite the danger bells sounding off in your mind now, your legs, as though with a mind of their own, continue forward, unabated by the threat on your path.

Marching ever forward, you’re close enough now to make out that it isn’t just one or two people out here, but four distinct figures stood out in the shadows. One is out at the front, sitting on what appears to be a large rock with their legs crossed at their knee, as the three others wait attentively behind them. These… these are Godtiers… And they’re just… sitting out here in the open? Shit, you’ve got to… you’ve got to…! Relax. You’ve just got to relax. They’ve seen you, haven't they? They have to have, you're right there in front of them. And yet they haven’t attacked or tried to hide to take you by surprise. Surely that means they’re friendly! Getting a bit closer now, you can just make out the affinities of the Aspects they bear. The one at their forefront bears the Banner of Hope, the one to their left bears the Banner of Rage, and the two to their right, Void and Mind respectively.

“S-… s-stop, Stop!” You call, suddenly roused from your trance-like march to announce to the group what it is you’ve seen. Forcefully halting your stride, you turn back to make sure the others are all aware of what’s happening and have slowed down. They all have, and between the lot of them, you see a mix of expressions, ranging from confusion to alarm with the ones perceptive enough to spot the figures hidden behind the light. Turning back, you feel the breath begin to quicken in your chest, anticipating every possibility of what’s about to take place. Looking closer, you see beyond the light even further, making out the distinct shapes of the robes the individuals wear. The one at their forefront, the one sat before the others, by the gleam of their boots, you know them to be the Thief of Hope, the one at their side must be the Mage of Rage if that cape is enough to go off of. The two at their flank, the Void player has dawned Sylph garbs, and the Mind player bears the telltale shorts of a Prince. Seeing them all there, you feel a tiny voice speak up at the back of your head, trying to tell you something, an unconscious thought you’re too enthralled to hear, too focused to realize what it’s saying while you marvel at these mysterious figures, understanding the potential of such Powerful Allies. If you could get hands clasped with one of them, activate the Acquainting Shake Finlus had given you, it’d be child’s play to bring them into your cause! That’s what Finlus gave you the shake for, wasn’t it? To catch allies like fish in a net? This is your chance to make friends with some serious heavy hitters, you can’t pass it up! Especially with Robin growing more and more aggressive by the day. You’ve got to make your move while you can!

“What’s happening?” You hear Esspin ask as she and Sara catch up, seeing you’ve all stopped out in the middle of nowhere. She’s tall enough to see over the heads of the others, however, spotting the unmoving figures waiting just on the other side of the spotlight. “Who… who are they…?” She pivots as her eyes drift towards your place at the group’s front, the chilly fear in her voice a palpable echo which crosses over the others to you specifically.

“We’re about to find out.” You tell her, facing back to the other group as you gently pick Gretel up off your shoulders and place her down beside you on the ground. “I’m going out there.”

“Don’t.” Esspin orders while stepping to the front of the crowd to stand beside you, looking back to the four individuals who’ve yet to move from their places, as though waiting patiently for you to take the first steps with acknowledging them in this sudden meeting. “My friend, this doesn’t feel right. Why are we approaching like this? Why are we approaching at all? We have no business with these people, not to mention we must keep our pace if we are to reach the Witch in time!”

“I’m with Hornz on this one, Boss. Something’s off.” Creed backs her up, an anxious chatter in his teeth as he grits them on edge.

“You two are being ridiculous. They haven’t so much as moved an inch to attack since seeing us, not to mention we’re over double their numbers. We’ll be perfectly fine.” You assure the two to the best of your abilities. “We recruited Perses in the same exact way, and he turned out to be a solid bet. Besides, we need to fortify our defenses with the Rogue’s group taking shots at us as often as they are. These four could be the perfect opportunity for us!”

“Jason, for the Love of Heaven, listen to what you’re saying.” Esspin pleads, seemingly overdramatic from this mundane situation. “You’ve been bewitched! Enthralled by the force that’s drawn us all here! Don’t do this. Please…!”

“Trust me, Ess. I’ve got this one.” You assure the girl once more before turning to the task at hand.

“Gods help us…” You hear her mutter while pushing a hand through her hair in astonishment. You pay it no mind. With a confident breath in, you step forward, crossing the small divide between you and these newcomers, curious how close you’ll have to get before seeing a reaction from any of them. Once you’re a little over halfway from your group to theirs, you see their first move, with the Thief sat at their front unfolding their legs to stand. You’re only a few feet away now, able to get a decent look at the individuals before you through their veil of light. She’s human, with dirty blonde hair that hangs down in long curls in front of her face. From beneath the dreads you see two beaming golden eyes centered directly on your position before her, which unnerves you for a moment after you notice.

“Hello there!” She kindly calls over to you once you’re closer to her group than your own.

“H-hi!” You call back, somewhat surprised at someone else starting the introductory conversation for once. Usually at this point, you’d already have a knife to your throat or some solidified force of energy slung at your head to decapitate you. You have to say, it’s a nice change of pace. “It’s uh… It’s great to meet a group of people who don’t start a strife as soon as they see us, haha.”

“Very much so.” She agrees while stepping forward into the spotlight, fully revealing herself before all of you. It’s at that point you take note of how small she is, standing probably over half a foot shorter than your own height. “Horribly uncivilized, I must say.”

“I’m Jason.” You say, extending your hand with a subtle nervousness stiffening your movements, knowing the power the simple gesture holds. “Page of Time, a-and leader of the group back there.” You nod behind you to the others waiting to see what happens. From the corner of your eye, you get a brief glance at them all. There’s a general anxiousness that hangs over the pack that normally comes when you meet someone new, not yet fully sure of their intentions for you. However, standing out in the crowd is Esspin, with grit teeth and clutching claws, she looks only a step away from snapping. Shit, let’s make this quick, before you see a repeat of her meltdown on the Forge.

“Graziella.” She returns the courtesy, accepting your hand with a sly grin. “I’m sure it’s a pleasure.” Just when you think you’ve secured a new ally in your plight, you realize that while your hands are clasped, the girl before you doesn’t shake. Does… does that count? Do you have to actually shake to activate the Acquainting Shake or is it just a contact thing?

“Sooo,” You begin to meander, hoping that if you stall long enough, your perhaps morally grey maneuver to bolster your defenses might finally engage. “w-w-what are you doing out in the open like this?” You grasp for straws, unsure how to extend this greeting any longer.

“Waiting for you, of course.” It takes you a moment for what she said to register in your mind. Once it does, though, you feel a sudden chill slowly creep down your spine.

“W-…waiting for us?” You half-heartedly chuckle, unsure if she’s joking or not.

“Yes.” She affirms, not a hint of jest in her voice. “You have something of mine. So please, if you would,” A sudden jolt of pain breaks you of your delusions as it goes shooting up your arm, making you realize that what’s happening is not okay as you flinch at the sensation. Peering towards the source, you find that the girl has begun to clamp her grip down upon your hand, threatening to crush it outright with an unprecedented strength. ”Hand it over.” Seeing the force in which she’s placed on the handshake, you try to pull away from the girl, but she doesn’t let you budge an inch. She’s not letting go…! You’re trapped!

“oh shit…” You mutter as your eyes rest upon the jaws of the predator you’ve so willingly walked yourself into.

 

Jason, Reap the Consequences of your Own Actions.

Chapter 76: > The Immovable Object

The panic is really setting in now as you struggle to pry yourself away from the Thief’s grasp, feeling like a fox stuck in a snare, gnawing its own leg off to get free. The only difference is a fox isn’t dumb enough to look a hunter in his face as he sets his damn trap! God! What the hell were you thinking?! She must have done something to get you to approach, she has to have! It was like your mind was in a fog the entire time you were walking up to her. No, even before that, it’s felt like you’ve been dreaming since you’re arrived on this planet, starting since you got off the Train on LOGABC! Like the closer you got to this eventuality, the more reality seemed to fall away for you...

“…” Silently, the Thief’s lips curl further into her grin watching you struggle under her grasp. It feels as though your bones have begun to crack when her demeanor breaks, softening as she observes you while caught in her trap. “Ah, forgive me!” She suddenly gasps, as though just realizing she was hurting you, before finally letting go of your hand. “I often forget the magnitude of power I’ve garnered. I do so apologize.”

“Yeah… no problem.” You mutter under your breath while rubbing your near-broken hand, inspecting the damage she’d done to it. Glancing back to the Thief, you’re surprised to see a bright eyed girl, beaming at you with a smile, patiently waiting for you to compose yourself. It’s as though that brief peek at the might you’d seen just a moment ago has vanished, and all that’s left is the polite young girl standing center stage in her spotlight. She said her name was Graziella? “…You said I have something of yours?”

“Yes.” She nods, and nothing more.

“…uuh, what… what exactly is it?” You continue to ask, unsure what this is all about. She said they were waiting out here for you specifically, but you don’t think they’re overtly hostile. If they wanted to take you out, they likely could’ve done it while you were split up between Lands. And with a Sylph of Void by their side, you likely wouldn’t have even seen them coming. That has to count for something, right?

“I’m not entirely sure the form it’s taken, but within your possession, you hold my way out from this pocket of reality.” Graziella explains, making you realize she knows much more than you originally thought. Of course she knows about your escape plan, what other reason would she have for waiting for you to arrive here? “Ah, so you do have it!” She smiles brightly, the surprise on your face giving her her answer. You’d tried to play it cool, but you suppose being called out so directly on what you’re planning caught you unaware, and the wide look in your eyes sold you out. “Please, in what manner do you bring me my wealth?”

“You’re talking about our ship?” You fill in for yourself, having a hard time wrapping your head around the situation. Were they waiting out here because they wanted to join you on their own? Or is this the result of your Acquainting Shake activating?

“A ship!” She exclaims with excitement. “How appropriate. I thank you for providing my ship with safe keeping up until now.” Her voice peaks upon the term, as though trying to familiarize herself with the word. “If you will.” With gusto, the Thief extends her open hand out before you, expectedly waiting for you to place something there.

“You… want me to give you my ship? You hesitantly ask, beginning to feel uneasy about what’s happening again.

“What? No, oh no, of course not! ‘Give me your ship’, ahaha.” She chuckles to herself. “No, no, no, I want you to give me My ship.” Graziella clarifies. Yep, you spoke too soon, hostility has been detected. These people are your enemies.

“… Even if I’d consider giving away my ship, it’s not like you could even use it.” You try to defuse the situation, speaking reason to the opposition. Seeing your response isn’t in immediate compliance with what she’s requested, the pleased look on the Thief’s face falls a small degree, like she’s trying to hold back her discontentment at your refusal, yet still remaining cordial enough to stay civil. “You’d still be doomed with or without it.”

“I’m more than familiar with the rules of this... unfortunate detour.” She graciously informs you with a sly grin, as though she’s found the solution to the problem you were having with her request. “As such, I plan on slaying the remaining Flock within the Arena before I leave here, as to reclaim my rightful Godhood status, of course. After this, I will be free to use my ship, traveling throughout Paradox Space and establishing my kingdom across all Reality. And all will be right in the world once more. Now if you would,” She holds out her hand once more with the same expecting gaze, lowering her chin at you. “We have very important plans that need attending to.”

“…” You’re baffled. Like genuinely unable to find the words. What is this chick on that she thinks you’ll just roll over if she asks nicely? Looking up, you see through the spotlight the girl stands in that her three companions all wait attentively, the prospect of having their request denied not even registering in the slightest with any of them. They take no action to threaten or intimidate, you spot no efforts to try any kind of subterfuge, they simply stand at attention, like the decision for you to give them what they want has long since been decided, and the physical act of claiming it from you is only a formality. The Mage is the one who catches your attention first, a powerful set of goat-like candy corn horns atop his head and a face smeared with clown makeup. He’s a Highblood, there’s no doubt about it, despite not being able to physically check with the wings missing from his God Tiers. Yet despite sharing the same caste as Esspin, it seems he lacks the stature that comes with it, only being around the same height as yourself. Is he on the younger side? It’s hard to tell under all that paint. From his hip, a series of small stitch-dolls hang by strings tied around their necks, and you see that these dolls each bear an Aspect on their chest, with the one you take more note of being your own symbol; Time. A chill washes over you when you see it dangle from his belt there. He has others as well. Two of Space and Hope, and one of Breath, Heart and Doom, each with their insignias stitched into them, adorned with a few other scraps as well, like little tufts of what looks like hair or scraps of cloth to simulate clothes.

On the other side of her stands the two additional companions the Thief has, her Sylph and Prince. You notice immediately that the Sylph is the same species as Ginnun was, with a pale greyish skin standing out starkly against the deep blue robes she wears. She keeps her hands behind her back as she waits, whether in attention to the meeting taking place before her or to conceal whatever is in her hands, you’ve no way to tell. Her dark hair is kept straight in a blunt cut, with her bangs coming down just above the empty pools of midnight that are her eyes. You have no idea where it is she’s looking, and that puts you all the more on edge because of it. And beside her, the Prince of Mind stands motionless, not so much as a blink from him. Unlike the others in their group, you have no idea what species they hail from. By the looks of it, they’re some kind of living plant, with a lush green skin to match their mint robes and a pair of enormous flytrap fangs, making him look like some kind of floral crocodile creature. Monsters… these people are Monsters…

“Ahem.” The Thief emphatically clears her throat once she notices you staring past her. “Your Tribute?”

“…I’m sorry, Graziella… but the answer is no.” You deliver the news, wanting nothing more than to leave this place at once.

“Well… Jason, was it?” She asks with the tone one would use when speaking to a confused child. “Look, Jason, I understand you might’ve imagined you were to play a larger role in the grand scheme of things, but do know that your purpose, though fulfilled sooner than you had anticipated, is nonetheless more than any mortal could have ever hoped for. You were the Caretaker of my Chariot! The Herald of Salvation, you have brought deliverance to my Throne, a Guardian to my Kingdom’s Future. Stand tall, little lamb, for God smiles upon you.”

“…God?” You repeat the word, unsure how to decipher the insane rant coming out the girl’s mouth.

“Oh my, how moony of me! It completely slipped my mind to introduce ourselves properly.” She laughs, placing her hand over her lips to subdue the volume of her voice. “As you are the head-ram of your herd, I am the Shepherd of these weary souls. And at my side, I keep my Middle,” Raising her hand, Graziella gestures to the Prince with an open palm, and as she does, the beast stands up that much straighter, honoring the acknowledgement of the Thief. “Ring,” This time, she gestures for the Mage, whose only moment is to dart his eyes up to meet yours, a kind of tired madness behind the purple wells that glow in his sockets. “And lastly, our Minimus.” She turns to glance at the Sylph, who short bows when brought to attention. “And I as the Guiding Index, we are the God Hand.”

…You don’t think you’re certified to deal with this level of crazy.

“That’s only four.” Mia suddenly blurts out from the other side of the field, nearly putting you into shock at how flippantly she’d antagonize an active hostage situation that you’re at the forefront of. “No Fifth?”

“…” The Thief glares her down, wildly offended at the interruption. “Yes. We’ve since lost our Thumb. A pity they couldn’t be here today.” By her tone, it sounds like a touchy subject. “Regardless of missing digits, the item at hand demands resolution. You have my ship and refuse to part with it. This cannot stand.”

“Um… w-well, ah…” You struggle to speak up now, feeling the pressure of the Thief’s words, as though you’re starting to suffocate from her presence alone. Behind you, you hear the stomping march of footfalls shifting through the grass before Mia meets you at your side.

“Sorry to break it to ya, nutjob, but it’s gonna have to stand.” She continues to poke the bear with your right next to the Bear! “We aren’t parting with the damn trinket. End of Story.”

“I assure you, sheepdog, no story ends without my say-so.” Graziella grins, looking amused to be outright challenged. “Yet, I am not an Unjust God. However mistaken you are in your beliefs that my ship belongs in your possession, I find your resistance amusing enough to humor.” You notice as Mia crosses her arms at the girl, unamused by the situation you’ve wound up in. “If you intend on continuing to refuse your Lord, then I propose a Contest. Ordeal by Combat to decide where my ship will reside. If your misplaced aplomb rings true, then by all means, you may pass with my blessing. Sadly for you, there will be no Divine Intervention on your behalf. I am not in charitable mood this day.”

“Is all that your way of saying you want to fight?” Mia, with the elegance of a fucking rodeo bull, escalates the situation to the next level yet again.

“If you would be so brazen as to refuse God her request, then surely you would be willing to partake in a bit of friendly sportsmanship, yes?” She clasps her hands together, with the next course of action decided.

“Uuh… are… there any rule…?” You feel yourself slowly inching away from the four opponents, unsure if they’ll all pounce on you at once. “Or is it just a free for all…”

“Why of course!” Graziella happily exclaims. “I imagine an all out war between your followers and mine might end a tad messy if not handled with care. Instead, we shall nominate an Envoy from each side, at which points, these champions shall meet on the field of battle where they will contend the Fate of this Instance in Time. Interference from either side would be prohibited, of course, but beyond that, whoever proves victorious shall win!”

“…That’s it? If we win, you’ll just let us leave?” You ask, somewhat coming around to the idea of a simple duel. Sure, you have the number advantage against them, but there has to be a reason these people are confident or crazy enough to be pulling shit like walking up to another team and telling them to just give them their shit. You aren’t sure on every factor, but if they’ve figured out some trump-card configuration with their members, it could be bad if you throw down the gauntlet blind. If it’s only one of them though, your team has enough heavy hitters that the odds might be in your favor still.

“It has been Ordained.” She assures you… you think? “Please. Converge with your herd and commune with one another. Decide who it is you will honor with the title of Contender, and once ready, step forward for Judgment.” Stunned by the sheer crazy you’re witnessing, you glance Mia’s way to see her reaction, finding that she’s done the same, giving you a similar look. For the first time in the better half of a decade, you think you might actually be on the same page as your old Friend. A united front against the psychotic adversaries this Arena has to offer.

“We’ll, uh… we’ll be right back.” You say, turning with Mia to meet back up with your group.

“Still have a Good Feeling about this, country boy?” Mia hisses at you, sounding cross over the mess you walked your group into.

“Yeah, I fucked up, I know. Bigger fish to fry at the moment, Mia.” You remind her, trying to keep your stride even as you walk. “What do you make of her?”

“Who? Oh, you mean ‘God’? Yeah, I’ve got no fucking clue.” She sighs, peering out the corner of her eye to subtly glance back at the girl.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a battle tactician? What do you mean you’ve got no clue?” You whisper back.

“The pint sized little shit-heel looks like a stiff breeze would carry her away. What exactly am I supposed to infer from that?” She asks you with an annoyed grimace. “I have no way to gauge her abilities without seeing something first. I’m not a damn psychic.”

“So you’ve really got nothing?” You continue to fish, looking for anything to go off of. A Thief of Hope steals Hope and steals through Hope, that’s easy enough to figure out. The only problem is Hope could be just about anything depending how Graziella developed. Dreams, trust, angel dust, aspirations, goals, warm and fuzzy feelings, it’s a guessing game, a damn roulette wheel! There’s no way to be sure.

“I know this ‘cordial with her enemies’ act is all a mind game.” She theorizes. “She’s trying to set the terms of this encounter, even to the point of sending us back to our group to instill a sense of safety. My guess is she’s trying to get us to lower our guard, or if nothing else, throw us off-kilter. Whatever it is, we can’t mess around here. This one-on-one play of hers is probably a trap, and I have no interest in seeing it sprung on us without warning.”

“A trap?” You say more to yourself than to Mia. The thought hadn’t crossed your mind. With how confident they appeared in your way, you were pretty much convinced the Thief’s team formed some kind of 4x super-weapon that could even overshadow your own ranks. It didn’t even occur to you that their being here, approaching you head on the way they did, could’ve all been a part of a clever ruse to seem tougher than they actually are. What if they’re bluffing? Get you to believe that they’re too powerful to handle together only to pull a fast one on you when you agree to a 1v1 strife, pitting you up against their only competent fighter. You suppose that could fit under Stealing through Hope if they pulled it off, getting you to bet all your chips when your hand is only a three-of-a-kind. Shame you were never good at Poker, you might’ve actually known how to deal with this situation if you did. You guess the question isn’t if they’re Bluffing or not, but whether you’re willing to call them on it or not. Is it worth the risk?

“Yeah. I’m guessing one of them must have something up their sleeve that’s able to one or two shot the average Godtier. Otherwise she wouldn’t have set the caveat of not having outside help from our teams. They’re expecting a quick fight, one that won’t require healing from that weird looking Sylph they’ve got.” Mia points out, making you ponder what it is they’ve got planned. It’s unlikely the Sylph or even the Mage will be their fighter, with their classes lacking that powerhouse element to overwhelm an opponent on their first move. For the Thief, you can probably expect some form of intense White Magic at play, which might prove difficult to deal with. Leah or Esspin might have a natural resistance to the stuff, but potentially putting them up against their Aspect’s Thief won’t end well even in the best of outcomes. Under different circumstances, you’d leave it to Mia in a heartbeat, but after what happened with Medeas, you aren’t gonna risk another core part of her abilities being debilitated, especially with Hope as tied to Rage as it is. There’s also the possibility that the Prince of Mind is who they send forward, which opens an entirely different set of problems. If he’s got some kind of lobotomy attack, you could be looking at potentially permanent injury for your side even if you end up winning. You’ll have to pray that he isn’t fast enough to get the initiative in the fight, because if he gets his attacks off first, it could be devastating. The only one you can think of who’d have him beat in speed without a question is Sara, but even then, will she be able to get close enough to do damage? It’s likely he’d be a crack strategist as a Mind player, and as a Prince, he’d be an excellent combatant by nature. You wouldn’t put Creed against him, but it’s possible he could fix whatever damage he does in the aftermath of the fight. There’s also the Thumb Graziella mentioned. From the way she sounded, it seemed like whoever this member was is dead, but if they’re hiding somewhere or are running interference from afar, that’s just another factor you can’t account for. Damn, your head is starting to hurt…

“Well?” Esspin inquires as you return to the group. “What is it these vagrants want?”

“Our ship.” Mia grunts.

“Our ship?” Dallra repeats. “Well, what did you tell them?”

“We told them to kick bricks, what else?” Your Maid shrugs off the urgency in the Seer’s voice. “They took exception to that and now they want to fight.”

“What?!” Esspin quickly glances back to the four strangers before ducking back in to speak. “We are to brawl these people?”

“That’s what it looks like.” You confirm with a dry throat, leaving your voice gravelly. “But only one of us is gonna have to fight, and only against one of them, so… silver linings…?”

“Single Combat?” Creed circles up with you.

“What, like Tekken?” Sara adds from beside Esspin.

"How do they know about the ship to begin with?" Dallra asks you specifically, her worried burning a hole through your chest.

"It's... it's possible they could've been watching us for a while." You tell them all, while trying to ease the tension in your neck. "And with a Void player, they likely have known about what we were carrying for some time now. For whatever reason, they figure here is the perfect place to try and take it from us."

“But we have to send out a fighter?” Ragnaa chimes in as Leah keeps her eye on the Thief. All the while, Ryder leans back to stare up at the cavern roof, clearly bored with all this. “Who?”

“That’s what we’re here to figure out.” You break the news to them all. “Best guess is that they’ll send out either their Thief or their Prince to battle. With that considered, our best bet is to send someone with the best natural counter to their skill set.”

“Oh, so it’s Pokémon rules.” Sara adds again with an understanding nod.

“What are poke-mon rules?” Dallra turns to her, instantly forgetting the gravity of the situation.

“Like rock-paper-scissors rules but more fleshed out.” She informs the Seer.

“Is that like Grub-Pod-Drone?” Esspin glances down at the Sylph.

“Wildly unimportant right now, guys.” You point out, trying to keep to the topic. “I’m not entirely sure if we have a time limit on this meeting.”

“That Girl… She is their Leader?” Esspin asks, turning back to task as she peers over at the Thief once more.

“She prefers the term Shepherd.” Mia tells her with a scoff. “She also says that she’s God.”

“Does she, now…” Leah rattles, glaring at the girl who’s returned to her seat on her rock, smiling as she watches you all discuss what to do from her group.

“It’s her. She’s been the one messing with our march forward. Shifting the Fates to bring us right into her midst so she could plunder our blessings.” Esspin surmises in line with what you were already thinking. Looking back on it now, you feel dumb with how easily you walked into this, but in the moment, it was like you were in tune with your Destiny, as though every step were the right one, so overconfident that the thought of being on the wrong path was inconceivable. It was like you were caught in a vortex that sucked you here, or maybe like... one of those angler fish lights, completely entrancing you to what was actually happening. Whatever sort of magic she was channeling, it did a number on your common sense. And whatever it was, she was able to catch you with it before you even stepped foot on the same Land as her, probably from even as far back as before LOMAM. “I never could’ve imagined such power was possible without an Immortal Form…”

“Now wait a minute.” Leah begins with a concerned look. “You’re seriously saying that that girly over there really is-“

“Don’t say it.” Esspin cuts her off before she can finish her thought. “A belief like that could only strengthen our aggressors, even if said in passing.”

“So what do we do.” Creed brings it back around. “Who do we send?”

“Only our most powerful.” You declare, crossing your arms to think. “We don’t know who they’re sending, but if it’s the Prince, he’ll be dangerous for any of us to deal with. We don’t have a lot of counters to Mind, but by the grassy look of his skin, I’m willing to bet a bit of necrosis might fold him like a flower. On top of that, due to your condition, Haugrr, you might be immune entirely to any attacks aimed for your Mind. If his powers target the physical body you’re in, it’s possible your ghost brain will go unaffected. If you don’t mind risking a go against the Thief, you’d be a safe bet for combat.”

“Not interested.” Haugrr tells you while staring off to the east towards nothing.

“Great.” You nod, turning back to the others. “Now, w-wait, wha?”

“Not interested. Violence begets violence.” He elaborates while not turning back. “I’m not fighting.”

“What are you talking about? You’ve fought others before. Hey-, you fought Me before!” You point out to the bastard.

“I only fight when my opponent has proven to be unreasonable. When they attack for no other purpose than to claw at life.” He explains his moron logic. The girl thinks she’s God, she’s more than proven herself unreasonable! “They’ve given us a suitable avenue to resolve our quarrels through. You want your problem solved? Explore it.”

“God-… Damnit!” You sigh, prompting Haugrr to finally turn around.

“…Why don’t you do it?” He asks while glancing at you from over his shoulder. “You said only our most powerful, right? Why don’t you just freeze time and put your pick through the head of whoever it is they send?”

“Because I-… I…” You go to say, finding you don’t have a reason to give. “Because…” You half-mumble, looking down to your sleeves, finding the stains still linger just beneath the surface.

“It… would… be an efficient strategy.” Creed looks to you, seeing your discomfort with the idea.

“Are you… okay with that?” Dallra inquires as Gretel quietly looks up at you from beside her.

“…” Looking across the faces of your group, you find yourself looking to Mia specifically for what to do. She simply crosses her arms with an impatient look, expecting answers, not giving them. “Um… yeah.” You nod while not entirely sure of what you’re saying. “Yeah, easy… No problem…”

“If you don’t feel as though you are up to this trial, Jason, we can-” Esspin begins to try and comfort you.

“No, no, it… it makes sense to send me.” You assure them as you notice the unsure looks they pass between themselves. They are uncertain if you can deliver. “I’ll handle this.” That’s right, you were the one to get them all into this mess. It’s your responsibility to get them out of it. You have to show them that they made the right choice when they agreed to join you. Summoning Bane of All Mountains to your grasp, you hesitate a moment before stepping forward.

“Wait, what’s happening?” Ryder asks, seemingly coming back from his daydream to realize things are actually happening. “What are we doing?”

“We’re deciding who’s gonna fight in the duel.” Sara tells him.

“Ooh! Dibs!” He suddenly exclaims, throwing his hand up. “I call dibs!”

“No.” Leah instantly rejects the idea, pushing his hand down.

“Wha-?” He looks at her like a dejected kid.

“We already settled on Jason.” Sara informs.

“Aw bullshit!” Ryder protests. “Cast a revote! Stop the st-“ Before he can finish his tantrum, a hand is gently placed on his shoulder, catching the boy’s attention. Looking back, he finds Mia there, and the boy is calmed at what seems to be the drop of a hat.

“Patience.” She tells the Page while not breaking eye contact with the God Hand. As you watch the Maid sooth her ward, you think for a moment that you see her hand crackle with an unusual energy, but it soon disappears. Turning forward as well, Ryder faces the same direction as the Maid.

“Whoa…” He hums, seeming to notice the Thief for the first time in all this. “If she put her hair in pigtails, she’d look just like Luna from Mega Man Starforce…!”

“Ryder… what the fuck are you talking about?” Mia turns to him as you finally take your first steps onto the field of battle.

Completely different from your first approach, you feel your heart pounding in your chest with each pace towards the Thief you take. It’s like there’s a sinkhole between your ribs, burrowing deeper and deeper as you go along, to the point you’re surprised you’re still able to stand. Kill her… you’ll have to kill her… There’s no telling what they’ll pull if you drag the Strife out. There’s no fucking around on this, it’s do or die. Pause Time. You’ll have to. Pause Time and Supercharge Bane. That way, you won’t even give her a chance…

“You’ve returned.” Graziella greets you as you stand before her and her subordinates.

“…Your fighter?” You ask her, prompting the Thief to stand back up from her seat, stepping back out into the spotlight once more, meeting you on the battlefield.

“The Honor is Mine and Mine alone.” She tells you. You aren’t surprised. Gazing upon you, the Thief’s eyes drift slowly down to acknowledge your pickaxe. “You’ve come armed. I take it this means you’ve accepted the duel.”

“That’s right.” You try to stow away your nervousness.

“Regrettable that you won’t come to your senses.” She sighs with a weary smile. “No matter. Soon my ship will finally be in my possession, and I will be vexed no longer. Rid of these mortal triflings… Come, then. I’ll gift you one last token of my grace. I’ll allow you the first swing to mark the start of our engagement.”

“-!” You can’t help but jolt at the offer. A free hit? There’s no way, right? This is a trick, it has to be! She has to know what giving you the first swing means. It’d be one thing if you were unarmed, but you have a god damn pickaxe! A direct strike would be lethal if struck to the chest or the neck or o-or the head! Seeing your confusion, Graziella steps even closer, raising her hands out to her side, as though to welcome the attack, smiling all the same.

“Any time you are ready.” She assures you.

Jerking your head to the side, you try to shake the chatter from your brain, to stop it from clouding your thoughts. Come on, Jay! These are just Mind Games! Don’t let her throw you off your rhythm, get your head in the game! Damn, you can’t even think straight…! This is the Prince’s doing isn’t it? That Jaws bastard must have some ability to disrupt your coherence, makes it harder to keep a train of thought, interfere with your strategizing. Sneaky little Liars! They get you to agree to a 1v1, but all the while, she’s got her little helpers running interference the entire time! Mia was right, this was a trap. You’ve played right into their hands… How long? How long have they been plotting this, been following you?! Have the whispers you’ve heard all this time been the Sylph weaving untruths into your mind? Were the doubts that nearly crippled you been the Mage and his grimoire? Enemies… These are your Enemies! Those who stalk just out of sight! Who prowl the shadows of your mind! This ends now… Taking your form, you cock Bane of All Mountains back, readying a swing. One free hit, huh? One hit is all you’ll need!

You go to follow through, to plunge the spike of your pick into the Thief’s heart, but… but you don’t move. Not even an inch. Something stops you before you can act and your breath goes cold. Instinct… It was instinct that stopped you. When you noticed a change in the atmosphere, one that came as sudden as a -snap- of the fingers. A pressure sits on you now. An overwhelming presence that threatens to swallow your entire world. It’s an unparalleled might that emanates just ahead of you, and you hesitate to turn to find out what it is. The world around you shimmers, like the very fabric of this moment has been endowed with an eminence never before seen in spacetime, a power which debases all others, and rewrites the logic and fact local to the reality you reside in. Finally mustering what little courage you have left, you twist your neck to turn your head in the direction of the phenomenon, observing that where the Thief once stood is now something… Indescribable. The girl you had once towered over not but a moment ago now looms over your meager form, taller than any Mountain in Existence. The last protective impulse left running in your mind tells you to strike, it screams at you to swing your pickaxe, but… but you can’t… You Can’t!! If you attack, that means the strife will officially begin… If you attack… then she will attack back…

You can’t… You can’t do it, you can’t beat that thing…! Not in a million years! It doesn’t matter if you stopped time for the rest of your life, you would die of old age before even putting a scratch on her! What the hell… what the hell is going on here?!?! How did she hide this power?! You should’ve sensed her presence the moment you stepped on LODAF, since the moment you entered the Arena! How could you not realize!? It’s not just her subordinates… Her as well… Monsters… Monsters… They’re all Monsters!!!

You lose control of your breathing as you squirm under the presence before you, an unrhythmic spasm thrashing about in your chest. You’re drowning in her aura, the very air around her scorching existence at its seams. Her eyes narrow at you, focusing on your place in this world with an intensity that pierces straight through to your core. Subject to nothing but her gaze, you feel as though you’ll crumple to your knees, little more than a quivering mound of flesh. You’ve been defeated. Little more than a glance and you’ve seen eternity. You are nothing. You do not exist. You are an afterthought, a figment of a dream that’s about to be forgotten. Reality is waking up, and you will be unmade once more. It’s… it’s too much…! You can’t take it! You’re suffocating… y-y-you can’t breathe! How could you? The breath caught in your throat is imaginary. A delusion. The only thing real… is the Divinity that stands at the Gates of Heaven. How could you be so foolish? How could you ever contest its desires?

“Haa…” You exhale the nonexistent air from your lungs, tears streaming from your eyes, brought on by an unknowable cause.

“Well, Mr Jason?” The Entity inquires, its voice a thunderous authority over existence. “Do you wish to strike God?”

“I… I…” There was never any chance… There was never anything else but this… You exist for nothing more than this one task… You will drop your pickaxe… You will relinquish her ship… And you will be no more… “I submi-“

-CRACK-

Before you can finish your forfeit from the Strife, a sound rings out from behind you. A sound so loyal and true, it rips you from your stupor, and in an instance, the overwhelming pressure weighing down on you is expelled. What little relief you feel from the lightened load is soon cut short when you notice the fissure in space that has been cut open between you and the Thief. A pocket of night darker than the shade you lurk amongst censors the world behind it, cutting a gash into the spotlight Graziella stands in, making her unseeable to you. Lingering only a half-moment longer, this rift soon closes, and from its center falls a shining scrap of metal, a single bullet, which lands in the grass before you. Graziella glances down at the tiny bit of lead with an unamused glare, and behind her, the Sylph of Void retracts the length of her Whip from the field beside her master, slowly wrapping the weapon around her forearm to coil it back into a manageable state. It'd happened in the blink of an eye, the Sylph carving a void rift with her whip, stopping the bullet where it hovered. Playing the scene over again in your mind, you slowly starts to return to yourself, and you realize what’s happened. Putting two and two together, you nearly sprain your neck as you twist your head back to look behind you. Towering there amongst the startled crowd is Esspin, standing at her full height with the barrel of her rifle still smoking, its faint trail of exhaust drifting into the wind. Keeping the gun trained on her, the Highblood stares the Thief down through the scope of her rifle, as though waiting for another move to be made.

“That’s quite enough.” She says from across the field. Hearing her words, you turn back to the Highblood’s target, who in kind shoots her eyes up from the bullet in the grass to you, the opponent standing in her wake. Your entire body flinches upon being subject to her attention once more, and reflexively, you activate a Time Displacement, shunting yourself back across the field, away from the Demon in front of you. As soon as you’re away from her, your legs buckle beneath you, and you fall. Before you can completely collapse to the ground, your little fainting spell is stopped short as Creed and Dallra both catch you by your sides, throwing your arms around their shoulder as they pull you completely back to the group. They stop once they’ve completely passed Esspin, using her as though she were a landmark to indicate the safe zone of your group. Going by, you’re reminded of just how tall the Troll is when stood upright, boasting a near foot and a half difference in height over you.

“I’m-I’m okay.” You assure your attendees as they look to see if you need first-aid. Both Gretel and Ragnaa rush to your side as well to inspect you for damages. They ask you something, you think, but you don’t hear it. Shakily regaining your footing, you struggle to catch your breath as the adrenaline continues to tear through your veins, sending your heart into a roaring flurry. Christ, you’re panting like you just ran a marathon. Looking to your defender, you find the Troll still has her rifle aimed for the Thief, a cold expression on her face you’ve never before seen. “Esspin, you-“

“I felt it too.” She answers before you can ask. “That crushing presence. I saw it expel from you every last mote of Hope from your body, how you drained like an oasis drying up in a desert. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to experience such dark majyyks.”

“Like I was staring down some unkillable demon.” You mutter as you tighten your grip on Bane, if nothing more than to keep your hands from shaking. “She didn’t just steal away my hope of winning the strife… she stole away my connection with reality…”

“Unforgivable.” Esspin spits. Seeing her resolve hold, a smirk reappears on Graziella’s face, seen clear as day even from across the divide.

“A pity.” The Thief calls, regaining her calm composure. “And here, I believed you all to be merchants of honor. I had even considered taking you into my Flock when this was all settled. Yet there you poor little philistines go, defiling the sanctity of your promises. A crime as such cannot go unpunished, I hope you realize. Ring?” She turns to the Mage, who looks to her in kind. “If you would, set the stage for the rest of us. Today, we all partake in the slaughter.” Prompted by his master, the Mage steps forward, flicking his wrist to summon three small spikes held between his fingers.

“Wait!” Mia of all people hurries forward, putting out her hand, not in a manner in which she commands the Thief to stop, but rather in which she tries to slow her, the way one would when easing a beast that could easily tear one to shreds. “We still agree to the one-on-one perimeters of the fight. Just… give us a moment to straighten things out here!” Raising her chin up at the girl, Graziella ponders a moment, an annoyed frown staring back at the tense Mia.

“Very well.” She declares, drawing the Mage back who takes his place behind the Thief once again. “You have my blessing, set your house in order, and meet me once again upon the plains of strife. This time, however, there will be no interference. If any of you step in again, I’ll have no choice but to raze the very ground you stand upon.”

“We understand.” Mia nods, cooperating with another without so much as a hint of snark or sarcasm for what you believe to be the first time ever. Is she... is she scared? “Ess. Lower the gun.”

“But-“ The Highblood begins to protest, cut off when Mia turns back to face her, a serious look plastered across her face.

“Lower the god damn rifle, Esspin.” She orders her. Glancing down at the girl, Esspin hesitates a moment, taken back by the sudden harshness in her friend’s tone, eventually lowering the firearm slowly down before her with a conflicted expression.

“Very good.” Graziella commends the compliance incited in accordance with her demands. “Now, once you’ve truly decided on them, send forth your Contender, and we shall begin again.” With what little time Mia’s managed to buy you, she turns her attention off of the scolded Esspin back to the rest of the group, glancing at you for a moment with a thoughtful look before facing the others.

“…Runt.” She calls over to Ryder, nodding the boy’s way. “You’re up.”

“What…?!” Leah jerks, her feathers ruffled at the Maid’s call.

“Are-… a-are you serious?” Ryder asks her, a hopeful disbelief in his voice. “You’re not fucking with me, right?”

“If you’re up for it.” Mia tilts her head down to signal her sincerity. “Stage is yours.”

“Ho-hooo! Yes Ma’am!” The boy exclaims, clutching his fist in celebration before hurrying out to the battle that waits for him. With an enthusiastic pep, he steps up, however, he’s only taken a single step forward when he’s stopped again.

“No. Absolutely not.” Leah commands, holding Ryder by his shoulder to keep him back.

“What?” He asks, sounding almost unable to believe that she’s doing what she’s doing. ”Why the hell not?”

“Ryder, you can’t! You don’t stand a chance against that… that Thing!” She pleads with the boy. So it wasn’t just Esspin who felt what she did to you. All the Hope players must have a sixth sense for this sort of thing.

“Leah, what in god’s name are you talking about?” He bores at her, forcibly removing the hand from his person.

“Just look at her!” The Knight exaggeratedly gestures to the Thief who patiently waits within the sunbeams. Ryder looks, just as his friend requests of him, turning back to face her unfazed.

“…The five-foot-three, hundred-and-ten pound girl-scout over there? I don’t stand a chance against that?” He raises his eyebrows in astonishment at the idea.

“That’s not just a normal girl, Ryder. An enormous power resides within her. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we’re in the midst of a Higher Power. Please, just-… let someone else handle this! Someone more suited for this sorts of business! Someone more… more-…!”

“Leah.” Mia calls to the Knight. Turning to see, the Maid looks at her with a straight expression. “He doesn’t need protecting anymore.”

“Ah-…” The Knight goes to say something in return, but the tears welling up in her eyes and threatening to fall silence her.

“Now come on, we don’t got all day.” Mia tells Ryder, prompting him to resume his march to battle. As he goes off though, Mia catches him once more, placing a hand upon his chest to stop him. In that moment, the pleading look the Maid had bore to satiate the Thief has rewritten itself, revealing a surefired confidence that had been underlying her visage the entire time. She was pretending…? You don’t think you’ve ever seen Mia mask her feelings before… As you ponder what it is she has planned, a sudden but small fire sparks up from beneath her palm against the boy’s chest, a vibrant purple in its flame but a smoking green at its base closest to her hand. Ryder takes a surprised breath in as the sensation of the burn envelops him, his muscles flaring up from the process as though developed and tones in the span of a moment. The shock of his face soon fades, and he turns from her out to face his opponent with all the determination you could expect from one such as Ryder. His fists ball and his arms flex, the insignia of Rage coursing with a powerful energy on his back as his tattoo illuminates, indicating that this power has channeled through his entire system now. “Get in there, tough guy.” Mia instructs, only receiving a silent nod back from the boy as she removes her hand, allowing him to pass.

Stepping forward as he goes, Leah walks to the front of your group’s territory, her hands trembling as the Page marches on further and further away from where she can watch after him. Even without seeing her face, you can feel the terror radiating from her stiffened form. With the Knight at your forefront, you all watch in total silence as Ryder walks unwavering towards the greatest terror you’ve ever experienced, his light footfalls clashing softly against the grass, yet carrying with them a weight which stomps with a reverberating ripple, its force unseen but felt all the same. Inevitably ending at her doorstep, the Page’s March leads him before his opponent, who’s welcomed this soldier to her home beyond the light.

“Like a lamb to the slaughter.” The Thief smiles, greeting the new challenger. “Fear not, meek one. I accept all into my flock, for a price of course.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep spouting that pseudo-psycho religious bullshit, see how far that gets ya.” Ryder scoffs at the attempt to frighten him, the smug grin on his face audible even from across the field as he casually tucks his hands into the back pockets on his pelt.

“Are you ready?” Graziella asks back while stepping closer to meet him, unbothered by the brashness of the boy. Not one to be shown up, Ryder mimics the girl, taking an emphatically larger step towards the Thief with a swinging foot forward.

“When you are, dollface.” He sarcastically gives the go-ahead without a care in the world. Stood with only a foot or so dividing them now, the two face off with one another. Even with Ryder’s small stature, he still stands taller than the Thief by an inch or two, allowing him to glare down at the girl. And there they stay, unmoving for a long, dragging moment, staring one another down without a word between them, leaving the tension in the air thick enough to cut. Right now, he must be experiencing what you had when facing the Thief, seeing her for the monstrosity that she is, towering over him like the mountaintop towers the exposed climber, freezing him in the blizzardish winds while he’s unable to shelter from its might. You shudder at the memory, but hold firm, anxious to see what will happen. Yet nothing comes as the moment continues on with them simply looking at one another.

“Ah-!” A quiet gasp exclaims from beside you. Glancing over, you find Ragnaa there, trembling ever so slightly as she watches the showdown take place with eyes wide, both in terror and wonder at what she sees. “It’s begun…” She mutters, catching Haugrr’s attention beside her.

“What? The world’s most intense staring contest?” He scoffs while watching the two face off, appearing bored with the spectacle. “How stimulating.”

“They aren’t just staring…” Ragnaa insists, her chest rising higher with each breath as a kind of panic sets in for her. “Don’t you see it?” She turns to the Prince, urging him to what see she’s seen. Your Daughter, who’s since crawled into your arms, exchanges a look with you before you both turn back, equally curious in the ravings of the Seer.

“See what?” Haugrr glances at the Bronzeblood, a look of confusion on his face. “It just looks like they’re gawking at each other.”

“She’s right.” Esspin announces to the crowd, nodding towards Ryder. Both you and Gretel turn to her in unison. “Look.” Following her instruction, you turn back to the duel, straining to see what the two others in your group have noticed. There you see that while neither party has moved, both are in much different states than you realized. By the looks of it, Ryder’s entire body is flexed in place, his muscles tightening and contracting, veins bulging from his forearms. Ahead of him, you can see that the smug confidence the Thief had worn while the Page approached has since vanished, instead replaced by a frustrated fury, her teeth grit as though growling like a rabid dog.

“The hell is happening out there?” Haugrr asks once he notices as well, looking out while shielding his face from the nonexistent light in his eyes.

“Jason.” Mia calls to you, turning you to her. “You wanna tell them?” She asks, somewhat cluing you in on what she was planning with the simple fact that you should know what’s going on already. Turning to the strife, you begin to ponder to yourself, attempting to figure out what’s happening by working back from square one.

“A Thief… cultivates their power to Steal different facets of their Aspect depending on how they develop on their journey.” You begin, looking down to your Daughter as you talk. “When I was approaching her… she not only took my hopes of beating her, but she also disconnected me from my grounding in reality. From there, she was free to morph herself into whatever she saw fit in my eyes. She became something I never thought could be defeated. To the point I couldn’t even raise my pick to try… Mia, you’re a genius…” You look to the Maid, now fully realizing what she’s done.

“How the hell is she a genius?!” Leah snaps, turning back to face you all. “Ya just said it yerself, there ain’t no hope of him beatin’ her!”

“That’s not true.” You shake your head, stepping forward to observe the strife with her at the front of the pack. “Since Mia took him under her wing, Ryder’s made huge strides towards fully realizing himself as the Page of Rage. If he’s at the level I think he is, his willpower should be just about endless… She’s trying to dry up a bottomless well.”

“And just whatinthe hell is that supposed to mean?!” She stares at you from the corner of her eye, seeming like she’s only barely holding herself together.

“It means he doesn’t give a fuck that he can’t win.” Mia answers for you, her attention zeroed in on the Page, arms crossed and expecting results. “Even if he thinks the world is against him, the only thing he’s focused on is kickin’ the God Complex out of that bitch.” You… are so fucking glad that you handed Ryder’s training off to Mia. “See, Ess? I told you they wouldn’t even get close.”

“You truly work in mysterious ways, my moirail.” Esspin exhales, letting out a sigh of relief as she seems to almost deflate back into her slouched posture.

“You will bend the knee, little lamb.” Graziella’s voice comes booming with an unreal authority that vibrates the world around you.

“They’d break first, cupcake.” Ryder’s voice follows, rebellious and undercutting to the command she’s attempted to take.

“Each of them is individually shattering unprecedented limits of not only themselves but of the reality around them.” Ragnaa updates the group on the more metaphysical aspect of the battle. “It’s an unbelievable spectacle, one I very well believe might be the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

“Wait, so what exactly is actually happening?” Haugrr turns his attention between the Seer and the fight, looking for what he’s missing.

“It’s hard to describe in anything other than abstracts.” She tells, eyes glued not on the two combatants now, but to the space above them in the cavern, observing the unseen fallout of their silent battle. “They’re completely altering the world around us. Reshaping and overwriting Dictates epochs in age, influencing the metatextual fabrics of existential continuity with nothing more than thoughts and impulse. Seaming and unseaming in synchronicity so rapid, they can’t have been said to have existed at all.”

“Ah come on, that’s the best you got? I need details!” The Prince complains, peering intently where Ragnaa looks, attempting to gleam even a glimpse of what she sees.

“Words simply can’t describe it. They wouldn’t even come close to doing it justice.” Ragnaa explains, looking more starstruck by the second. “It’s as if a universe of pure euphoria is being created before my very sightglobes.”

“Oh screw this, I’m getting a look myself.” Haugrr declares before suddenly jerking forward, his limp form collapsing to the ground with an unceremonious flop.

“Huh?” Ragnaa chirps, glancing down at the corpse mound. Not another moment later, the Seer seizes up, her body clenching as her eyes erupt with a burning green blaze. Did… did Haugrr just possess Ragnaa? “Oh… oh my god…! It’s… It’s Beautiful!” She exclaims while gazing up into the skies of the cave. Not long after, however, the Seer strains her neck before viciously shaking her head back and forth, extinguishing the flames trailing out from her eyes like evaporating tears. “Ah! Haugrr! You ass!”

“Aww come on, Rags! Let me get another look!” Amvinn’s body beseeches its fellow Seer as its form reanimates, occupied once again by the spirit of a jackass.

“I would have let you if you’d asked nicely. Now you get nothing.” Rags huffs, turning her nose up at the corpse as he stands back up.

“But what if we-“ Before the Prince can continue to court the Seer with his dubious intentions, he’s seized at his collar by Leah, pulling him towards her.

“Not! Okay!” She barks at the manhandled husk before jerking him back, turning to face the fight once more, her fists clenching tight enough to crack diamond.

“Yeah, alright… sorry…” Haugrr mutters while adjusting his shirt.

“Is this it?” Ryder’s voice thuums across the valley. “You though you could just walk up and stare at us real mean and we’d just give you our fucking ship? God, you must be some kind of stupid.”

“I’d mine your tongue, boy. I might not be feeling so merciful if you keep running your mouth as you have.” The Thief hisses back, biting at your ears.

“Funny.” Ryder hums while leaning his shoulder backwards, putting an arch in his back. “I was about to say the same thing!” Suddenly shooting forward, the entire cave shakes with a thunderous -crack- as the Page slams his head against the bridge of Graziella’s nose. The Thief staggers back, and you see as her subordinates all rouse behind her, clearly shocked at such a turn of events. You suppose given her power, they’ve never seen anyone land a hit on her before. Makes sense that would shake them up a bit. Recovering from the hit, the Thief covers the lower half of her face, taking a long moment to comprehend the pain that must be radiating from the wound. Slowly now, she lowers the bloodied hand before her to stare down at it in disbelief. She’s astounded. But that surprise soon turns to a simmering fury, as she clenches her hand and scrapes the rest of the blood from her face with the back of her fist.

“Poor little lamb…” Graziella slowly chuckles, reaching behind her waist and retrieving from the ether a gnarly sawed-off shotgun, adorned with ritual runes and carvings along its double barrels. “Flail all you like…” She continues, snapping the barrel of her gun open before loading two shells inside, flicking it closed and holding it up beside her. “But you can never strike God.”

“Hahahahahahahaha… Ohhh…” Ryder heartily laughs, jutting his head to the side to roar out a sickening crack from his neck before repeating it again for the other side. Reaching both hands across his hips, the Page grips the handles of two of his swords, slowly drawing them from their sheaths. “This is gonna be fun.”

 

***

 

Working your way up stream, there comes a pause in your stride when you think you hear the sounds of a hellish shriek ringing out, off in the distance. You look back over the horizon, waiting for a second to barrel through the hills, but nothing more comes. With a nervous huff, you continue on with your travels, figuring the stress is starting to get to you. At the moment, you and Perses hike along the riverside leading towards the iron rich banks you’d originally taken note of the last time you were on LOSAC, the deep burgundy skies making it seem much darker and cloudier than it is on the planet. It’s been a bit longer of a final stretch than you had originally anticipated for your journey. After the fiasco with the Maid of Blood down in the cistern, you and your knight-errant made the climb out through the rain catch as you had intended, finding after your ascent that you were on an island in the middle of a rather sizable sea of blood. You’d tested the waters, and while the iron levels were decently high, its phospholipid saturation was too diluted to do anything with. So you continued onward, locating and appropriating a rowboat on the shores of the island, taking it out onto the water to continue your travel. It wasn’t a particularly long expedition, finding your way to shore after an hour, but by then, you’d exhausted most of your energy for the day, decided to take refuge for a few nighttime hours in the small coastal town you’d landed at. It was a quick rest, and you’ve been on the trail ever since, heading up the final approach to the section of the river you’d discovered some weeks ago. On top of that, you’re already somewhat familiar with the territory now, having been here and now able to navigate without aid on Dallra’s end, expediting your travel time by a small but not-nonexistent margin. Nevertheless, by your measurements, you don’t have much longer until One Eighty-Seven’s completely out of recyclable oxygen to keep his brain functioning, so you’re keeping a brisk pace as of right now. You hope… You hope you will make it in time.

“Remind me again,” Perses grunts, adjusting One Eighty-Seven’s carry bag on his back. “Why am I the one who has to carry the flesh sack?”

“Because he’s heavy and you’re strong. Now quit whining.” You huff, irritated not only by the brutish boy but also the absolute aching in your feet as you continue along the rocky path. While useful to your current cause, the Land of Streams and Conquest is a taxing planet to travel on. The topographical makeup of the world is jagged and mountainous in several areas, and the ground itself is uneven and hard. It’s a war-torn planet, with the evidence of battle just about every two feet, be it swords or lances or spears buried into the stones of the hillside fields, or the enormous rifts and fissures torn in the landscape being held crudely together by massive links of chain wrapped around them like poorly placed bandaging, forcing the shattered pieces of mountain back into one hill. Not to mention the thick miasma that hangs heavy over every last inch of this land, a heavy metallic scent, as though a mass amount of fresh blood had just been spilt, the reek of its vapors polluting all breathable air. However, what did you expect? The world is often a very uncomfortable place. You should be used to this by now.

“Yeah, but can’t we just captchalogue him or something? Dude’s dense as fuck for his size.” Perses says while readjusting the straps of his pack, continuing to bellyache as the two of you pass under the shadow of one of those enormous chains you’d mentioned, holding the two sides of the riverbank together while bolted to each side’s ridge. “Plus, he’s your abomination, why can’t you bear some of the load? He’s got all those stitches… does he disassemble? You could get the limbs, I’ll get his torso?”

“No, sadly he does not disassemble. He’s not a fucking play toy.” You look back at the oaf from over your shoulder with an unamused glare. “My stitch work was rather… unflattering at the time of One Eighty-Seven’s formation, yes, but it was well founded. I’ve only ever had to re-stitch him five or six times in his whole life.”

“Wow, only five or six times?! My putrid corpse pile is always falling apart.” He sarcastically quips with a roll of his eyes.

“How humorous.” You dryly retort, facing forward again.

“Sorry your tragically human taste for comedy is so unrefined. I’m just shooting the shit with you, don’t get your pjs in a twist.” The Baron informs you, doing nothing to alleviate the stress that’s been piling up these past three days. “But seriously, though. What the fuck is up with this guy anyways? I mean, was he, like… some sort of wretch your society liked to whale on, and you were just unlucky enough to be tasked with putting him back together again afterwards?”

“Not exactly.” You say in an exacerbated sigh, recalling yours and One Eighty-Seven’s time back on Earth. “He’s an artificially constructed corpse, crafted and reanimated by my hand. He’s actually comprised of several separate individuals, that’s why he’s not one consistent skin tone.”

“…You made this guy?” Perses asks, hurrying his steps to walk side by side with you now, an actual curious look on his face as he waits for your answer.

“Correct.” You nod, gazing off ahead of you with a somewhat sad nostalgia to the gumption you had when first creating your assistant. “Through a collection of eleven different… donors, I was able to piece together his frame and interworkings with some simple stitch work, tissue fusion and occasional synthetic joint implication. His brain, however, was a little more tricky to get together. Most of the grey matter I had to work with had deteriorated to the point where I couldn’t use just one sample, and neuroinserology is just a word, its practical application is a hell of a lot harder than theoretical speculations made it seem. Its like a puzzle of intertwining lobes and regions, gyri and sulci relative to each other belonging to two entirely different individuals, but-… but I got it done and… and it wasn’t until later that I realized I had used parts from my would-be session mates to make my creation.” A familiar sense of shame drapes itself over your shoulder once more, like a fur shawl finding itself comfortable around one’s neck. While you’ve thought about your sins more times that a sane mind could handle, you haven’t ever spoken them aloud to another. In fact, before this little band of friends you’ve been recruited by, you haven’t conversed with another soul in close to five years.

“What, you didn’t know who you were killin' for your parts or something?” Perses asks with a laugh. You glare at him in response. “What? Sometimes you just need bodies and no questions, I’m not judging.”

“I didn’t kill them.” You sibilate at the Baron. “Well… not directly, anyway.” Your ocular units slowly drift down towards the ground you walk upon, a kind of self pitying sadness finding its way into your mind as you reminisce. “I’d spent weeks exhuming graves to find suitable candidates for One Eighty-Seven’s pieces, and they just so happened to be in the graves I checked. They possessed the correct physical dispositions I was looking for in an assistant and that was all that really mattered at the time.”

“So they were all already dead before you even met them in person?” Perses inquires, throwing his hand back behind his head to walk with his elbows facing the sky. “Jeez, was your group some sort of networked insurgency or something? Did you piss off your planet’s hierarchy?”

“Why are all the physically-useful such buffoons?” You mutter to yourself, eyes closed in exacerbation. “I’m not entirely sure of all the details, but from what I could piece together based on the context of my Session, I fucked up with my responsibilities as Ectobiologist. At some point in Paradox Space, the Me that I was always supposed to be tried adjusting the settings on the Appearifier’s harvest mechanism. Assumably, that Me was trying to grab a sample of the Derse King and Queen Carapacian to create a genetic copy that might rival their donor counterparts, possibly to aid in our triumph over them, or at the very least, bring contention to which variant had the rightful claim to the Throne, sewing discourse among the Derse populous. But at some point in that process, something went wrong.”

“Assumably?” He narrows his eyes in confused skepticism at you. “How’d you come to that conclusion?” You turn to look at him directly.

“It’s what I would have done, had I found myself in the same scenario.” You explain to him, pausing a moment before looking back ahead. “Regardless of intent, it seems I made a few miscalculations in my endeavor. In acting out of accordance with the causal time loop required with Paradox Cloning, I inadvertently created an offshoot in the timeline right at the point of divergence. The change was so great and in such a delicate place that causality simply didn’t know what to do. So it… reset, in a way. I erased the history of our session and let my fuck-ups rewrite it for me. Instead of all of us being sent to the same generational period, my session mates were sent back at the same time as their intended Guardians, as well as a genetic time bomb that killed them all at the age of fourteen. Luckily for me, I was rather engrossed in biology by a young age. I caught the anomaly in my helix strand early, and with a few simple edits here and there, I’m healthier than a horse.”

“…What’s a Horse?” He inquires, seeming uninterested in everything else about your story.

“Unfortunately the others had long been dead by the time I came across them, I myself having been sent back around seven years after they’d arrived.” You continue on regardless, ignoring his question. “And so I was left alone in the world. No destined companions to befriend and navigate our lives with. No confidant to whom I would confess my woes to. No one.” A quiet breeze howls through the hills, rattling the sharp rods of iron stabbed into the stone lightly enough to sound like wind chimes. Through the soft orchestra, your attention gravitates towards the pack the Baron bears upon his back. “That is… until I made One Eighty-Seven. Yet even then, I cast him out from my heart. Made him a monument to my sins… I am an unfit Mother…”

“Don't say that." Perses furrows his brow as he walks, upset with the statement you've made. You say nothing in return, causing him to glance your way. "Hey, come on, you're not that bad. My Mom tried selling me to Omega clan slavers by the time I was three because I couldn’t properly rig an aero-module to a vessel-class asteroid in under a minute. By all accounts, you’re doing fine.” Your companion attempts to cheer you up… y-… you think? “Hell, I’d say you’re going above and beyond, going to such lengths to bring the weird little mutant back. It’s risky being out here without backup, and you intended to go it alone. If that doesn’t show devotion to your kin, then nothing does.”

“I… appreciate your words, Perses, truly I do, but you shouldn’t be so charitable with me after all I’ve done.” You attempt to dissuade the Baron from thinking too highly of you, not wanting him to compliment you for compliment’s sake.

“Well of course you wouldn’t. Only full-blown narcissists boast about themselves even in their failings.” He tells you with a shrug. “It’s not so much about what you did, though, but how you plan on dealing with it. Life isn’t always easy, and sure, you might drop the ball every now and then, but ultimately, the thing that separates a shitty person and a person who did a shitty thing is your ability to reflect. Shitty people don’t retain the lessons they should’ve learned when they fuck up. They just keep on making the same shitty choices, because that’s all that they are deep down. But someone who just did a shitty thing will look at what they did and learn from it, so that they can avoid doing it again. They don’t want to do the shitty thing, so they take the time to figure out how not to, they take steps to avoid repeating the cycle. You said you cast the weirdo out, which sure, on paper is a shitty thing to do, but… you aren’t doing that anymore, are you?”

“……” You remain silent, not having anything to say in return.

“Look around you, look where you are.” Persus implores you, gesturing to the surrounding terrain. “This place blows hot chunks! But still you’re here, traveling with me, a guy you can’t stand! Would an unfit mother risk so much to save their guppy?”

“…Thank you, Perses.” You softly smile, accepting the Baron’s attempts to lift your spirits. “And for the record, I can stand you just fine. It’s just you can be a handful at times.”

“I see that more as a compliment than anything else.” The boy shrugs, unbothered. Before either of you can say anything else, a sudden alert pops up on your HUD, bringing your attention to something. Passive scans have picked up on appropriate conditions for your procedure. Inspecting your surroundings, you find that you are indeed back where you first took your environmental survey. The land around the river is flat for the area, giving a slight reprieve from the off-kilter and near volcanic conditions of the rest of the land.

“We’re here.” You announce, stopping to look down at the red waters. Like the last time you were here, you note the source of the river’s particular composition, with the vast amounts of iron and phospholipids within its sediment sifting out into the current as it passes going downstream. You’d theorized that there are other goldilocks zones like this on the planet, leaking their materials through the protein-based liquids that make up the bodies of water here, but you’ve only ever found this one location, leading you to believe they’re rather rare on LOSAC. Regardless, one is all you need “Perses, you excel at destroying matter, correct?” You ask the Baron while already getting into motion.

“I don’t mean to brag, but… I’ve been told I’m rather proficient.” He informs you, glancing off like it’s no big deal. As he does, you march over to a nearby sword stabbed into the earth, yanking it free and using it to carve the perimeter of your intended operating area separate from the intense flow of the river, including a small bypass channel from which the water will be able to funnel in from.

“If you would, could you carve a trench through the markings I’ve left? Three-and-a-half feet deep, if you can manage, with an extra foot deeper at the center of the main pool.” You instruct, meeting the Baron and finding your way around him, removing the bag from his back. “Here, give me this. You’ll need your hands.” Walking over, Perses paces the trail you’d made, looking straight down at his feet as he goes, fists pressed against his hips as he appraises the work needed for the task requested. While he’s busy with that, you retrieve One Eighty-Seven from his canvases wrappings, spreading out his form and placing his head alongside it. Checking the oxygenator’s functionality, you find you still have a few hours left, 2:15 displayed on the small timer. It’ll be close. You have a few last preparations to handle, mainly refusing the jugular muscles in his neck and reconnecting the spinal nerves and tendons, given the spinal fluid has remained uncontaminated on your journey. Nothing else to do now but go to work. Deploying your bag, you notice as Perses has begun his excavation, carving his hand through the stone of the water’s edge as though moving it through a reasonably fortified bubble fortress, slashing enormous chunks of rock from the riverside with the ease of a mechanical excavator.

“Fuckin’ Cruxite, it’s hard to temper my power this low…” He cusses to himself as he hesitates his next strike, trying to find the right angle that would put out the least amount of force on his end. “Alright…" Perses tells himself as he looks down at the ground, having torn up the edges of your markings along its entire length. "Alright, here we go!” Then, in one swinging motion, the Baron raises his fist into the air before plunging it deep within the stone. “Tremoring Earth; Shattered Lands!” In a sudden burst, all the stone Perses had entrenched with the divots he’d carved goes up in a pillar of exploding force, atomizing the rock in the split of a second. Glancing it over, you see he’s done decent enough work, completely hollowing out the bowl shape of the operation pool.

“Remember, lower at the very center.” You remind him as you prep the flesh welds and prime the nano workers.

“I got it.” He huffs, dropping down into the pit to carve the center out by hand. “Yo, so once we’re done here, we’re reconvening with the others, right? Whaddaya think they’re up to right now?” He proposes his question while heaving a boulder he's ripped up from the ground over his shoulder, all the while the blood waters pour into the pool around him, splashing past his legs. You look over at him as he patiently waits for your response, the water slowly rising up past his hips while he stands in the crater. He’s an odd one, you’re realizing. Though, you suppose it’s a fair question. Neither of you have checked in with home base since yesterday. They could be up to just about anything by now…

 

***

 

“SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!” You helplessly scramble across the slowly melting terrain on the Land of Dust and Fury, everything around you cracking apart. The cave is coming down, if not halfway down already and it’s filling with smoke fast. Why did this have to happen now, god damn it?! You were finally getting back on track! Ryder was handling the Thief fine then Leah had to go and get her fucking head blown off! Next thing you know, everything’s collapsing, you’ve lost track of everyone else and you’re Freaking the Fuck Out!!

“Jason! …Jason!!!” A voice calls for you as you run. Looking up, you find Ragnaa peering down at you from one of the rifts in the half-collapsed cavern ceiling, waving her hands to get your attention. “It’s begun! The Great Disaster has begun!” As she shouts, the Seer points to the right, off towards the gap in the cavern, where the cave itself has been completely destroyed, opening the fields to the rest of the world. There, what must be miles in the distance, you see the gargantuan stems flattening the earth as they swing forward, razing everything in its path with each step. From the looks of things, it’s bound to intersect with your path as it gets closer, and pretty soon, it’ll clash into the cavern hanging above you, likely collapsing the rest of the cave you’re in once it does. Damn, what the hell did you do to deserve all this? While you’re distracted with the Incarnation of the fucking Rapture trampling your way, ahead of you opens up an enormous fissure in the path. “Look Out!” Ragnaa shouts, seeing the hazard before you do. Turning forward again, you notice the divide half-a-beat too late, and go running off.

“AAAFUCK!” You yell before slamming into the cliff on the other side of the gap, barely catching the lip of the fall. Holding on by barely a full arm, you struggle to get back onto stable ground. You’re attempting to throw your leg up onto the ledge when your struggle causes the earth to start giving way under you. Oh shit… oh Shit!!

 

Jason, don’t fall off that Cliffhanger!

Chapter 77: > Fantasia Unraveling

Hours in the Past, but only One;

The sword slash carves through the air as if they were from two different polarities, a resistance dragging against the blade trying to slow it enough for its coconspirator to evade your cut. Reality itself is attempting to subdue you for her sake, so you’ve been burning it back like an overgrown forest brush. It’s for its own good, you know. Taking another swipe with your right, you put all your might into the followthrough, fast enough to break the sound barrier, yet silently passing through space as the world softens the attack. It’s annoying. It’s annoying and it’s pissing you off!

Before you can dwell on your irritation much longer, there comes the distinct -click- of the girl cocking her shotgun’s hammer back. You’re too close after attacking to outright evade and not get winged, and judging by the cool metal pressing into your jugular, she’s got the barrel of that stubby pressed into your neck. With a quick twitch, you pull your torso back, stopping when your spine is parallel with the ground. Above you, the buck shot goes screaming out through the void, propelled with a bang from her holy castor! With her hand extended out, you slash your blades in unison, going to sever her gun arm in a single swoop. Unfortunately for your Dismemberment Counter, chick’s got magic hands, withdrawing her paw before you can do a bit of trimming. Taking a blind stab at where you figure she’s still standing, your shot in the dark finds no kill, jabbing into the open air. However when you pull yourself back up, you find a single strand of dirty blonde locks slowly floating to the ground. Close. Good enough for now.

Reposing yourself, your head sweeps left to right looking for your opponent, finding her at your three o’clock, looking cocky as ever as she aims that damn shotty your way, firing as soon as she has your attention. She has a tendency to do that, you’ve realized. Only attack when you’re directly looking at her. Almost like she feeds on the recognition. Whatever the hell it is, you disregard it, swiping your right hand blade across your flank, dispatching the shroud of scrap metal from its flight for you while in the same motion, flipping the sword to a reverse grip and charging in for an attack. Reaching her before she can reload her little trinket, you slash upward with your right blade, attempting to drag the edge of the sword across her chest, missing as she jukes back with a sudden burst of her legs. Already anticipating this, you’ve already swung your left blade into an arching slash down, aimed for the space between her neck and shoulder. Always the one to be disappointed, the edge of your samurai sword misses its fleshy target, instead slamming down against the short metal double-barrel of the shotgun the girl had implemented as a shield. Before you can capitalize with how close you are to the opponent, the girl shifts forward, placing the barrel of the gun parallel to the side of your head, pulling the trigger and somehow firing still despite not having any time to reload. The attack on your ear ducts is enough to withdraw you from the monetary struggle, backing off of her as she finishes stuffing her gun with more murder horderves.

That’s another thing you’ve been running into in the strife. The damn trollop seems to always have an extra few slugs in her chamber, despite expending it’s max two. You’ve already deduced that she doesn’t actually need to reload her gun in order to shoot from it, but does so anyway every few blasts she fires off. The infinite fire thing probably has something to do with some hope mumbo-jumbo, you get that, but what’s really confused you is the reloading at all. If it isn’t needed, what the fuck is she doing it for? Every time she does, you’ve gotten within inches of delivering a killing blow. So why does she risk it? Some kind of ritual? Maybe it amps the power of her buckshot?

“And to think you spoke such bravado before, Little Lamb.” You hear the bitch say as your ears stop ringing so damn loud. “I had anticipated a notable struggle, but this… this is just sad.”

“Shut yer fucking trap, tramp!” You roar back, orienting your blades into a forward guard before charging at her. Just as you reach the girl, your opponent leaps into the air, soaring over you. Already knowing what she’s attempted, you spin yourself out of your current placement as she blasts a crater the size of a kiddie pool into the part of the field you had just occupied. Mid-dodging-spin, you slash upward, carving into what you assume to be the leg or side of the sneak-thief. You catch your footing at the same time that she lands, and already anticipating an ambush on her part, you set the backs of your blades against your neck, forcing them out and sweeping a slash through the space behind you. They clash with something, though you’ve got no idea what. Apparently it can’t have been too important, because you hear the click of her hammer a second later, causing you to dive from where you are as another blast goes shrieking by, scorching into the ground and evaporating the stone floor like a fucking rocket engine just carved into it, leaving a sizable divot leading a few feet off from where it hit. Think packs a hell of a punch, huh. You can take it. That is, if she ever manages to land a fucking hit! Ha!

While still in the dive to the side from your last dodge, you fall into a roundabout sprint for the girl, leaping at her while spiraling into a spinning slash, cycling your blades a total of eight times against her, each deflected by the metal of her gun barrel. You hate to admit it, but she’s pretty nimble with that damn piece of scrap. Turning a surface area no bigger than your forearm into an impenetrable shield. Or so she fucking thinks. There's gotta be a few chinks in that suit of armor she feels so comfortable in, you can feel it! You’ll just have to keep slashing until you find them. And slash you do, pursuing the thief as she skips backwards away from you, smiling and giggling like this isn’t a fucking fight. You slice left and right at her, upping the rate you dish your attacks out at with each swing, to which she keeps her guard-game on point the entire time.

“Sing to me your tones of baleful defiance, my Little Lamb! Choke upon your own resistance as you buckle and bow before me, finally rid of your little ignorances!” The thief cackles as you press faster and faster, the air around you starting to smell of burning ozone as it smokes around you.

“A Strife is no time for jokes, girl!” You seethe through airless lungs, not having time to breathe between slashes. “Why would I bow to someone Below Me?” Behind the veil of your blurred wall of sword slashes, you see as a look of tantruming fury shoots across the thief’s face at your comment.

“Tch-!” It seems you really pissed her off with that one, because before you can avoid it, the girl sends her leg shooting straight up through your barrage of slashes, flawlessly passing through your attack pattern like it were magic, breaching your defense without so much as a scratch. The kick lands in the direct underside of your jaw, and you feel yourself be taken off your feet. By the time you recover from the hit, you realize you’re several feet in the air, the thief already with her shotty aimed for you like a fish in a barrel. You don’t have much dexterity in a freefall, but with the limited control you do have, you flip over yourself, reorienting so that you’re diving towards the ground. Firing, the thief buckles back from the force of her shot, evoking from her barrel a blast of energy that might actually do some damage if it hits. With a twist of your core, you spin yourself into a spiral mid-fall, evoking a bit of energy yourself. Coating around you is the protective hellfires of rage, consuming your form as you aim your blades down, straight for the enemy! Struck by the beam of hope, you cleave your way down through the holy rays of divine whatever, unaffected and uncaring as you plunge your sword tips into the ground where the girl once stood. Already dodged, the girl bounces back to a safe distance before raising her shotgun level with you again.

With arms still lit ablaze, you bound after your prey, not wanting to let her get far. Using the fact that you have to run straight for her to her advantage, the thief unloads another buckshot at you. Unable to fully dodge out of the way without fucking up your approach, you only pivot to the side, having to tank a part of the shot against the side of your arm, the white magic of her slug stripping the flames from your left half. Hits like a fucking truck, but you can power through it, no sweat! Staying the course, you face the gun head-on still, pivoting to the left this time, the shrapnel hitting your right side instead. Two shots is all you’ll allow, as you’ve caught up with the girl, lancing forward to stab her with your left, while slashing down at her with your right, already anticipating for when she dodges from your leading attack. The overhead strike aimed to cut her down the middle is halted when she raises her shield up, leaving her right ribs exposed. Twisting to the right, you spin all the way around, dragging your sword into a slash that sweeps around your entire left flank leading into her. She jukes back, but you land a deep gash in her stomach. While you’re following through with the end swing of your slash, the thief cracks her shotgun open, ready to jam more slugs into the chamber. Now!

Aiming your right blade forward while her guard is down, you fling your sword forward, harpooning the weapon through her left thigh, stabbing into and pinning her to the ground. The thief looks at the blade with a shocked expression, clearly not expecting the attack to limit her movement so abruptly. With her anchored in place, you lunge forward, and with a mighty swing, you tear the edge of your blade through the girl’s neck, severing it from its body! And that’s game. Victory! Breathing in again, you refill your lungs with the sweet taste of a Foe Vanquished! Glancing back while still on one knee after you landed from your lunge, you -Shit!  

BOOOOOOOOM!!!

When you looked back, the only thing you saw was straight down the barrel of her gun. Had you looked a second later, you would’ve had half your fucking head blown off, only narrowly avoiding the buckshot as you twisted your face out of the path of the eruption, the force of which slams into the ground, exploding back a torrent of dirt into your gob in the process. You roll out of the way, putting some distance between you and the gun as you cough up a lungful of grass. Looking up once you’re at a safe enough distance to compose yourself, you see that where there should be a headless corpse, the Thief stands unfazed, head still in place and everything. From where you are, you can see the places you’d landed your slashes in, instead of bleeding blood, now glow with a vibrant white light, like the form of the girl is merely a door, separating you from a great beyond, and those cuts are just the cracks seeping through. The decapitating strike you’d landed on the throat of the Thief glows the brightest, completely severing the head and body, opening more properly the gate upon her neck. Her eyes glow now as well, staring at you with whited out beams of alabaster as her smug grin grows all the more smugger. Slowly sealing themselves, your slashes begin to vanish from the Thief’s body, healing on their own and eventually reattaching the opened up pieces of the girl. As her neck reforms, so too do her eyes return to normal, ceasing to glow any more. The only part of her that refuses to heal is the sword you had stuck through her leg, keeping the glowing portal there open as it attempts and fails to reform around the blade. With a quick jerk forwards, the Thief yanks the tip of the sword out from the ground it had pinned her to, but keeps it pierced through her leg all the same, unbothered by it.

Trying to wrap your mind around the tricks she’s pulling, you come up empty-handed, unable to figure out her con. As the miniature break in the strife seems to be coming to an end, you happen to glance to the side, towards where your Master watches your fight with the rest of your group, unconsciously seeking what to do from her. All she does is tap the side of her head, telling you to think. Damnit, that’s no help at all!

Come on, Ryder, you can figure this out…! That rhino girl with the purple wings, she’s a hope player like this Thief, right? Didn’t she say something about this chick needing an Immortal Form to do something? But none of the Arena contestants are immortal anymore, and besides, that wasn’t how reviving worked anyways. So is she culminating some kind of holy magic within her body to resurrect? A Divine Form… but a Mortal one… You wonder how many cuts it’ll take before you can break through that defense! Looks like you’ll have to start taking this seriously now.

“You’ve proven to be quite the Bruiser, Little Lamb.” The Thief commends with a laugh. “A Warrior of such standing cannot go unrecognized! Please, allow yourself the Honor of Knowing my Name before we go any Further.” Though you’re sure this has to be a trick of some kind, you can’t help but listen in to what the girl has to say, the faintest bit captivated by her demeanor. “I am Graziella, hailing from the Noble House of Dragomir, Leader of the God Hand and Lord to All. Know Me and Rejoice! For it is a Gift that you are to Meet Me Here this Day.”

“Yeah, I’m real honored.” You scoff at the display, writing it off as wholly disingenuous. “Well, Miss Drago, you should know you face the Lineage of another Royal Family. I am Ryder Von Wolfhart, son of Ryder Von Wolfhart, successor to my Father’s Name! Now cut the shit.”

Drawing your third blade to stand-in for your second, you press your nose to the grindstone once more, charging for the Thief before she decides on the terms of the fight herself. Seeing you challenging her, the Thief fires both barrels simultaneously at your advance. Refusing to budge even an inch from your charge, you face the blast head on, tearing the shrapnel out of the air with the slash of your swords, evoking a cackling energy in your grips as you do. She fires three more times, and you carve the attacks in two with each blast. Some of it gets through, pelting against you and embedding into your skin. You don’t give a damn. Too close to stop you now, you feint a strike with your blades, and when she goes to block and evade, you leap forward, using the handle of the blade still embedded in her leg as a vaulting point to spring off of, flipping over the Thief while stabbing the sword further into her. While mid jump, you slash your swords out, opening up a glowing X across her back. As you land, you swing upward, severing her gun arm at its bicep as she turns to use it on you. The limb stays hovering near completely still attached to the rest of her body, but as you’d expected, you’ve cut her dexterity significantly with it, allowing you to weave into her flank unopposed. Stabbing up into her armpit to limit her movement, you crane your neck down, reclaiming your third sword as you bite its handle and tear it out from the side of her leg.

At this point, the Thief’s managed to tilt the barrel of her gun just enough to have you in its spread, pulling the trigger and erupting from it a shot that cuts into the edge of your back, sending a singing agony through your body. In an instant, you’ve withdrawn all of your blades from the girl’s body, and in retribution from the hit, you grip your fist around your right blade, sending it flying up to uppercut into the Thief’s jaw with all your might, enraged at the stinging damage that continues to radiate its torment! Though when you followthrough, your punch finds no target, completely whiffing as all your strength goes into the open space above you, causing the air to crack like thunder as it summons an enormous gust in the aftermath of your swing. She’d ducked back, and when you look to see where, you receive a kick square to the face, sending you back a few paces in squinted pain. Throwing a blind slash forward with your left blade, you hear as she ducks past the attack and strafes into your flank. Before you know it, she’s leapt up, planting a jumping kick directly into the side of your head. Spinning further around you, she lands two more kicks into your back, one at the base of your spine and one in your buckshot wound, flaring up your anger once more! Bringing all three blades around, you force the Thief out of your space just as her gun arm’s reattached itself. Pulling the hammer back, you take that click as an opportunity to blitz her as you burst forward. Somewhat surprised at your rush for her despite having a clean shot on you, the Thief leaves her guard down for the splitest of seconds. But that’s all you need, as you cross your forearms together and swipe your left and right blades through the space before the girl, igniting a glowing presence over the swords as they pass. Conjured by this somatic ritual are two illusions of darkness over the Thief’s eyes, covering her golden peepers and blinding her in the process.

“Uhg-?!” She questioning exclaims as a look of shock crosses her disoriented face, causing her to reel her head back, trying to pull away from the effect. With her guard completely down, you burst forward, diving head-first toward the space beside her. Landing on the palms of your hands, you compress yourself like a spring before launching yourself up, feet-first! You like kicks, huh? Try this on for size! You slam the soles of your boots into the underside of the Thief’s chin with all the anger she’s built up poking and prodding at you like she had! The force of the hit is enough to fling the girl well into the sky, sending her flying into the ceiling of the cavern, landing there with a echoing Boom, causing a torrent of gravel to come raining down afterwards. Slowly lowering your legs back down to the ground, you rise to your feet once more. Using the moment to recompose yourself, you reaffirm your grips on your blades, grit your teeth a little harder, and block out the pain cooking the flesh of your back.

Gazing up to the ceiling where your opponent seems to have gotten a foothold in, you faintly spot the Thief as she brings up her shotgun once more, aiming it down at the world below. Now, you’re no gun expert, but you’re pretty sure bad boys like that sawed off she’s sporting have a rather finite range on them. The hell is she doing?

As you wait with baited breath for your opponent to finally get on with it, you hear the echoing click of her hammer pulling back, despite being a hundred feet above you. While you’re busy questioning the acoustics of the cave, there comes a sudden silence over the battlefield. There’ve been moments of quiet between bouts when both you and her repose yourselves, but this feels different. It’s a distinct silence, like you’ve fallen into a vacuum, and all the hatred and noise of the world has nothing to travel on. Suddenly, the cavern lowlands is basked with a shining light, the Thief’s spot on the ceiling now glowing with a blaring radiance and illuminating everything below. At first, you try to shield your eyes from the annoying glimmer, but pretty soon you understand that you don’t have the luxury of gawking at the eyesore when you realize it’s hurdling straight down for you. Shit!

Hurrying out of the blast zone, the ground behind you erupts like a fucking volcano, propelling you the last bit of distance out of the way, momentarily darkening the world around you as the shining beacon drowns out all other sources of light. The force of the impact throws you off kilter a tiny margin, forcing you to tuck into a roll in order to keep form as you land. Tumbling into a god damn superhero pose down on one knee, you glance back up to the Thief only to find she’s launching another of those orbital strikes without hesitation. Darting forward, you begin to strafe about the battlefield as more and more the terrain is eviscerated from the divine ordinance she’s raining down upon you all. You’d question if she even cared about her own team with how reckless her bombardment is, but you’re not dumb enough to attribute human emotions to this psycho. Of fucking course she doesn’t!

Continuing to pepper the world below her with reckless abandon, the Thief seems adamant on putting you down with her meteor storm attack. As time goes on, it seems that putting distance between you and her was not the play. Between that and the fact that you’re getting sick of running around like a chicken-shit playing defense, you think it’s about time you do something about this damn turret. The only problem is getting up to her. You’ve never jumped that high before. The most you could probably make is halfway with your current max distance. Oh well, you’ll just have to figure it out. Ideally soon though, because the battlefield is getting shredded taking this kind of abuse.

Exploding out from beneath you, one of the air strikes hits close enough that the ground beside you loosens and breaks away, tumbling you down into the ditch it’d created. Among the rubble now, you look up to see the Thief has seemingly locked on with you stuck in a literal barrel, raining Heavenfire down upon you without mercy. You’d say you were impressed at the brutality of the onslaught, if not for the fact that you’ll be melted if you don’t do anything! Centering yourself, you cross your arms before you, holding the blades of your swords parallel from one another down beside your ribs. Everything. You’ll need everything if you want to survive this…!

To the core of your being, you reach deep down inside of you, searching for the might to endure the onslaught, scouring for one last conviction you’ll use to break down Heaven’s Gate itself. Closer now, the radiating screech of the white magics loom overhead, rewriting reality as it passes through its territory. Through it, all things are possible. Even your own death. You won’t allow it. You still have something you have to do first!

And as you realize this, an image comes to mind. The night after meeting the girls, after they freed you from the barrel those pricks trapped you in. It was the first time you’d seen Leah smile, as you sat around a campfire. You remember as well the first time she’d jumped into strife on your behalf, you remember the first time Ragnaa told you her weird predictions, or when she shared her troll music with you. You remember her carving a luck charm out of jade for you, you remember Leah leading the way when you first partied up. You remember your first lesson with Mia, you remember her first fight with you as well. The laughs you’ve shared with them, the triumphs and struggles. Not just the Girls. Haugrr, Sock Head, Mia’s dork boytoy! All the Stupid Losers you’ve been traveling with! It isn’t just you down in this divot right now. They’re all with you! Your Family! And if you die here, they all die with you! You won’t allow it!!! A Man Protects his Own!

Collating together, you bring all three of your swords to a single pointed aim, the power channeling through you now taking physical form, pouring out of you like a streaming river, flames cascading down all around. With all your might, you slash outward in complete unison, and the reality the Thief wrote is torn asunder, trisecting her smiting cannon shot and rendering it nothing, forcing her to realize that her killing blow was always just imaginary. The ground separates all around you, the three vectors of your attack destroying all in their path without favor or prejudice. Above, the ceiling of the cavern shatters, your three cuts having reached even there without you realizing. And as enormous chunks of moss-laden rock plummet down on top of you, you see your opening to close the distance. Leaping forward, you shoot out from the grave your opponent tried to bury you in, flying high into the sky and meeting the plummeting comet halfway, slamming into the rock and flinging yourself even higher!

Crashing into the destroyed rooftop at fucking light speed, you find your opponent once more, stood completely upside down while on the ceiling. Behind her, countless tiny white strings tied to the Thief’s back have embedded themselves into the roof to anchor her there. She greets you with a knowing smile, still thinking she’s the one with the upper hand in all this.

“Hehmber he?!” You bark at the girl through sword-occupied teeth, embedding your left and right blades into the stone of the roof to secure yourself there.

“How could one forget a fussy thing like you?” She coos, leveling her shotgun straight forward, aimed for your head. Without a second’s hesitation, she pulls the trigger, hurling the metal shards screaming through the void. Ripping your right blade from the rock, you slash the hoard of angle bones away. No more heavenfire? So the buckshot gathers power the farther they travel.

Not allowing her the upper-hand any longer, you bound forward, slicing through the surface of the roof to secure an anchor point each step you advance, eventually reaching your target and stabbing your left blade forward first for your opener. Dodging back, the strange weave of strings keeping the Thief attached to the roof constantly shift over one another the way whale teeth do, alway making sure she has a contact to the ceiling she’s attached to. Countering your stab, the Thief fires once more with you so close to her now. Instinctively, you swipe your right blade out to block the shrapnel, only to realize that you’ve unanchored yourself and have begun to fall. Damn it, Ryder, what the hell are you doing?! You have three blades for a reason!

With as limited of a maneuver as it is, you plunge your left and jaw blades into the ceiling, burying the tips of the swords in deep enough to only just catch yourself. With your right blade, you slash out at the Thief, noticing she’s recentered her sights for your forehead, clattering the edge of your sword against her gun hand and redirecting her aim just in time for her shot to raze an enormous chunk of the roof instead. Swinging your legs forward as they dangle into the void, you build up a small bit of momentum before flipping back, reorienting yourself upon the ceiling to face the Thief once more. As she’s pulling her shotgun back to her, you slash forward with your jaw blade, slicing into her collar bone and opening another glowing portal on her flesh.

While you’re in the backswing of your attack, you notice a few of those white strands have attached themselves to your blade, attempting to grab hold of it and wrestle the weapon from your teeth. You slash the strings with your left blade to break their hold, following up with a kick to the Thief’s head, bouncing it off the rock of the ceiling. The girl’s body goes tumbling down while stunned from the hit, flipping over herself as the white strands stretch like bungee cords, catching her there just below you. Lunging for her tethers, you’d intended to cut her loose from the ceiling, however your maneuver comes to a grinding halt as the Thief gets a shot off with her double barrel. You pivot last minute, forming an x-guard with your left and jaw blade, but it’s sloppy. Roughly half the buckshot pushes through your defenses, embedding into the side of your stomach.

“HA!” You roar, clutching your jaw blade to lessen the sudden influx of biting pain. Really kicks like a fuckin’ mule, don’t it?

Slashing out both blades in your guard, you try to divide the Thief into quarters, missing as she swings back on her strands, retracting back up to the ceiling. As soon as she’s level with you, she takes a second shot, forcing you to toss yourself to the side, out of the blast. Burying your left blade into the stone above you, you press the knuckles of your right hand against the injury to gauge the damage, being met with a warm and mushy mess at your side. Yeah, that smarts…

Ahead of you, the Thief, with a sly smile, admires her work on your canvas. Then as though to mock you further, she cracks the barrel of her gun open, ejecting two shells which fall to the world below. Charging forward, you tear across the roof to the smug bitch before she can complete her reload, blades primed for the cut. Tearing across to her place on the ceiling, you slash forward with your jaw blade by your side, having aimed it for her midsection. Yet before your steel can touch flesh, the girl suddenly drops from where she is, her cape of tethers releasing as you go by. Gazing down, you see just in time as the Thief snaps the barrel back in place, letting fire two shots in rapid succession. You attempt to counter the shrapnel, but with one arm dedicated to keeping you anchored, you’re left lacking to parry with only two swords. The buckshot that makes it through scrape into your leg, right above your left knee.

Sliding by, your anchored sword drags across the ceiling as you struggle to keep form under the injury. Fuck, that stings! And while you’re busy being a fucking pussy about your gunshot wound, the Thief extends her cape out, doubling the width of the strands into wide sweeping sheets, appearing in the likeness of Wings that reach out to grab for you. Your blades carve through the first front as they attempt to coil around you, but with only so much mobility while hanging from the rafters, you’re underprepared to fend off the onslaught of encroaching silkwear attempting to hug you to death. Eventually wrapping around you, the gentle embrace of the Thief’s cloak holds you steady, a more complying target for her to take aim at.

“As amusing as this little quarrel has been, it seems your time has come to an end.” She accentuates her villainous fair-wells with a satisfied smile. “This is goodbye, Little Lamb.” Pulling her hammer back for what you can only guess is emphasis on her little play-pretend show of power, the familiar -click- rings out, putting an irritating stress on your ears in particular. And as that vindictive, cankerous sound claws at the inners of your ears, your teeth grind against the grip of your jaw blade, and an overwhelming fury courses through every inch of your body! Burning out, your rage is made manifest, your body erupting in flames as you slash all three blades out, completely disintegrating the cape’s grasping strands along with it’s hold on you. Just then, the Thief fires, forcing you to jut back as the buckshot hurls past your face. Though you dodged far enough that you’re only scraped on the forehead by the attempt, you’re too far from the ceiling to re-anchor a blade into the stone there. Plummeting into a free fall now, you notice as the Thief watches you from her perch, a curious look of surprise aimed at you as you go, as if she’s wondering why you’re leaving. Shit, not good! You can’t let her get distance on you again!

“RAAAAHHH!” With all the rage you’ve got pumping through your veins, you channel the heat out through the edges of your swords, slashing all three out in a triformed attack. Cascading forward, the path of your blades score across the divide in righteous hellfire, finding their cut in the surface of the cavern’s roof. The phantom tracks of your 3-blade slash disappear into the stone there, burning into the canvas above you the shape of a Mighty Pyramid, larger than the battlefield below. But… nothing happens. A silence comes over you as you fall from Heaven, waiting in pointless anticipation for your attack to take effect. It’s then when you look closer that you notice the strands of the Thief’s cape extending out, reaching like tiny little hands across the entirety of your work, it’s tendrils acting as glue to keep it all together, to keep your efforts from reaching fruition!

“…Hm!” You hear her humph through the quiet nothing between you, a satisfied grin on her face. God damn fucking useless piece of-!

“Ruuh…” You growl through your sword’s grip. Think she’s got you beat with one simple trick, huh? Bullshit! Twisting your hip to the side, you throw yourself into a spin, blades carving through the space around you, altering it to your demands. “RAAAAAAAHHH!!!” And with this change, the air is sparked and ignites, and you cast out the Incarnation of your Rage with a spiraling slash, dividing the cave in two, separated by an infernal wall of fire which scorches the underground space. Be it Heaven or Hell, your Spiral saws through all it Touches, incinerating your Will upon wherever it finds itself. One would say it almost looked like a great big Ferris Wheel of Fire in the sky, the crown-jewel attraction to a Dark Carnival.

 

-BOOM-

 

Above you, the labors of your hardship tear the ceiling in two and cause it to crumble, the cuts you had delivered beforehand in the shape of your mighty Pyramid now erupting in the aftermath of your wheel-strike. Not even a million of those grabbing strands that Thief thought were so infallible can stop the avalanche now, collapsing on top of her with a thousand tons of rock! Trying in vain to hold back the floodgates, you watch as the countless thread-paths spread like an infection across the remains of the ceiling, and still it’s impossible to stop. Barreling down, the Thief vanishes from your sight as she’s consumed by the wreckage of the ceiling as it batters her to-and-fro. And as the cave collapses, the roof now lets in the light from above, shining down on every-… everyone… Why does it feel like you’re forgetting something…

………Oh shit, you forgot about everyone else.

Looking down as you continue to plummet, you fail to see anyone in your group below you. Ah shit, you didn’t hit any of them with your attacks, did you? Fuck, fuck, okay, maybe if your narrow yourself into a dive, you can reach the ground before the rest of the-

 

-BOOM-er-

 

Fuck! As you try to figure out how to land faster, something wings you, right in the fuckin’ kidney, knocking you into a corkscrew! You howl at the initial bite, but your vocal cords continue to shred as you yell-on even after the pain subsides, furious over the direct hit. Stabilizing yourself out of the flailing spiral, you glance back to see the Thief weaving through the mountain of boulders you’d knocked loose, diving in and out of them with an added mobility from those cape strands. She snuck you when you weren’t looking, got a solid slug into your back while you were focused below. Flipping back around, you ready a guard against her onslaught, deflecting the rapid fire round of buckshot the best you can while still in freefall. And while her hands are busy pumping away at that trigger, the cape behind her slowly anchors its way around the nearest slab of stone, suddenly flinging it your way, accelerating its fall as it threatens to slam into you. A simple slash with your right blade cuts it in two, rendering the mass harmless, but as the pieces of stone separate, you find that the Thief had rode her projectile down with it, appearing before you on the other side of the door you’d just made for her. Too dumbfounded at your own stupidity at not seeing such a blatant opening for her, the girl has more than enough time to level the Shotgun straight for your face, close enough you can see down its barrels. With only a split second, you raise your left and right guard before your idiot face, and not a nano-moment later, the full force donkey-kick impact slams into your upper lip, and the world around you is flung into a blur, your body flipping over and over and over again until finally, you’re momentum comes to an abrupt and painful halt as you strike the ground at terminal velocity, creating a terrific plume of smoke to go kicking up as the dirt below you explodes out.

Pushing yourself up, you smear the blood leaking from your nose across the rest of your face with the back of your sleeve, brimming with an all-righteous fucking fury now. Slightly dazed from the fall, you realize that you’re actually in the trench you’d burned into the ground when you summoned your wheel attack, the bits of smoldering ash still hot around you. Your first instinct it to crawl out of this hole asap, but those plans are cup-checked right off the bat, for as soon you look up, the ceiling fragments you carved out land on top of you, deep-impacting the fuck outta the entire area. In an instant, you’re suddenly forced into a folded position by the weight of the roof-chunks landing atop your head, forcing your noggin down damn-near between your legs.

A slight blur in your vision radiates out at the edges of your sight, letting you know that those back-to-back blows to the skull probably weren't the best for your health. Whatever. You still have a Strife to win. You can deal with all your pussy injuries later!

Slashing above you, you cleave the rubble you’re buried under in half, jerking what doesn’t atomize off of you as you reemerge to the surface, finding the place a destroyed mess. A heavy smoke covers the area, and the terrain is almost completely hidden between the massive craters and enormous chunks of stone scattered everywhere. You contemplate calling out to your friends to find them in this mess, but before you can, you notice a glint suddenly flash you in the eye, catching your attention. Looking to the source, you spot the rhino chick peeping at you through her giant rifle scope a ways away, ascending up one of the larger fragments of earth kicked up in the fight that’s almost formed a spired hill in the field. And as soon as you spot her, you find the rest of your group there, having huddled close to the structure to endure the storm. Amongst them, you see Leah and Ragnaa in particular standing out within the crowd, an overwhelmed look of distress wracking the both of them. Looks like you’ve got them worried… Damn it… You have to put an end to this… You Will Put an End to This! Because… Because…!

Because you want to live in a world where your Family can smile freely… And You’ll Kill Anything that Tries to Get in the Way of That World! Raising your right blade, you signal to them that you are undaunted. That it doesn’t matter what this psycho-bitch throws at you, you won’t let her past you! You are their Warrior, their Protector. You are Ryder Von Wolfhart, worthy of your Father’s Nam-

“You really like letting your Guard down, don’t you?” The Thief’s voice floats around you before your back is torn into by a legion of scorching bolts, flinging you to the ground from the force. Throwing a hand out, you land on your elbow to break the fall. Reaching back, you press your sword-gripped fist against your injury to try and lessen the pain. Fuck that burns! “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Far too Reckless, Little Lamb.” She continues on, firing again. Whipping around, you manage to block some of the shot this time, but a sizable amount still makes it through, sinking into your ribcage.

“Gah!” You nearly choke on your tongue at the sensation, unintentionally dropping your jaw blade as you cry out.

“In the End, you are bested. That’s really all there is to say on the matter.” She begins to spout nonsense at you, snapping her shotgun open to reload. You pay it no mind as you drag yourself across the torn up ground to try and put some space between you and her, at least enough to get back to your feet. “You may forfeit, now.”

“Not on your fucking life, bitch!” You shout. Without a hint of hesitation upon being rejected, the girl unleashes her dragon’s breath at you. Rolling out of the way, you build up enough momentum to throw yourself back onto your legs again as you dodge the shot, setting a forward pincer guard aimed her way in anticipation of her next shot.

“Come now, a mortal such as yourself must realize when he is outclassed.” She tries to gently ease you into being smothered. “You cannot win.”

“This isn’t about Winning…!” You snarl through your teeth as you realize you’re having a hard time standing upright this long. “This is about Carving My Fuckin’ Name into your Forehead, bitch! So COME ON!!! Take your best shot!”

“……Hm. A Pity.” The Thief hums, disappointed with your verdict. Cocking back her hammer, you feel a notable power welling up within the barrel of her gun this time. Grit your Teeth! This one Might Actually Hurt! “Goodbye… My Little Lamb.”

With your jaw clenched into a vice-grip, you brace yourself for the boom. But before the flesh-rending roar of her gun can find you, an interloper ropes themselves into the fray. Materializing in a flash of Lightning, Leah stands there just beside your opponent with a cold look in her eye, her revolver pressed to the side of her head. And there she utters a single word;

 

 

 

 

 

“Bang.”

 

 

 

 

 

Even through all the tweaks and modifications reality has undergone through the course of your strife, the sound from Leah’s voice echoes out through it all, and a kind of calm follows it, like existence has reoriented itself back to normal under her influence. Then, just as the world is made whole again, the Knight fires her handgun, evoking a colossal beam of radiance that completely engulfs the Thief where she is in the blast…! As the smoke clears, you find that where your opponent was now exists a hole that’s cut through everything behind it, boring through the rubble and wreckage kicked up in the fight.

“…Ah.” Leah exhales as she breaks her aim and lowers the firearm. Pulling her gunhand back, you see that there’s a visible strain in her forearm causing a slight tremor in the muscles. She’s hurt. Getting a hold of her shakes, she seems to notice you again out of the corner of her eye. “Ryder!” She exclaims, turning to come tend to you like you’re a fucking child. “Are you alright?!” Your whole body tenses up as you hold yourself back from snapping at the girl.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” You roar at her, taking the Knight aback from her approach.

“…Helping you, ya idjit.” She reaffirms herself, holding her ground where you stopped her.

“You Trespasses, Leah. This isn’t your fight.” You remind her of just what the fuck you coming out here was supposed to be for.

“Fer God’s sake, Rye, she was gonna kill ya!” She continues to miss the point.

“And what if she was?” You boom. “This is a Duel, Leah! No one was supposed to intervene, you broke the rules!”

“Well y’know what? Fuck The Rules!” Leah snaps in retort, causing you to lean back as she bursts her hands out. “If the only thing all those rules gets ya is put in the grave, then fuck em!”

“I knew the risks when I agreed to the fight.” You reason with her, still frustrated at her butting-in. “I gave my word as a Warrior, I have to honor it.”

“That’s what she wants!” She points in the direction the Thief was disintegrated in. “She wants you to play her little game because she knows how to swindle you with it! She’s a conman, a charlatan! The only time she’s interested in Honor is if it benefits her! What’s the point in honoring an agreement someone snaked you into? Are ya that eager to be someone’s fool?”

“It doesn’t matter if it was a Trick, Leah. I’m a Man! It’s my job to protect the people around me!” You try to get her to see.

“And how exactly is getting yerself killed gonna protect me?” She asks, blowing a puff of air out her nose at you.

“I-…” You go to say something, but stop, not sure what the right answer to that question is…

“You’re my friend, Ryder. I’m not gonna let some she-devil blow yer brains out because you wanna act macho infront’a everybody.” She continues as you try to figure out an answer for her pervious question. “You want to protect me? Fine. But you’re damn sure not gonna stop me from protecting you!” She emphatically declares, emphasizing her point with a finger jabbed into your shoulder. “Now buck up.” She says while turning to face the field before you, cocking the hammer of her revolver. There, the three other God Hand members appear on the ridge above you both. “Here comes the Riff-Raff.”

“You’ve violated the Terms of the Duel once again.” The ghost-looking one says, unfurling a whip out before her. “There will be repercussions.”

Readying your blades, you raise a guard in anticipation of the sideshows’ attack. The first to step up and make his move is the freak in face-paint, flicking his wrists and catching what looks to be a nail between his fingers. Seeing he wants some first, you step forward, ready to throttle the bastard, but just then, something unexpected happens. Instead of flinging his scrap metal at you like you thought he would, the nutjob sticks it into one of the dolls he has hanging on his belt. One with little Hope Wings on its chest, piercing it right at its neck.

“Gah!” Leah suddenly yelps, jerking forward as she clutches her throat.

“Leah?” You turn back upon hearing her scream. Crouched down on one knee now, the Knight plants her free hand against the ground, gripping into the dirt there while she clutches her gun against the side of her neck in pain. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?!”

“Can’t… Can’t breathe!” She grunts through her teeth. In the midst of her anguish, Leah’s eyes flick up, glaring at the God Hand members from the top of her sight, unable to fully tilt her head up. “It’s the doll… rat bastard…!” Whipping her gunhand forward, the Knight takes aim and shoots three rounds at doll-boy in the split of a second. Before they can find placement in his heart like she’s aimed, the ghost flicks her whip, opening a black hold or some shit in front of him, blocking the shots from landing. Unable to spite the pain any further, Leah goes back to clutching her throat with the top of her revolver. He’s doing this?

“Hang tight, Leah. I’ll rip the guy’s fucking lungs out!” You assure your friend before leaping forward, blades ready to bite.

“Easy, now.” An all too familiar voice echoes out just before you’re slammed with the scorching weight of a freight train, kicking you out of the sky and back to the dirt.

“Ryder!” Leah cries out for you, even through the voodoo cutting at her throat.

“A-agh…!” You pathetically moan as you try to push yourself upright again, finding the muscles of your left arm in a state close in likeness to ground beef.

“Mhmhmhmhmhmhmh, My Word!” The Thief’s laughter echoes all around you, unable to be pinned down to one direction. “You mangy pack of nonbelievers are proving to be quite the arrogant den of cutthroats, catching me off guard like that.” Forcing yourself back onto your feet, you attempt to locate where the voice is coming from, but come up short. “You are quite an audacious one, Paladin. Do not believe what I do next is done out of a lack of Admiration, for you have mine in droves.”

“HEY!!! You Leave her out of This! Your Fight is with Me, Bitch! She has Nothing to Do with It!” You shout to the heavens, still unable to find her. Readying yourself for Round 2, you place your left blade between your jaws, knowing the limb is shot and unable to swing properly in its current condition.

“Au Contraire, Little Lamb.” The disembodied voice drones on. “I believe this one brings quite a bit to the Table. Flash Stepping. A very interesting technique, to appear right before your Goal in the blink of an eye like that. I like it. Although… I must say I’m far more partial to that other ability of yours. What was it again…?” No… Turning to Leah, you find her still on the ground, writhing in agony. Get to her. You have to get to Her! “Oh, that’s right…” Lunging forward, you fly across the field to where your friend lies prostrated, blades by your side. But manifesting before you can reach her is the Thief, appearing behind the Knight just as she’s sat up to look at you, too dazed by the pain to realize what’s going on. Leveled behind her head is the double barrel of who was supposed to be your opponent, finding her talons in her new target.

“MEAAAAAH!!!!” You yell for her through the grip of your sword, watching helplessly as the cold metal presses lightly against the back of her crown.

 

 

 

“Bang.”

 

 

 

The muzzle erupts with brilliant light, spilling out the dragon’s breath and tearing into the skull of the would-be Deicide, breaking apart the brain casing and shredding everything it shielded. Her body falls to the ground before her murderer, the entire top half of who she was eviscerated from this plane. Your heels catch first upon the grass, stopping you where you are when your legs realize they have no more reason to push forward any longer. You were too late… She’s… She’s gone…

You could not protect her… You could not protect those around you. Because of your weakness, the Knight, Leah Luchra is no more. Nothing of her remains in any way that matters. Gone… Gone, Gone, GONE GONE GONE!!! No, it can’t be, it isn’t! It isn’t True! IT ISN’T TRUE!!! She was… she was right there…! Right there in front of you, close enough to touch! And now she’s… now she’s…

“Haaaaaa…” The world around you goes quiet as the breath slowly deflates from your lungs. There is a tremor within your chest, an errant twitching that slowly spreads across your entire body as it fights itself to break out. There are War Drums in your Heart, pounding to get out.

 

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

 

“RRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!”

 

 

 

***

Kicked straight out of the POV with the ends of your hair singeing, you are forced back to the character select screen with an abrupt and unceremonious conduct. It appears that Ryder is too angry to be at the current moment, and so you’ve been forced to select someone new to host the Narrative in the time being. There aren’t exactly a lot of appealing options available to you at the moment, but you find that the Auto-Select feature on the character page seems to have already selected a host for you. It seems the feature has naturally gravitated towards the only remaining member in the Trinity the last person you’d been was apart of. Might as well, right?

You are now Ragnaa Volspa, the Seer of Doom. And not a moment ago, you watched as your Moirail was slain upon the field of battle. While too far to see from the perch your group has gathered on, you were treated to front row seats as the events unfolded in your thinkpan, flashing across the thunderous clouds of The Gloom like Lightning. Those on the upper rung of the hill you’re on gasp, having bore witness to the killing directly.

“Sister…” Esspin mutters from the peak, likely having just as good a view as yourself from the scope of her lead castor.

“What…? What’s happening?” Haugrr turns to you, unable to see past the wreckage of the field. You cover your fangfold, unable to speak as you choke on the words.

“It’s… it’s…” You’re barely able to squeak as imagines of her cranial guard being blown away replay over and over again in your pan. Before you can even process what’s happened, a shift in the atmosphere flows out from where Leah’s body has fallen. It courses around you like a building wind, blowing past at first in a zephyr, but soon building to a mighty gale. Drifting your sightglobes over to the source of the channel, your sight is met with a hostile ray of radiance that bites at the corneas the way frigid air bites at the skin, staining the space around it in a vibrant vermilion.

Observing the phenomenon, you watch as the influence it has over its area condenses, as though being drawn away from you like the tide, until it occupies no more than a small bubble just over the ridge. And that’s when you hear it. Ryder’s shriek which rings out across the entire cavern. All of your group, save for Haugrr, cover your hearducts, attempting to stave off the piercing influence it’s shouted into your thoughtsponges. At the apex of the vengeful howl, a sudden beam of energy breaks out for the skies from where the Page stands, like a Lancing Spear that strikes straight through to the Heavens. The immediate horizon is dominated by the shine this monolithic power creates, casting a shadow as it swallows up the light of the Land. Even as far away from him as you are, you can feel the scornful presence Ryder emits, sending terrified chills across your entire body. The amount of power is so vast that you can’t tell if what you are seeing is a hallucination or if Ryder’s Rage has taken form at a mass scale upon the corporeal plane. Steeling yourself from the hear-shattering screams of the boy, you look to the others, only to find them all transfixed by the Beacon of Unrivaled Fury that divides the Sky as though it were a vast set of Doors, the Gates of Hell opening before your very eyes and this beam the sight that it shines back at you. It’s true then. Armageddon has pierced the veil and been made flesh.

Watching in awe as Ryder’s piercing dagger stab into the skies above, staining the teal clouds there a midnight black like a limb turning necrotic, a vision begins to form within The Gloom, showing you as the Page marches forward towards the Thief of Hope, all his blades lost to him but the one that remains within his clutched grabber. Streams of Existence attempt to coil around his form, trying with desperation to confine him from his target, suggesting routes other than the one he insists on. At a glance, you can tell these bindings are reality-defining, influential enough to dictate the Laws of a Universe with an absolute authority, and yet he walks through them, cords of truth snapping as they cling to his body, unable to make him yield.

Reaching the Thief, with a single slash, one that almost seems slow as it passes through space, Ryder seamlessly slices through the human’s entire structure, completely in two down her middle. And from the cut bleeds an indescribable light, akin more to a doorway than an injury. Upon her bisected face, you see that the Thief possesses in her a conflicted expression, segmented into two completely distinct emotions by the gap dividing her. One Half of her Smiling, while the other bears a Frown. If he’d noticed the schism, Ryder had given it no mind, following his first slash with a second, then a third. The Thief jukes away, each piece of her following the other. A fourth, a fifth. And Ryder pursues, unrelenting in his follow. An eighth, a ninth. The faster she flees, the more determined Ryder seems to become in his hunt. Twelve, fifteen, nineteen, twenty-five. All across the fields, these two forms soar with the Thief now fully on the defensive, with Ryder gaining more and more traction with each swing. Forty-three, sixty-six, ninety-one. He slashes with an unrelenting precision, dividing the Human Girl again and again and again, erasing more and more of her with each brush of his sword, replacing her flesh and blood with the radiating light that exists beneath it.

You watch in astonishment at his work as it is projected into your pan, observing as the Thief is made into a being of Pure Radiance one pass of a seven millimeter blade at a time. It isn’t until the visions in your Gloom expand upward that you realize why it is you are being shown this. The path they engrave during this chase has weakened the very ground you all stand upon. Like two carving-picks digging at the pillars supporting a great weight, the Thief and Page remove the stability this part of the planet relies on to stay whole in droves. If this continues, the whole cave will collapse around you!

Bursting forward, you leap down the edge of the hill your team had gathered on, navigating your way across the state of destruction the strife has left the field in. You have to get to him. You have to tell him what they’re before they end up killing you all!

“H-hey, Hey!” You hear Haugrr call after you when he’s noticed you break out. “Where are you going?!” You don’t have time to stop and explain. You have to -///- reach Ryder before it’s too late!

Rushing out through the field, the cavern itself seems to begin to shake around you as the two clashing forces crash against one another. Above, pieces of rubble break off from what’s left of the ceiling, plummeting out of the now pitch-black sky. Juke Left. Diving to the left, you narrowly jump out of the way of a sizable piece of rock just as it was about to smush you like a bug. Forward, now! Rolling forwards, you feel as the soil you’d just stood upon is upheaved, nearly piercing into you. When you glance back at what had happened, you find an enormous tendril has burrowed up from the ground, looking like an gargantuan root of a tree, glowing with a powerful light. What is- No time, keep moving. Right. Hurrying along, you weave in and out of the wreckage, getting closer to the part of the battlefield Ryder has penned the Thief into. Equip your Weapons. Realizing you could be waking into anything, you equip Donato di Kailasha, the hammer appearing in your right grabber and chisel in your left. Just then, as you round the corner of a larger piece of boulder fragment, you run into an unfamiliar individual. The Mage of Rage, face covered in Highblood paints. He notices you almost immediately as you appear in his vicinity, his cold eyes darting to the side as they spot you. You hesitate a moment as you two linger before one another, unsure if you in particular are fighting or not. Quickly removing any doubts of his intentions, the Mage arms himself, summoning three long iron pikes between his grabberprongs as he turns to face you. An old sense of panic sends your bloodpusher into a terrified frenzy upon seeing a Highblood bear his fangs at you once again, and you’re frozen between your duty to find Ryder and your instinct to abscond in the opposite direction. Steel yourself! Readying a defensive pose, you realize there are bigger things at stake right now and push your Bronzeblood reflexed to the side.

Strafing to the left, you seem to take him by surprise being so bold. Sweeping your grabber out, you take a swipe with your hammer first, missing as he leans himself back to dodge. Swiftly doubling down, you take a stab at him with your chisel, trying to pierce him in the trunk end of his stepperpole. Diverting your lunge with his own set of pikes, the Mage blocks your attack with his 3x Guard, quickly following up with his 1x Offhand, stabbing for your chagrin tunnel with a pike larger than the three he holds in his dominant grabber. Block. Bringing up your hammer, you catch the point of his spike between the mesh at the neck of your weapon. Flinging your grabberstaffs out, the two of you shove each other’s armaments off one another and break your stalemate. With a distance between you, the Mage flings out three of his smaller pikes toward you. Shield. Raising your guard, you feel as the projectiles clatter against the side of your hammer, falling to your stepperpads as they’re deflected. Glancing down just before your shoes you find… Nails? He uses Nailkind? Not important, focus.

Right! You’re in a Strife, aren’t you? Crossing your wrists to guard your grabberstaffs, you charge your opponent. He won’t have time to intimidate you if you’re relentless in your attack! Reaching him, you jab forward while taking a swing for his cranium. Before you can follow through, the Mage steps forward and a sudden Haze springs forth from his torso before him. Slamming your steppernubs into the dirt, you stop on a caegar, left face-to-face with a Wrathful Spirit howling out from the Mage’s bellowcage.

“RRAUGH!” It snarls as you nearly flip back over on yourself. Ah! You weren’t relentless enough! What are you doing? It’s just an illusion. Easy for you to say! That thing was terrifying! You aren’t getting anywhere near it! You’re gonna have to if you want to get by this guy.

The Mage readies a stance, prepared to meet you for when you decide to charge him again. You have to get close again to get by him…? No way! Too dangerous! Come on, think! There’s got to be a path around this! Glancing to the side, you find that the boulder closest to you on the left is mired with hallucinations that carve it into pieces, the cracks and weak points highlighted by a coursing light. Ah ha! Juking hard towards the chunk of stone, you slam your chisel into the nexus point of the boulder’s damages, slamming your hammer against its head when it’s secured. Cracking like a bulwark fruit, the rock splinters into fractions, completely breaking apart into large chunks that fall from the whole. One chunk in particular crashes forward, landing down upon the Mage who’s forced to dodge out of the way to avoid being crushed. While he’s occupied, you sprint up the length of the boulder fragment, leaping off the makeshift ramp and over your opponent, absconding past!

“Told you I wouldn’t have to get close!” You declare in glee to… yourself… Why did you just say that…? Keep moving. Right, keep moving. Got to keep mov- “Aaah!” You yelp as a sudden searing pain pierces through your posturepole, knocking you out of your stride. Stumbling forward, you nearly trip to the ground, only kept up by propping yourself against a heap of rubble with a trembling grabber. You’ve been shot? No, there isn’t any entry wound. Then what is- “AAAH!” The pain suddenly flares up, like an enormous knife’s been harpooned through your organhoard. From behind, you hear the dreadful steps of the Mage approaching, no rush to his stride as he’s easily able to catch back up with you.

“Feh.” He scoffs in disgust as he stands over your place in the dirt. Cringing into yourself, you see within The Gloom that clouds your mind that the storm opens up, and revealed is a scene of yourself, curling in place as the Mage reels back with his 1x Nail. Ragnaa, you’ve got something up your sleeve, right? No! Guess we’ll have to improvise, then.

Before the Highblood can plunge his iron dagger into your chute, an unexpected force throws your head back, and erupting from your calciumshield as though your temple were a subspace highway, the form of an ally comes spilling out. Creed, crashing out from your forehead with the temperament of a machine, cracks the Mage across his jaw with a swing of his bat. In the back end of the spin he’d thrown himself into with the attack, the Heir kicks backwards, planting his human stepper against the cranial nub of the boy, forcing him away. With him stunned, the anguish piercing through you seems to break with his concentration, allowing you reprieve from the torment. Turning back, you find your Heir standing at your forward guard with his misshapen cuebat aimed towards the enemy, watching the Highblood compose himself after receiving his surprise 2x combo.

“…How long were you up there?” You ask him, realizing he’d just come from your thoughtsponge.

“I hopped in as soon as you took off running. Had a feeling you would’a needed backup, so I tagged along.” Creed says, not breaking line-of-sight with the Mage. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“How could I?” You half-laugh while watching the Highblood furiously rips the purple blood from his face, whipping back around to face his thwarter with a vengeance.

“By the way, it’s a mess in there. We should talk about that later.” Creed adds on, taking a glance back at you for a split-second. “For now, get to Ryder. See if you can’t divert things from the course they’re going.”

“How do you-“ You begin to inquire.

“Saw if for myself in those storms brewing in your brain.” He quickly answers as he begins to pace left, trying to circle around the Mage who’s mirroring his moves. You hurry after him to keep up. “Doesn’t exactly look like a walk in the park for us if those two keep going the way they’re going. I’ll hold this guy off for now. You focus on getting to our boy.”

“Got it.” You nod before turning to run once the Heir’s walked you to the direction of the field Ryder brawls in. As you hurry along through the wreckage, you see as The Gloom still focuses on the conflict you’ve left behind you, allowing you to watch as Creed faces off with the Highblood, ending his pacing around him to commence with the duel.

“You sure about this one, big guy?” He asks the Mage “I’d walk away while my legs are still working if I were you.”

“You’ll die screaming.” The Mage says, not as a retort, but as though it were a matter of fact. Expressed with a bored disgust, the way one would when stepping in something unpleasant.

“Brother.” A new contender emerges, walking into view of this pocket within the clouds. It’s Esspin, appearing just behind the Mage with her rifle in-hand, but not raised. It appears your entire group is moving into action, then. “This is not the way. Lay down your arms and let us help you.” Alarmed at her sudden appearance, a kind of fear appears to crack through the painted visage on the enemy Mage’s face, seemingly identifying Esspin as a greater threat than he did Creed. Snapping his focus to the side, the Highblood flicks through the hanging dolls he has strung up at his hip, eventually locating the one he’d been searching for when he reaches the Hope fetishes, selecting one with black tufts of hair stuck at its top.

“Stay back!” The Mage orders, driving a nail into the center of the doll’s head. As he does, a sudden surge of power bursts out from Esspin’s own temple, jerking her head back at the impact of the magic. Stunned for only half a beat, the taller of the Highbloods slowly lowers her nub back down to face her counterpart, unscathed by his sorcery and with a displeased look in her eyes. “Well… Ain’t that a Bitch.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, Brother.” Esspin agrees, pulling the bolt back on her rifle just as the pocket in The Gloom closes, ending your viewing.

Ahead of you, you watch as Ryder and the Thief go flying by through the distant skies of the cavern, flung from place to place, landing with a tremendous crash each time, knocking loose more and more of the cavern with every hit. You see that Ryder’s nearly turned the Thief into nothing by a sentient ray of radiance by now, hacking and slashing the little bit of her that remains there. Yet still, the Thief remains. And what’s more, the light she’s emitting gets brighter and brighter as their fight goes on, building up an even stronger presence in reality than she had when they first started fighting. You aren’t sure what the upper limits of her power could be, but by the rate she’s been rising, she isn’t anywhere near slowing down. This could be bad. Really Bad! If Ryder can’t put a stop to her soon… No, you can’t focus on that now. Not when you’re so close! Breaking through the edge of the maze left by the collapsed cave roof, you finally catch up with where Ryder’s pushed the strife to, finding yourself in the wreckage of the Consort hive clusters that the two have long since smashed through amidst their quarrel.

“More…! More! MORE! MORE!” Ryder’s voice shouts across the divide as they’re moving so fast now, the two opponents seem to blur together in trails of violet and gold. “I won’t Leave Any Trace of you Alive, you WITCH!” He roars while bounding across the cavern, unearthing countless tons of rock and stone when he lands, penetrating deep into the surface of the planet with the damage he’s inflicting. “You Hear Me, Bitch?! YOU HEAR ME!?!? YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD, SCYLLA!!!”

Who is… No. You can worry about it later. Right now, you have to figure out how to get close enough to Ryder without being turned into mince meat. You don’t have to get close enough to talk directly, but you’ll need something big enough to grab his attention. From there, you’ll be able to get at least a partial message to him. But the question is, what can catch his sightglobe while he’s in that frenzy?

Trying to figure out a strategy, you notice that amidst the wreckage of the town, one item in particular has pierced through the clutter to grab your attention. Towards the center of the hive cluster, a partially collapsed praisehive sits with its roof cleaved clean off, revealing to the world an enormous brass soundslinger at its apex, worn like a crown. Ha! Perfect! Ask not for whom the Troll Tolls, Ryder. She Tolls for Thee!

With a clear angle of attack, you make a break for your target when the battle drifts wide enough away from the consort settlement that you can run there safely. Booking it through the field, you keep a globe on the warring powers in the area, wary that their struggle might turn your way at the drop of a pallid.

-crack-

You seem to be in the clear for now. Turning back forward when you should be just about to the beeeeeell-bell-bell what the bell, where are you? You were just about to enter the outskirts of the subgrub, and now… you’re back in the rubble maze? Looking behind you, you see where you just were back outside the destroyed town, however, you see it through the threshold of a hissing tear in reality. Is… is this real? Inspecting the break in nominal geometric existence, you observe as the edges of the disturbance cast off an undulating ether that expands and contracts, similar to a bellowsac taking in breath, but more aptly compared to the waves of a beach sliding across the shore before returning out with the tide. Needless to say, you are spellbound by the phenomenon, so much so that you’re too slow to hurry back to the other side of the window before it closes, leaving you stranded in the middle of the maze once more. Aaah… fuck.

Okay, Rags. No problem. You just have to cross the divide once more and… probably get teleported back here once you get there again… Hm. Might not be the best strategy to throw the same thing over and over again at the wall on this one. Mainly because you don’t want to run across No-Man’s Land more than twice… No, you’ll need to be a little more clever to avoid making the same mistake again. The mistake in question? You have no idea. You still aren’t even sure what happened that ended you up where you are. Spontaneous Teleportation would be a new for you, but it’s not like your list of problems is terse by any stretch of the imagination. It wouldn’t surprise you if this was just another entry in the long line of unfortunate afflictions you’ve been forced to haggle with since beginning your SGRUB carrier. The timing of just such a condition has you skeptical, however. Developing a propensity for dividing gaps within the spacetime tapestry would be rare, but doing so in the midst of such a monumental fight seems astronomical. It’s something else then, yes? Hmmm… You do recall the Sylph these brigands travel with was capable of opening up tears into subspace with her motivationcable. Perhaps she bamboozled you when you weren’t looking? Opening a rift while you kept your attention on the fight seems like a simple enough trick.

Trying to deduce what happened to you while keeping a steady pace moving through your ruinous surroundings, you feel a sudden pressure within you thoughtsponge, as an intense migraine begins to set in. Ahh, okay, really don’t like that. Jeez, something huge is cruising through The Gloom, just behind the event horizon. Whatever it is, it’s coming soon, and judging by its size, the destruction it’ll wreck will be Biblical! …Biblical… What’s a bible? Dang it, Creed! He left pieces of his human vernacular in your thinkpan after jumping out so quickly! Forget it, you need to focus. If you want to get past the Sylph, you’ll have to find a weak point in her defense. And the only way to do that is to observe her in strife.

Seeing as your vision in the clouds has been rather concise with the area thrown in disarray the way it is, you attempt to harness The Gloom to your benefit, scouring the storm for your target. While you don’t find her directly, you are able to locate part of your group at the outskirts of where Ryder fights, meandering about while they bicker with one another.

“I thought your spear could cut through magic!” Jason complains to Mia as he appears short of breath, likely having just run back after being warped away.

“It nullifies metaphysical allowances in an isolated environment, it doesn’t cut through magic, dumbass.” Mia sneers at the assumption. “The bends in space she uses are completely nominal, there’s nothing paracausal for me to counter.”

“You can’t even try?” Jason asks back, standing up straight with a tired stretch of his posturepole.

“To what, cut the fabric of spacetime? No, I can’t.” Mia answers with an annoyed tone.

“Don’t worry guys!” Sara exclaims, suddenly zooming past where they are at the outskirts, rocketing straight for the battlegrounds. Not even a full yard out into the open, a tear through reality opens up in her flight path, too close to divert in time. Spitting her out a few dozen yards back, Sara remains undeterred, making another bolt forward towards the line. “I think I’m wearing her down!” She tells them as she goes by again.

“What about you, genius. Can’t think your way past an open field? You forget you can stop time?” Mia asks the Page, spearing her weapon into the ground to cross her arms at him.

“Oh wow, you’re right! How could I forget to try the core ability of my powerkit!” Jason sarcastically responds with a roll of his sightglobes. “I already fucking tried, alright? Don’t tell me about my own powers, I didn’t forget them!”

“You have before.” Mia scoffs with a laugh.

“It’s not just the portals, she’s established some kind of Inaction border that’s disrupting my concentration.” Jason continues, choosing to ignore the Maid’s comment. “She must be Mending the Entropy in the area to prevent interference.”

“She’s definitely losing her edge!” Sara updates them, hurrying back to take another swing at breaking through.

“You think I know or care what that means?” Mia asks Jason, slightly waving to acknowledge Sara as she goes by.

“It means she’s making it harder to bring things to fruition around her, ensuring that Nothing Happens. I can’t use my Time Stop efficiently because something would happen once I get to the other side.“ Jason explains, turning out to where the strife would be. “It’s like a Non-Event Field. It’s not impenetrable, but it trips up my concentration enough that I can’t get much farther than Sara, and once I’m in realtime again, I’m portaled away.”

“I got her this time!” Sara declares, zooming past once again. Paying closer attention this time, you watch the Sylph’s progress for when the rift opens up to swallow her again. This time she makes it a solid five yards into the field before being warped away. It happens quick, but you’re able to trace the ether trails the void rift leaves behind back to its source, finding your target’s location in the field. You miss her at first, but the outline of her invisible form faintly stands out to you, highlighted by a shimmer she gives off in the theoretical-space surrounding her. Scrying in on the Voidbound’s location, you begin to hear a soft whisper reverberating out from where she stands.

“I do expect an explanation for the delay, Maestro. The Mistress awaits your attendance.” The hushed voice harshly chastises whoever it is she speaks to.

“I’m on my way! A few of them spotted me and won’t leave me alone!” A second voice answers back from the dark in a similarly hushed tone, mimicking or modified by the medium it travels through.

“And you think this absolves you? Dispatch of them at once and rid yourself of such hampering trivialities. Your time is her time and you are wasting it.” She hisses back through the faintly-said message.

“R-right away…!” The second voice acknowledges. Looking closer, you watch as the response leaves a disturbance in the storm’s formations as they travel to the Sylph, creating a jitter in the silver linings of the clouds that you can follow, like tracing back a radio signal that’d bounced off a satellite, finding the location of its sender. The culprit seems to be the fourth and final member of your raiders, the Mind Prince made of greenery. He’s out in the field just a ways away from where you’ve been pacing the last few minutes trying to iron out your plane. By the looks of it, Haugrr and Dallra have teamed up to take him on, and from what you can tell it seems they’ve got him on the ropes…

“Once you’re done with them there, follow the trail I left you. It’ll lead you through the Rampart I’ve established straight to the Mistress.” The Sylph says out in the open, for anyone to hear. Ha! Looks like you’ve finally found that weak point you’ve been searching for!

Booking it through the debris field, your path fully laid out ahead of you now, you hurdle and vault past the ever-growing mounds of destruction building up in the area, running the gauntlet until arriving in the same grove you’d seen the Prince battling in while searching through The Gloom. Now just to find him and follow the in he has past the Sylph’s guard. Traversing through a narrow passage between boulders that leads out to the larger clearing he was in, you begin to scour the area for the Prince. However, your search doesn’t last long, as an unexpected force goes crashing into you as you were about to round the corner, completely knocking you to your spinal plush in the collision. Shaking off the hit, you look up to see what it was that just flew into you only to be met with the equally surprised stare of the jagged-jawed Prince of Mind, gazing down at you with a wide look, like a burglar who’d just set off a hive alarm. Realizing that not only is the enemy looming directly above you as you lie helplessly in the dirt, but also that you’d lost your grip on the hammer and chisel in your grabbers in the fall, an unintentional yelp escape your ignorance shaft as images of being torn apart by the ferocious plant-carnivore after being caught at a disadvantage flash through your thinkpan! You can't help but wince in anticipation of the carnage.

“Tugh!” The Prince unceremoniously grunts, causing you to flinch at even the slightest of activity from him. Yet… nothing comes beyond that. Just when you’d thought he’d strike, your opponent… absconds? Slowly uncurling from the defensive brace you’d naturally crouched into, you watch as the fauna escapes through the nearby field of rock fragments.

“What… was that?” You question to yourself as you watch him go, still just as confused. Suddenly however, one of the boulders near to where the Prince had hid behind explodes with a burst of rock-shrapnel, giving you a start. Quickly following this, two more bursts of stone are blown out near where the first had initially erupted. Then, as the dust settles, the form of the Prince swiftly zips from behind the exploding rockface, diving behind the boulder closest to it to use as fresh cover. As he goes, you see as another burst of stone explodes out, nearly piercing into the fauna’s side. Collecting your armaments, you slowly poke your nub out the corner of the boulder you’re behind to see what’s happening, finding Dallra up upon a ridge with her slingshot loaded and pulled back, aimed for where the Prince is hiding.

“Rags? When did you get here?” You hear from further off to your right as Haugrr suddenly appears there, staying close to the boulder to use as partial cover.

“Just a moment ago.” You tell him, staring transfixed on his place before you, your pumpbiscuit still in a frenzy from your close encounter with an opponent, causing your bellowcage to rise and fall uneasily. “You’re hunting the Prince?”

“We weren’t exactly throwing him a welcome party.” He tells you while hurrying up to your passage between the rocks, taking cover with you there as he ducks into the alley. “Jason had said I’d be the best matchup against the leafy-prick, and since it’s pretty much a free-for-all now, I figured I’d take a crack at it before he’s able to get to the others.”

“And Dallra?” You ask, looking back at your fellow Seer as she unleashed a barrage of slinging shots on the stony barricades, beginning to pulverize the rocks into gravel.

“She knows how to keep a distance from the guy, so his mind-breaker rays can’t reach.” He shrugs, thinking it obvious. “Plus with her, bastard can’t sneak away. Really figured the guy would’ve been more confrontational than he’s been, but we’ve only chased him so far, no actual combat.”

“Yeah…” You breathe out, getting ahold of the beating in your chest as you recall just how freaked out the guy looked when you were the one on their torsopillar.

“Haugrr! Heading south, with intentions of south-southwest!” Dallra suddenly calls, catching the undead Seer’s attention. “Take the passage to your right and follow the jagged break in the ground, you’ll find him in the clearing!”

“On it!” Haugrr calls back, setting back out as he rushes down the passage you’d just come from. Seeing he’s moving, you follow after, catching his attention. “You sure you want to tag along?” He asks you as you run.

“No choice. I need to get to Ryder but the Void Sylph is blocking the way. Prince has a way past her guard.” You explain as the two of you arrive at the other side of the passage, finding the large fissure in the stone Dallra has mentioned. Hurriedly following it, you take a roundabout path through the valley’s rampart, running until you come across a large clearing that leads towards the enormous ravine in the cave that Ryder had cut open with his flaming-wheel thingy. There’s a break in the ridge to your right, opening up in a wide bank where the rock-maze the Prince took shelter in leads out at.

“Hope you’ve got a pan like a steel trap, then.” Haugrr hums as he scans the field, eventually spotting the Prince as he funnels out at the mouth of the maze. “If he gets his claws in you, there might not be much of your mind left.” Hearing the Prince’s warnings, you suddenly wish Creed was still sloshing around your thinkpan. He might’ve been able to shield your thoughtsponge in the event of a total-rust scenario.

Powering through regardless of consequence, you follow after Huagrr into the fray. You’re halfway across the field when the Prince seems to take notice of your charge towards him, causing the fauna to nearly trip over himself in surprise before hurrying his stride, making a B-Line for the ravine. Speeding up to an unexpected degree, Haugrr bounds across the field toward the Prince before vanishing in a -zap- as his form glitches out of existence. Up ahead, your ally reappears, written back into the script just ahead of the Prince, already mid-swing as he goes flying at the Hero of Mind. Tumbling to the ground as he narrowly avoids the punch, the Prince dodges under Huagrr’s swing which continues on after missing its target, slamming into the rock floor of the cave, cracking the stone open like a ripe melon.

“Jesus! What is with you Seers?! Just leave me the hell alone!” The Prince pleads as he rolls out from under Haugrr’s wingspan just as he tears his grabber free. Springing off his grabberstaffs back onto his steppers, the Prince puts himself into a brace stance, readying to be charged. The guard is short-kept, however, as the Prince is struck on the side of his temple by a sizable stone, knocking him into another tumble. Glancing back, surprised yourself, you find that Dallra has caught back up with you all, stood by the maze exit the Prince had come from. There, you also see her bury the mechanical grabberprongs of her synthetic limb into a nearby boulder, ripping her next piece of ammunition from the stone.

Nearly stumbling over and crawling as he runs, the Prince recovers from the hit enough to retreat to a nearby pillar of stone that’d been forced up from the ground by the collateral damage of Ryder’s Strife. Pressing his torso pillar to the rigid rock formation, the fauna seems to try and catch his breath, only for Haugrr to swoop in, sending his fist hooking through the pillar itself, punching through the stone with a -crash- as he swings for the Prince. Having to retreat from his cover, you watch as Dallra rains down heavy and rapid fire on his position, a whistling crack with each shot at the projectiles breaching the sound barrier. The aggressiveness of it all causes the hallucinations you see to look like fireworks pelting his position, each shot exploding with tremendous force. You’re about to join the fray alongside Haugrr when something brings you to linger where you are. In the midst of the chaos, those fireworks you’re seeing pop brighter with each hit, growing louder and larger the more they are flung, -bang- -Bang- -BANG- -BANG-! More and more, it’s like the word around you is coming apart as the radius of the explosions refuses to end its conquest outward.

You close and rub your sightglobes, unsure of what you’re seeing, and when you look again, the delusions have fled from your sight, the field of battle returning to its normal chaotic self. Focusing back in, you observe the Prince as he finally equips a weapon to fight back with, summoning to his grabber a… shield? Covering his entire right grabberstaff is a wide protective plate, made of an ebony metal and trimmed with a gold finish, bearing a regal red jewel at its center. Using his peculiar Shieldkind specibus, the Prince shields himself from Dallra’s onslaught, while continuing to retreat from Haugrr’s presence. Hurrying after them, you arrive by their side as Haugrr leaps at the Prince, stepperpole sweeping like an axe against him as it slams into the face of the shield, forcing the fauna back a few feet. Seeming to finally grow frustrated with being on the defense, the Prince charges back for Haugrr, making sure to keep him between himself and Dallra’s aim. Lunging forward with the bottom of the shield as a melee device, the Prince jabs at Haugrr, grazing across his chest as he pulls out of the way. Surprisingly, where the shield had touched, a cut suddenly creeps open across his skin, leaking out an old and sickly olive green blood from the opening. It’s then that you realize that while primarily for defense, the shield has a sharpened bottom, allowing for blade-oriented offense.

While Haugrr is in the midst of being placed on the defensive, dodging the followup slashes from the Carnivore, you spring forward, swinging your hammer first, sending its head clattering against the Prince’s shield, creating a reverberating -gong- noise to echo out. Piercing your chisel forward while the Prince is still surprised by your sudden appearance in the strife, you nearly gouge his left globe out, instead leaving a large gash against his cheek as he ducks his nub to the side. Backing off almost immediately, the sudden prospect of a 2v1 with Range Support seems to shake your opponent enough to send him back into absconding mode as he jukes back to assess his situation. Joining you by your side, Haugrr’s repose seems to hammer the final nail into the Prince’s decision to flee as he flies into a stride away from you, heading off towards the ravine again. Pursuing him, you and Haugrr run side-by-side after the turn-tail as Dallra pelts his shield with relentless fire from the ridge. Pulling ahead of you, Haugrr is able to gain ground on the Prince as you chase him, his speed seeming to burst out of nowhere, catching up with him just as he’s about to reach the enormous fissure in the plane!

“Where do you think you’re going?!” He shouts, claw reeled back to plunge into the soft vegetal flesh of his prey. Seeing he’s just about caught, the Prince peers over his shoulder towards you with an anxious look before suddenly turning on a dime and lurching his grabbers out at Haugrr in preemptive retaliation of his attack. In that instant, there comes a sudden flash, so bright it causes you to flinch away, closing your sightglobes to shield them from the harsh rays.

Peeking through squinted peepers, unsure if the biting light still remains, you find the Prince has already continued on with his getaway to the fissure, and lying prone in the field is Haugrr’s motionless body. Shocked at the sudden turnaround, you hurry to your ally’s side, kneeling down and flipping him onto his back to get a proper look at him. When you do, you’re left aghast at what you see, as your hallucinations kick back up again when confronted with the lifeless corpse, making it look as if a thick haze sizzles out from the body’s eyes and fangfold, as if his insides were incinerated, leaving a burning trail of smoke to escape his every orifice. You don’t have to look at him longer than a second before you understand the Lights are No Longer On in Haugrr’s vessel. Searching your surroundings, you look for the anomalous presence Haugrr’s soul leaves in causality, but you find no sign of him. He’s gone.

“Haa… oh man…” You huff to yourself, beginning to panic as you try to figure out what to do. Looking back, you see that the Prince, despite Dallra’s best efforts to disable him, has nearly escaped to the tear in the earth. You turn your attention down to face Haugrr once more, waiting to see if the corpse will reanimate under his presence again, but nothing. It simply rots before your very eyes with nothing changing. “Sorry, Haug!” You apologize as you rise once more to give chase after the Prince. There’s nothing you can do for him now, but if the trail past the Sylph closes, you’ll have no way of getting to Ryder! Dang it, Dang it, DANG IT! It wasn’t supposed to be like this! You were all supposed to make it out alive!

Shaking the woes from your heart, you sprint for the Prince, ready to tackle into him when suddenly, the form of your target drops into the earth, having reached the ravine and jumped in. You hit the breaks, your heels sliding against the grass as you stop yourself from going off just before the cliff’s edge.  Oh man… that’s a really far drop! Gazing down into the Abyss, you don’t see any sign of the Prince, having disappeared into the dark without a trace. Come on, Rags! There’s no stopping now! Mustering all your courage, you take the plunge into the night, plummeting down into the ravine without another thought! Closing your eyes and gritting your teeth, you anticipate the worst as the winds whip by you, drowning out the rest of the world from your perception. Until finally… it stops. And a quiet overcomes you. Opening your sightglobes again, you look around, finding that you are in the field Ryder has taken over in his strife against the Thief. Not far from you are the destroyed remains of the consort subgrub and just beyond that, the brass soundslinger you’d seen. Yes! Haha! Yes, Perfect!

“Dah! What are you doing here?!” A frantic voice asks, catching your attention. Turning to face them, you find the Prince of Mind, only a few paces from you in the direction of the Thief. Half a beat passes between the two of you as you look at one another, both seemingly waiting for the other to do something first. Perhaps it would have stayed like that, with both parties too hesitant to start a strife with the other, forever locked in a stalemate of meekness. Perhaps it would have, but these people are killing your friends! Pouncing forward, you swing your hammer at the miscreant, clattering it against the face of the Prince’s shield as he blocks your attack! Again! You swing, for his other flank this time, slamming hard metal against hard metal! Like a War Drum, you pound against his defenses with a rhythmic step to each swing. Again and again and again, you press into him, forcing the bushfiend back as you swear to break his guard! Going in for an overhead attack, you raise your hammer with the intent of burying it within the fauna’s cranium! Bringing his shield up, he holds his plate directly over his head, leaving his body completely exposed. Plunging forward, you ream your chisel into your opponent’s organhoard, deep into his acidtubes. “Gah!” He yelps, bringing his Shield down to cover his mid-guard. The sharpened bottom of his specibus cuts into your wrist in the process, breaking your hold over your chisel, completely losing it as the Prince pulls away from you to tend to his wounds.

Giving no mind to the trickle of bronze leaking from your stem, you ready your hammer by your side, about to continue on in your assault. Seeing the cold look that radiates out from your sightglobes, the Prince seems to almost shutter as he backs away from you, before eventually turning to run out into the field towards where Ryder and the Thief clash into one another. You have half a pan to go after him, mainly because he takes your chisel with him as he goes, still embedded into his torso, but you realize getting close to that mess could end badly with how fervently those two are tearing up the world. Dang. You guess Donato di Kailasha is just Donato now. Instead of pursuing, you hurry towards the center of the destroyed settlement, towards where the praisehive stood. Racing through the town, you spot it once more, the bell-spire with its roof cleaved off, its metal instrument exposed for all to see. Double-timing it with your goal in sight, you practically smash through the already splintering doors of the holy establishment when you reach them, finding the zigzags leading to the tower right by the entrance’s side. Tearing up those steps with hazard tossed to the wind, warnings of stairs be damned, you reach the final hatch leading to the soundslinger’s block. Throwing it open and climbing up, you’re granted a featherfiend’s view of the Sum-Total Destruction this Strife has taken on the planet. For a moment, you’re almost unable to recognize the scene before you, the juxtaposition of the serene scene you’d seen when first arriving in the valley compared to the war-torn hellscape it now exists as is baffling. Gargantuan trenches carved up and down the cavern, as though an enormous plow had gone rampant through the earth, upheaving and annihilating all in its path. Vast craters in the likeness of orbital bombardment punch holes through the planes, reaching all the way to bedrock. Fields of wreckage and debris kilometers in length litter the cavern floor, the collapse of the entire cave seeming more imminent with each piece that falls from heaven, all under the backdrop of the midnight stained skies. Seeing it all, you begin to hallucinate once more, watching as all these cuts and nicks and gashes to the world’s exterior begin to howl with a sickening light, irradiated out as the extent of their damages sink deeper past the surface, clawing its ways to the Land’s core. If they keep going, it’s all going to break apart! Not just this cave you’re in, but the planet itself! Just as you'd seen in the omens before coming here... They’re going to destabilize the very being of the world, leaving it to fracture into pieces! Everything is going to Shatter!

You have to stop this! You have to warn him! Turning to the hunk of brass, you take your hammer and slam it against the metal hull, reverberating an echoing call, hitting it again and again.

 

-BONG-

 

-BONG-

 

-BONG-

 

“RYDER!” You call between rings as loudly as you bellowsacs can muster before striking the soundslinger once more.

 

-BONG-

 

-BONG-

 

-BONG-

 

-BONG-

 

“RYDER! YOU HAVE TO STOP!” You call once more, looking out to the two titans as their forces morph the very world around them, making them seem like two warps in spacetime battling for dominion over the other. Two feuding blackholes spinning in opposite directions, both consuming all around them as they battle. “YOU’RE GOING TO DESTROY THE WORLD!” Finally seeming to catch his attention, there comes a lull in the strife, as both parties seem to focus their attention in the direction of your spire. Then, brought on by making yourself known to the world, a rising force is hurled your way, burning through the atmosphere as a meteor would, on a crash course for your tower. Too fast for anything else, you leap from the bellblock, sliding off the side of the praisehive’s roof and crashing to the ground as the spire is eviscerated in an exploding flash of power. You stay down a moment, your bloodpusher having just leapt into your ignoranceshaft as your life flashes before your sightglobes. When you gather yourself enough, you go to stand. “Ah!” You yelp as you push upward, finding your stepperpole heavily injured from the fall. Dang…

Crawling away from the now burning pyre that was the praisehive as it catches into an inferno, you try to look back to the strife to see if your message had gotten to Ryder. There’s too much destruction blocking the way to see them from where you are, you need to get closer! Getting to your step pads with a wobble in your poles, you manage to limp your way out of the now burning town as the fire in the praisehive has spread to the nearby structures, lighting everything up in flames. Just when you’re to the outskirts of the subgrub, a world-shattering pitch screeches across the skies above you, as Ryder’s influence is hurled overhead like a crashing Imperial Star Cruiser, landing him in the planes outside of town with a terrifying blast radius that kicks up like a warhead. That just came from behind you… when did they get behind you?

“My, my. What’s this?” A voice echoes out just as you were turning around to see where Ryder had come from. “A Fortune Teller?” There you find the radiating silhouette of the Thief of Hope, now transformed into a completely etherial being with not an ounce of her original form left. She stands before you now with a hissing authority, not so much a girl, but a tear through reality shaped like one, that same shape burning itself into your sight the longer you behold it. “Come then, Teller. Won’t you read my Palms?” A question emanates from the empty space, it’s hand stretching out to claim you. N-no… No!

“GET AWAY FROM HER!” A Thunderous roar erupts from behind you. As it does, your pan implodes with an unimaginable pain as The Gloom strikes with Lightning bright enough to drown out the Sun! All is illuminated to you in the span of a millisecond. You see everything as it is. Creed and Esspin battling with the Mage. The Sylph just outside the town, keeping Jason and Mia at bay as Sara still tests her defenses. Dallra looking over Haugrr’s corpse as the Prince of Mind hurries towards his master, not knowing where she's vanished to. And most of all, you see as the Storm parts in two, its clouds being moved out of the way by Ten Thousand Hands grabbing at its seam, forcing it apart to herald for what will come through. At the center of it all, transpiring on a lone cloud the hands had left in the storm’s divide, you see yourself, knelt down in the dirt as Ryder has appeared at your guard to save you, his Sword pierced through the shape of the Thief, its hilt pressed into her chest, right over where her heart should have been. Looking up through blurred eyes, you watch as the form of the Thief begins to disincorporate, its shape spilling out at its edges. Made unstable by the hateful blade pierced through its center. Ryder hadn’t just stabbed the girl. He cut through everything to stop her. Not a Flaw in sight. No truer of a strike could have been landed, for it was perfect in every way. “Rags… Rags, are you okay?!” What you think is Ryder asks as it appears before you, holding you steady by your shoulders. His look is unrecognizable to you, something beyond flesh and bone. Even as gently as he handles you, it’s as though you’re being throttled with killing intent. His words, as softly as they’re spoken, pound against your thoughtsponge like the Siege of a Stronghold. “It’s okay now, I stopped her. I stopped her…” He bombards you with his assurances as he releases you from his torturous grips. He doesn’t realize. She isn’t defeated. She just can’t keep herself enclosed anymore.

“Ryder…” You rasp through the torment as The Gloom is torn apart in your thinkpan.

“Huh?” He blankly looks at you, waiting for what you’ll say.

“Ryder…!” You snarl, unable to say anything beyond his name, pointing behind the boy to the trembling form of the Thief. Just then, the form breaks, and the full mass of the thing before you both comes bounding out into the world like a dream spilling into reality, logic and reason completely ignored as new rules are put in place. With only an instant to react, you feel as Ryder snatches you by your hood, and you are flung from the catastrophic release as the boy is consumed in the blast. In those few breathless moments as you fly through the air, right before you land and tumble across the ground, you watch as the Thief’s form erupts unto the sky, crashing through the roof of the cavern in the shape of two colossal limbs, double in size from the subgrub you’d been launched from. And reaching down from the two gargantuan trunks are Ten Thousand Grabbing Hands.

 

***

 

“How’s the water?” Mary asks while you tend to the pool she’d transmogrified into some kind of soupy red brew.

“Wet.” You answer back as you remove your finger from the stuff, flicking the remaining residue from your hand and watching as the miniature machines within the substance she’d deployed crash against the ground.

“How warm is it?” She asks with a huff while turning back from the corpse party she’d just finished putting back together. It was actually a pretty marvelous thing to watch, as she sutured the head back to its stump. She does quick work, judging how she had it reattached in thirty seconds flat.

“Three hundred and eleven point-one-five Kelvins.” You tell her as you stand up from your poolside attendance. ”Or Thirty-Eight Degrees Celsius to the layman.”

“Perfect.” She nods, turning back and guiding her arms underneath the cadaver, lifting it up as she stands. Oh, so now he isn’t too heavy to carry, but not the last twenty miles. “Now, fair warning, there’s a greater-than-zero but not altogether significant chance that the nanites might overheat from rapid use due to the amount of recovery-time they’ll be compensating for. Normally, the healing process would take months for the amount of damage One Eighty-Seven’s sustained, so at the rate they’ll be going, if they over-cycle they’ll begin to burn out in-mass. If that happens, it’s likely that they’ll superheat the waters and boil me alive. In which case, Perses, I wish you luck in your future endeavors.” She explains while walking over to you with the body, facing toward the pool once she reaches you.

“How big is less than zero?” You raise an eyebrow at her nonchalant attitude towards being cooked like a brine-scuttler.

“I’m estimating an eleven percent chance that they hit critical.” She tells you as she begins to step down into the brew, not an ounce of hesitation in her stride.

“And you can’t just chuck the body in and call it a day? Maybe hold him by his ankle and dip him in?” You suggest, not exactly itching to see human-gumbo be made today.

“I have to oversee the process directly in case of lump-sum deviation.” She explains while up to her stomach in the water now, resting the corpse on its surface as she walks it further out into the pool. “Swarm Technology can sometimes get tripped up on itself. A small degree of deviation is to be expected from such a large number of unites, but if too many individual nanites start to act out of accordance with their programming, others will follow suit and begin to diverge from their paths, similar to how sheep will follow the leader in front of them without knowing where it is they’re going. If that happens, One Eighty-Seven will be in worse condition than he started in, and there’ll be no time to adjust.”

“So it’s a gamble?” You scratch your head at the operation as a whole.

“A calculated risk.” She corrects. You guess a 1/10 chance of failure isn’t too bad. Well, a 1.1/10 chance, but who’s counting? “Now stand back. Things are about to kick off.” She tells you, now at the center of the pool. When there, the mechanical units in the sockets of her eyes completely close their shutters, blinding the girl. After a moment of silence, the only sound aside from the nearby flow of the river being that of a quiet rippling wave hitting the side of the pool, there comes an unusual humming from the body of water. And a moment after that, you notice that the cherry red waters of the pool itself have begun to glow, glistening brightly like an aerial spotlight, shining a beacon to the world around you. At the center of it all, beside the blinded girl, you see the outline of the creature floating in the water, his silhouette like that of a long extinct species frozen in ice. Huh… Neat.

 

Perses, observe a Miracle.

Chapter 78: > Right Hand to God

Gazing upon the miracle of child biofuel recirculation, you watch as the glowing red fluid of the operation pool seems to… undulate. Or… is it pulsating? There’s definitely a rhythm to it. It might be boiling, you don’t really know. What you do know is that the liquid is starting to spill over from the pool’s rim, slowly encroaching outward from its hemi-spherical prison. Watching it slowly expand your way, you backup a step, keeping a cautionary distance from the drink, dubious of its intentions for you.

Over in the center of the soup, Mary continues on with her operation with a laser-focus, her eyes chittering as she does… something… with them. Looking closer at her, you find the alien gritting her teeth, a look of pain on her face as she works. You can see around the rib area that the waters have begun to heat up, glowing hotter than the rest of the brew. Oh, so it looks like that flash-cooking contingency is happening. That 11% chance was a lot more probable than it seemed, who would’ve thought.

“Hey, human…! Not to alarm you, but it looks to be you're being charred around the edges.” You call over to the Warlock before taking another step back when you notice the brew encroaching on your territory once more.

“I work best in silence, thank you.” She brushes you off, overall unfazed equally by you as she is the boiling waters slowly cooking her to perfection.

“It’s like that, is it? Last time I try to help an alien. Maybe I'll throw in some seasoning, instead… Dice up some leeks, mix in some potatoes. Make it a whole cook-out.” You mumble to yourself before noticing that the brew has spilt out even further towards you. Would you stop that! Taking another backwards stride, you make sure to put a wide enough distance between you and the overly-familiar liquid, standing back on the upper bank of the ridge leading down to the river and operation pool. Nearby is one of those huge metal chains embedded into the ground on your side of the river, slowly rising up as it crosses the waterway to connect to an adjacent ridge hanging over on the other side. Glancing up the length of the chain, you notice that the skies just over this ridge are remarkably dark for this time of unending day on LOSAC, making what little you can see of the horizon seem like it’s falling into night. Which is weird, because y’know, unending day and all, but also because LOSAC is already a notably dim planet, with the dark red skies giving the appearance of an overcast. But what you’re seeing on the horizon, however, is even darker than that, with the pitch cloud coverage seeming almost out of place in the Land. Is a storm coming?

“Event curve stabilized… Now to ensure a smooth cycle handoff…” Mary mutters as she works, still focused on whatever her enclosed robo-sockets are showing her. Seeing that she’s got her hands full with the medical procedure, you figure what the hell and go to check things out.

“It looks like there’s a disturbance to the west of us. I’m gonna go scout it out.” You announce to the Doctor, calling down to her.

“That’s nice, Pers.” She half-nods your way, likely not hearing what you’d said. Regardless, you continue on with your venture. Trotting away, you scour up the ridge until you’re on level with the giant shackles, walking over to where they are bolted into the ground and climbing aboard the oversized irons, scaling across the chain until you reach the upper ledge to get a proper gander at what’s going on.

Gazing out upon the hilltop fields, you’re met with a far larger storm than you were anticipating for, with the entire western horizon completely mired with imposing thunderclouds that cackle with wind and lightning. Unsure what to make of the meteorological marvel, you watch somewhat absentmindedly as the storm rages on, idly wondering to yourself how it is that neither you nor Mary noticed such a large atmospheric event despite it being so close in proximity to your operation. However, despite its size, there isn't much anything about the phenomenon worth acknowledging. Just as you're about to head back down the chain with nothing to report, you notice that across the long abandoned battlefield before you, there comes a stirring on the rival ridge from where you are. Holding a hand to your brow to shade your eyes, you peer towards the disturbance to scope out what it is you’re seeing.

With a closer look, you find that a herd of some kind of beast is making their way over the hill, passing through the field of swords and spears, trampling the skewered weaponry as they pass. Observing the creatures, you find yourself immediately repulsed by their sight. Grossly disproportioned limbs, their arms far extend to well past the knees of their physiology with a mismatched set of stunted digitigrade legs, the things gallop like quadrupeds, despite appearing bipedal in nature. Hairless creatures, their pale white skin wraps tightly around their lanky frames, appearing malnourished and gangly. Though they have a lack of visible musculature, you can tell by the weight that they run with that their constitution is deceptive, seeming to have an unusual strength for their appearance.

Beholding the hoard of abominations with the appropriate level of contempt and disgust for xenos of their standing, you realize that they seem to be on course for you in particular. No, they’ve been heading in your exact direction since before coming over the horizon. What is… Turning back to chart their trajectory, you notice that the illumination from Mary’s operation pool isn’t just like a spotlight, it is a spotlight, with the light it’s giving off shining high into the sky, creating a Beacon for those miles around you to see, a burning torch for all the monsters out in the dark to flock to. Looking back to the approaching hoard, you see they’re already halfway across the field, bounding and trampling over each other like slobbering feral hounds. You don’t know their intentions, but you can’t imagine it’s anything other than finding a meal at the dinner bell Mary’s just rung with those little machines she’s spun up. Doing a quick headcount, you tally maybe eighty at a glance, ninety to be conservative. Hm…

“Hey human! You close to wrapping things up down there?!” You shout down to the Doctor who glances up to face you, confusion at where your voice came from.

“Not particularly. Now please, if you could stop interrupting, I need to concentrate. This is a very delicate process.” She calls back with a slight annoyance. Hmm…

Facing back out to the mob of freaks tumbling your way, you fully appreciate the situation you’ve found yourself in. Defense. That’ll be the name of the game. You’ll have to buy her some time. And if none is for sale, then you’ll just have to make some. You aren’t exactly thrilled to be fighting such grotesque mutants, but seeing as the feelings are only platonic, the War should unfold professionally. Regardless, it’s safe to say you won’t be telling anyone about such an embarrassing battle.

No getting around it then. Taking a stroll to the battlefield, you lazily grab hold of one out of a thousand countless swords scattering the field, pulling the blade free as you go by. It’s at this point that you think the hoard spots you. You think this because you just whipped your sword at them like a flying discus, cleaving one of the frontrunners in two and maiming a few directly behind it as well. With a somewhat gleeful smile, you start getting into it now, charging the approaching hoard yourself. If you have to fight such creatures, you’re damn sure going to set the terms of engagement! Reaching them before they reach you, you spring off the handle of a stone-bound sword, leaping through the air to dive headfirst into the swarm. With the small bit of aerial time you built up in the jump, you slam down into the crust of the planet with a tremendous force!

“Tremoring Earth; Deep Impact!” You shout as your powers cause the Land around you to bloom like a flower, bursting out a series of spikes that impale the creatures directly surrounding you and battering those behind them in a shower of erupting rock shards. Ferocious in nature, the uninjured of their ranks near-immediately trample over the wounded to get to you, clawing at both earth and flesh alike to propel themselves. The one who reaches you before the rest lunges itself at you fangs-first, intending on sinking its teeth into your throat. You notice while you’re sinking your fist into the thing’s face that these creatures have no visual organs, possessing a completely blank face save for their razor-filled maws. Subterranean beasts, perhaps? Of course they are, just look at this; you slammed one’s head into the ground and he decided to stay there, already feeling at home! Using the neck of the half-buried freak as a platform to spring off of, you leap out of the flower you’d kicked up, tackling another who’d just climbed to the top of one of its petals to pincer you. Directing the full force of the fall into your new buddy as you land, you feel as its spine shatters underneath your weight. Keeping momentum, you throw yourself off the crumpled foe and immediately slam your open palm across the jaw of the closest one to you, completely spinning its head 360° around. While he’s busy figuring out that he’s dead, you turn to the next one, jabbing a right cross and breaking your fist into its chest cavity. They seem to come to a similar conclusion around the same time as one another.

While you’re busy picking apart the foot soldiers, one of the mangy bastards manages to get their filthy paws on you, grabbing you by the face. Entirely repulsed by the fowl creature’s touch, you slam your hands on either side of its perturbingly long forearm, forcing one half to go left and the other to go right, snapping the limb off completely before you backhand the thing away, sneering at the sorry thing and all its parts. Another makes a grab for you in the chaos, thinking his brethren’s successful grasp on your person was a weakness they’d discovered, mistaking it as anything other than sheer luck. You duck back to avoid the grapple but lurch forward when his guard is over-extended, grabbing hold of its head and pulling it free from its disgusting body as you pass into its flank, claiming it as one would a ball in a point-game.

“gabgka…” The thing gurgles in your grasp, seemingly unaware it’s been decapitated. Tossing the still-live head away, you feel yourself start to really get into the swing of things. It feels as if it’s been forever since you’ve had a casual brawl like this, and with opponents so contemptible, you don’t even have to worry about them surviving. It’s actually a rather bit of fun, all things considered. Flinging a flat hand into the air as if tossing a projectile underhandedly, you cast off a surge of energy into the crowd.

“Erupting Conduit; Directional Vector!” You announce mainly for yourself, since these simple xenos likely have no understanding of language. Evoked from your gesture is a sweeping scythe crafted from pure force that carves a line through the mob, leaving a trail of blood and viscera in its wake.

“GRAAAGH!” In the aftermath of your attack, you are unceremoniously jerked forward, one of the freaks having leapt onto your back, attempting to grapple and tear at your shoulders. Amidst the struggle, the thing swinging back and forth as if trying to rend your upper chest from your torso. Instantly furious with the cretin, you whip yourself around, attempting to buck the unwanted burden from your shoulders. Swing forward, you cause the jockey to swing with you, its head flying into view just above your own. With it in reach, you slam your hands together with the creature’s skull between them, splitting it open with a reverberating -clap- that forces back the others in a wave of force.

Throwing the cadaver from your back, you shirk the dead the way one would an unfashionable coat. All the while, the actual living creatures attempt to recover from the last blast wave you’d served them. You notice during this lull in the War that some of the outer ranks of the mutant freaks have actually spilt over your perimeter, completely bypassing the alluring opportunity of a massacre to pursue the Beacon lighting up the eastern horizon. And here you thought you were doing a bang up job entertaining your guests. You can’t have them leaving the party early. After all, you’re an Excellent Host.

Retrieving an Aggriever from your Friction Arsenal, you equip your trusted 6 Gauge Jones’s War Chest to your mitts. Giving the ol’ bastard a spin, you flip the firearm by its lever and chamber a slug, taking aim and firing at the escaping abominations before they can get to Mary’s operating pool. On the first shot, you completely obliterate the one closest to the chain leading down, causing the twelve others following him to screech to a halt, unsure what had killed their leader. Using their hesitation to your advantage, you spin Jones by its lever a quarter-dozen more times, firing each cycle and bombarding the ridge with flesh-splitting influence, mincing the creatures there into chunks before they can get any further and eradicating the stone behind them.

Occupied with your shooting gallery romp, the nearby mutants recoup enough to get the jump on you, one tackling into your side. Another two fly into your flank and legs while you cave the first’s head in your elbow. Before you can turn to deal with the pests, another four are on you as well, enforcing their stranglehold. They attempt to claw and rip at your flesh with their heavy hands, a majority of their damage negated by your armor. In spite of their inability to harm you, you’re disgusted by the embrace.

“Sonic Boom; Stepping Cannon!” You gruffly announce, forcing yourself forward into a warp stream. “Ten Yard Jaunt!” Like an extinction event, you barrel through the masses, completely annihilating those in your way in an unstoppable burst of momentum. Skipping through the air as your jaunt spits you out higher than you’d anticipated, you soar a few feet down until landing knees first onto the shoulders of one of the mutants. Taking the impact considerably well, the thing stumbles forward with you on its back. Reaching down to fix your mistake, you grab the creature’s scalp and chin and with a quick twist, you turn its head completely upside-down. As the dying creature loses motor controls and falls to the ground, you ride it like a grav-surfer into the dirt, hopping off into a kick that lands in the throat of the closest creature to you before firing the last slugs loaded in Jones into the neighboring crowd.

-Bang-

-Bang-

Scattering the herd, the bulk of the onslaught is ripped to pieces, forming a much larger crowd of much smaller pieces if you think about it. You figure that’s about the end of it, since the only intact beasts still in one piece are galloping away back over the hill they came over, but a distant rumbling catches your attention. Glancing back, you witness as the fleeing numbers of mutants are in an instant trampled by an entirely new wave of fresh reinforcements that come barreling over the western front. Crawling over the hill, one mutant in particular emerges larger than most, crushing two or three of its lessers with each step it takes, and as it crests the horizon, it seems to spot you amidst the all the gore and viscera of its brethren through nonexistent eyes.

“RUAAAAHH!” The warg bellows its war-cry upon seeing you at the center of the massacre, likely swearing some kind of vengeance in its primitive mind.

“Hahahahaha!” You laugh, pleasantly surprised there is to be a Round 2 to this War as you load another handful of shells into Jones’s chamber. Before you, the wretched refuse that’s been tempest-tossed your way bound for the Golden Door that shines like a Beacon in the sky at your rear, drawn in like Moths to a Flame. “Man… This is something else.” You shake your head with glee, spinning your firearm by its lever to load. No time like the present!

 

***

 

Scrapping desperately to get a solid footing on the cliff’s jagged walls, you kick at the slowly crumbling stone, realizing you’re likely doing more damage to the ledge’s support than anything. At a time like this, it feels poignant to reflect on how it is you’ve arrived at this junction in life, perhaps to find out where you went wrong. You’d say it all started when you moved away from your neighborhood when you were ten, but… that seems like it’s going back too far to have any relevance to the immediate situation. In the grand scheme of things? Sure. Why you’re hanging off a cliff while your pickaxe loses its grip? Not so much. Leah getting killed might have been the start to this, but honestly, you think your biggest blunder was trusting Ryder to finish the fight quickly. Bastard’s a showboater, you should’ve anticipated that he and the Thief were going to blow up the fucking cavern. Honestly, you’ll take responsibility on that one. Leah had the right idea trying to sneak a kill shot on Graziella when she wasn’t looking, it’s just that she probably should’ve shot her with anything other than Radiant Fucking Magic.

Anyway, after Ryder dyed the sky black with his god damn Laser Light Show and started carving up the cave walls, it was pretty much game-on with the rest of the weirdos Graziella calls her God Hand. Your team split up to dispatch the appropriate opponents while you, Mia and Sara went to attempt to assist Ryder with finishing the job. Running into an infuriating amount of misfortune along the way, the Sylph of Void pretty much ensured you wouldn’t get a step closer to the Thief without her say-so. And while you were twiddling your thumbs trying to figure a way around the border she’d made, the Thief, much to your dismay, decided to transcend into a fucking kaiju. Crashing through the ceiling, the enormous set of legs and nothing else pretty much put the Final Nail in the coffin that was the valley's ceiling collapse, sending what was left of the roof crashing down on the lot of you.

In the few seconds that you had, you reflexively Dilated Time to a crawl to navigate the endless sea of wreckage raining down on top of you, ducking through the collateral as Mia seems to be able to keep up in realtime without issue. You have no idea about Sara, though. She’d just charged the Sylph when the collapse happened and was warped away in the middle of it all. Regardless, you were doing fine evading the fallout until one of the larger chunks of ceiling came loose above you, plummeting down in too wide of a surface area for you to avoid. Mia was already clear of the landing zone, but you? You were still well within its blast range, a good fifty feet still from safety when it landed. The only reason you were able to avoid being flattened was through a Time Displacement, reversing you back far enough to where the wreckage just missed you. You’d lost track of Mia after that. She was gone by the time you’d made it back around to the other side of the blockade. From there you’ve been running west to the more rocky terrains in the cave, out of the valley and into the hills where the cave floor rises closer to the ceiling. You’d sent a message out on one of the Memo Boards to the others on where to go to regroup, but everything’s been radio silent since things have kicked off. You have a few hunches on why that is, but whatever the reason, you’re currently isolated from the others. And with the Thief’s gargantuan form trampling everything it comes across like a stumbling set of elephant feet, you won’t be able to stay here any longer.

Anyway, you'd been attempting to put distance between you and the Thief before trying to figure out where everyone’s gone, but she just keeps following you! At first you thought it was just because they’re so big that it seems like the monstrous set of legs were heading in your direction, but even when you broke for the western region of the cave, it turned its course to follow after. Even in that state, she still wants your fucking ship! There were some close calls with those freaky legion of arms at the top of her legs reaching down to attempt to grab for you, but using just about all your Temporal Reserves, you put a large enough gap in between you and her that you aren’t being immediately pressed. Yet even as far away from her as you got, the earthquake-might of each of her steps is absolutely throttling the planet, causing breaks and fissures all over the place. And what’s worse is that the influence she has over the reality in her immediate surroundings is nearly absolute! The sheer power she radiates out has transformed the cavern into an enormous stove as it heats up the air in here, it’s starting to melt the fucking stone. Trying to navigate such chaos, you ended up running straight off the edge of a break in the earth when Ragnaa called out for you. That pretty much brings you to right now, as Bane slowly carves through the softened rock, bringing you closer and closer to the brink of the abyss.

“Ah… shit…!” You grunt as your arms begin to wear out holding yourself up for so long. “Come on… come on…!” Using up the last bit of energy you have left in your upper body, you attempt to thrust yourself up onto the lip of the ledge, but you fall just short of getting there, causing you to drop back into the pit with your entire weight, knocking loose just about the last dregs of support keeping the crumbling stone in place. “Fuck!” You shout, the plummet below you seeming more and more unavoidable now. Just then, you hear the sounds of footfalls to your rear running closer to your place on the cliff, followed by a strenuous grunt that echoes out as whoever it is leaps forward across the rift. A half second of silent anticipation later, the form of the jumper lands near directly next to you on the cliff, fully crossing the divide and setting down a foot past the ledge. Looking up while thinking you’re saved by whoever’s come to rescue you, your relief is soon shattered as you see who it is by your side. Standing up to their full height on the ground before you is the Prince of Mind, the carnivorous jaws of the alien settling upon themselves as they glance down to your place hanging on the cliff as though they’ve just noticed you. “oh fuck…” You mutter to yourself when you realize that rescue isn’t coming.

“Mmm…” The Prince hums while looking down at you, sounding almost anxious in his tone. Facing his attention upward, the Prince gazes out behind you, likely to where the Thief’s gargantuan figure stands in the scenery with an occupied look on his face, as if grappling with a decision to himself. “Aaahh…” He sighs while gaining a nervous bounce in his legs, causing him to slightly spring up and down where he stands. “Daaaah, damnit!” He exclaims before suddenly grabbing for you. Wincing in anticipation of the attack, you brace yourself for the inevitable push into the grave you’ll receive at the Prince’s hands, but as you’re seized by the shoulders and shifted upward, a confusion comes across your mind. Opening your eyes again, you find that the Prince isn’t trying to force you off the ledge, he’s… trying to pull you back up it…? “Come on man, you wanna die? Help me get you up!” He pleads while lifting back with all his strength. Stunned by the act, you claw yourself upward on autopilot, eventually flopping onto solid ground beside the equally frayed Prince who pants like he’d just run a marathon.

“Uh…?” You exhaustedly grunt while glancing over at the Prince, unable to say anything else while your heart still pounds through your chest from the brush with death. Looking back at you, the Prince seems to realize in real time the situation he’s thrown himself in, seeing himself danger-close to the enemy.

“Tch!” He huffs before scurrying away, half crawling as he struggles to get to his feet. Eventually finding his footing, the Prince books it further into the hills, disappearing amidst the destruction cluttering the cave.

“…What the fuck was that?” You mutter, glancing down towards your feet as they face the break in the earth you would’ve fallen into. This confusion goes on until a sudden -thud- rings out beside you, nearly jumping you from your skin.

“Jason!” Ragnaa calls as she descends the rope ladder she’d let down to your level, reminding you that she’s still here. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah… yeah, I think so…” You tell her while she helps you stand back up. Finally reunited with a member of your team, your first thought is to exchange notes on what she knows to see if she has info on the others, but with a glance back, you are reminded of the Looming Threat slowly crashing your way. Given the current melty state of things, you won’t have the time for a proper reunion. Acting quickly, you reach forward and channel a vector of energy to your palm, extending it out and stretching your temporal influence over your surroundings, activating a Complete Close Off and slowing this pocket of space to a standstill.

“Whoa.” Ragnaa gawks at the spell, looking all around to inspect the dome of static you’ve anchored yourself in. “It’s like we’re at the bottom of the ocean…” She mutters, making you wonder if you’re seeing the same things. Looking over the Seer, you find that she’s rather banged up, with a few scrapes and gashes scattered around her body, the dried bronze blood on her dress making it look like she’s rolled around in mud at some point.

“Here.” You nod to her before materializing a cog construct to your palm as you reach for her. Forcing the chronologies back, you rewind a decent portion of the injuries and blood staining her figure, only leaving behind a few she’d received too far back in her timeline for you to get at.

“Thanks.” She perks up a bit, testing to see the extent of her returned mobility. Looking around the Close Off a little longer, Ragnaa pauses a moment. “Where’s Gret?” She asks you.

“Dropped her in my sylladex when things started getting messy in Ryder’s initial Strife.” You tell her while glancing back to the gargantuan titan suspended in the sea of grey outside the bubble. “How about you? Where’d you get off to during it all?”

“I tried getting to Ryder to warn him of what’s happening.” She answers while glancing over to the Thief’s figure off in the distance with you. “It… didn’t go very well. I was right at ground-zero when Graziella unraveled. Nearly trampled me right then and there, but I had been thrown out of town just before the blast hit. After that, I had to keep moving to avoid getting caught up in her path. Part of the ceiling came down at an angle, made it a climbable incline that took me to the roof. I’ve been scurrying around up there ever since then.”

“You said you were thrown?” You repeat, looking for clarification. She nods.

“Ryder. He’d tossed me right before the blast.” The Seer explains.

“Where is he now?” You inquire, having not seen your fellow Page since all this kicked off.

“…” She turns back to look at you before her eyes shift down to the ground. “I’m not sure… He threw me a lot harder than I think he intended to. I passed out in the landing and when I woke again, he was nowhere to be found.”

“Is he…?” You begin to ask, stopping yourself when you realize a question like that shouldn’t be so bluntly tossed out there.

“Dead?” She fills in regardless. “No, I don’t think so. The Gloom is ever-present in my thinkpan, even while I sleep. I never saw him show up.”

“Has anyone else… showed up?” You try to phrase it easier, not entirely sure how she’s taken Leah’s passing.

“Creed and Esspin have taken some heavy injuries, but they’re still kicking.” She tells, nearly giving you a heart attack with the first half of her update. “Haugrr’s missing in action along with Ryder after a bout with the Prince of Mind. I’ve seen Sara zipping from place to place every now and then, but she’s been sparse. Mia, on the other hand… she pretty much has a dedicated section of the storm all to herself. It’s basically a collage of her at this point.”

“You’ve got a beat on Mia?” You stop in place, realize you’ve begun pacing as Ragnaa continued down her list. “Where is she?”

“There.” She points out past the confines of the Close Off, towards the silhouette of the Thief on the horizon. “She’s kept on her tail the entire way, trying to find an angle of attack to take her down. I’ve got no idea how, though. The space by the Thief’s strideshafts she’s in is experiencing such an ungodly level of reality bending, it’s begun to form micro-existences. Entire pocket universes no bigger than the tip of a proton dreamt up and expiring in the span of seconds, the pressure should be like standing at the brink of a blackhole.”

“Sounds like Mia…” You gaze out to the distance before turning back to your Seer. “Have you seen any signs of Dallra?”

“Only once.” She nods. “From what I could tell, she has a few minor injuries from strife, but… I can’t tell from who.”

“Last I knew, she’d gone with Haugrr to challenge the Prince.” You say while glancing off in the direction the Mind player had headed in.

“She had, but that’s the thing… she never fought the Prince, he was running away from them the entire time.” She reveals with a nervous tap in her foot. “Something's causing problems out there... There are other pieces being moved on the board.”

“The other God Hand?” You suggest, turning back to her.

“I can’t see how. The Mage had his grabbers full with Ess and Creed, and the Sylph stays close to the Thief.” She shoots the idea down. “Besides, if they were exchanging serious enough blows with one another, they’d have been revealed to me in The Gloom.”

“……Ragnaa…” You begin an inquiry, feeling a strange buzz in your mind as the strain of the Complete Close Off starts to weigh on you. “Do you only see Players in your visions?”

“Not always.” She answers after a moment, as if hesitant towards the direction you’ve taken the conversation. “Some Consorts and Location will be shown to me from time to time, but usually not unless they’re relevant on a more larger scale, like the Omens about Lodaf or when we saw the Land of Conflict and Repose cross the Medium.”

“Do you ever see Constructs?” You follow up on the same train of thought. Manifestations of Power… They’d be a blindspot for someone who sees Entropy, wouldn’t they?

“Never.” She shakes her head. Looking to the Thief once more as you contemplate what to do, you eventually look to your left, spotting Ragnaa’s rope ladder hanging motionless before you. And you start forming an idea.

“We have to go back.” You tell her, prompting the Troll to start nervously biting her nails.

 

***

 

The space around you had been fractured beyond reconciliation. To the pedestrian, it might simply look to shimmer more than it had, but to you, it is almost unrecognizable. You liken it to a portrait, at first crafted of paints and oils, then replaced by a bed of flowers in the same pattern. Perhaps it retains the same dimensions and colors, but it is something entirely different. Like air is to water. Like Day is to Night. You are somewhere unfamiliar for the first time since your vision has encompassed the stars.

Looking out down the ridge, you behold the endless gap in your vision, the form of the Thief of Hope’s distorted transformation a monolithic fixture in the cavern you held so dear. Your heart breaks, you think, seeing this. It was like you finally had a sliver of happiness from your life before all this back, and it was dashed before your very sightglobes. You’d contemplated configuring your Insurance Plan into a launchable projectile, loading the Dimensional Fusion Bomb into your heavy sling and taking a shot at The Defiler. It was only a passing thought, however. You aren’t even sure if striking her is possible from where you are. The world around her seems to contort and bend to protect the Thief, every instant a Fractal of exceedingly intricate design the closer to the creature you get. The most you can do is put your faith into Mia’s hands as she pursues the titan, hacking and slashing at the heels of the enemy. You watch her now, as her silhouette is barely visible in the overshadowing might of the colossal strideshaft, in shape closer to a gargantuan pillar or monolith than the foot of a mortal creature, slowly swinging through the stone floors of the cavern as though its foundations were loose sediment upon the beach shallows. Twisting and gliding her glaive through the distorted world, the Maid evokes brushstroke after brushstroke of crackling power that saws through the skin of the titan, breaking through half its outer layer before evoking a response. Reaching down from the Heavens are a legion of grabberstaffs, that swing and club and lurch for the disturbance biting at its ankles. The saw marks heal while she is busy fending off the invasion, slicing grabbers from their limbs and forcing them to retreat, and she grows frustrated when she sees her works undone.

Though her claws cut deeper and her wrath seeps further with each guillotine swing she takes, you know the might required to fell such a beast is still a far cry from what you are all capable of in its current state. Attempting from another angle, Mia equips her omenfiend feather staff, swiping a dark and frantic rift into space that she leaps through, endowing herself within a shroud of shadow magics that take her off her balancepoles, raised aloft into the air with a soaring leap. Tracking her in your vision, you watch as she hurdles high into the sky, reaching her apex at where the Thief’s stephinge would be before falling back down, dragging the edge of her armament along the length of the limb, cleaving open a rupture within its structure that distorts the folded space like steam bursting from a pipe, creating a hissing pressure which compounds the geometric tapestries in the metric of tens of tons. Upon the gash being left within the unskin, a legion of the swarming madness directs itself toward the Maid from higher up on the Thief like the protective agents of an immune system, turning on the harmful presence in their territory. Intercepting the human before she can land again, the spirits swoop in from the Heavens talon-first, attempt to grab hold and carry her off, away from their master. They are met with the dividing point of her armament before they have the chance, made pieces of their whole as the saber of the girl’s glaive passes through them without effort. Yet still, the hoard persists, thronging over her space as she falls, each body replaced faster than dispatched.

Upon reaching the ground, the flock retreats as the Maid more easily deals with their numbers with proper footing, returning once more to the Heavens around the Thief’s upper half to weave about the countless grabbing limbs. They’re rather unsightly creatures, you think. Like great big serpents with wings. You’d say they look like Angels, but Angels aren’t quite as expressive as the creatures you’ve found yourself in the midst of are. Unlike Angels, these creatures have sightglobes that peer from behind the holy glow of their snout. Unlike Angels, these creatures have limbs which hang from their bulbous torsos, allowing them to crawl and cling when not in flight. Unlike Angels, these creatures speak, they sing, hiss their hateful hymns through space and further the Thief’s influence, a horrendous Choir of Pretenders.

Recalling how the current threat dismantling the world grew these fangs, it was just after the Thief was struck by Ryder’s final blow and transformed into what she is now. The Elf Prince who’d been pursued by Ragnaa after dismantling Haugrr had finally made it to his Master, seeing her towering form like a waystone in the wilds. Reaching her side, one of the many grabbers sprouting from the top of her form reached down to greet the boy, and upon contact, a wisping and fog-like aura began to evaporate from their connection, erupting from the two entities like the steam given off when a uranium rod engages in its reactor. Summoned by whatever majyyks the Prince channeled, these Nephilim had begun to emerge from the many branches of the Thief’s twisted stature, like lice emerging from the hair of the unkempt. Swarming out into the world, around half of the flock collated around her immediate form, a Royal Guard to protect the Throne, while the other half set their talons towards you all, Agents of her Dominion. Glancing down, you observe a specimen of the genus in person, watching its wings flap wildly before you crack its neck with your boot and put it down. You’d struck it out of the air with a shot that pierces into its left frontal plate, causing it to plummet to the ground before you. Appreciating a certain level of realness you don’t fully experience through your God’s Eye, you inspect the beast with a studious inquiry. By all accounts, the bodies of these creatures should disappear post mortem. They’re Constructs, and should fade once receiving a sufficient level of damage to their structure. Yet these fiends persist, as if made more corporeal from a more powerful source beyond simple imagination. They have a core that powers them…

You have questions. Had you had the chance, you’d have liked to have gotten your paws on the Prince to inquire what he’d done to produce such creatures with just a touch. Unfortunately, one of the Nephilim had carried him off not long after they’d sprung from the Thief’s branches, transporting him to the hills outside the valley and a safe distance from your team. He’s the source of their continued spawn, then. What other reason would the Thief have for evacuating her numbers from the field than to keep them from your interrogation? Another question you might’ve had for the ‘Prince’, if you can even call him that, would be where he’d gotten his God Tiers from. You’d ask him this because the real Prince of Mind had died several nights ago, gazing out at the horizon as he succumbed to the injuries he’d received in his battle with the Rogue of Space. You had to double check, but yes, his body is still there even now, a peaceful look on his face as he’s remained undisturbed in his resting place. That simply begs the question; who’s the Elf?

Breaking your concentration, another onslaught of Nephilim comes screaming from the skies into your valley. Their ire focused on you in particular, swooping in towards your ridge with lethal intent. You can’t say you blame them. After all, you’re the current predator at the top of their food chain if your kill-count is anything to go off of. One hundred and Forty-Eight confirmed bags and counting. Already prepared for their siege, you load your sling and get to work. Casting your bullets out, you ground around half before they can even get halfway to you. Another half of that before their talons can even attempt to set upon flesh. Stepping to the side from the first dive-bomb, you feel the breeze blow past you as the avian misses its target and slams against the stone ramp of your ridge, dragging across the rugged surface as it tries to turn back to lunge at you. Twisting around with your sling pulling back, the creature’s face is within point blank range when you fire, your bullet finding placement in its right lacrimal bone and shattering its temple in two. Upon impact, the create makes a sound that you can only liken to a whimsical sigh before it crumples. Ducking before you can give it any consideration, the second contender swoops over you, its claws having intended on ripping your nugbone from its stem in the strafe. Juking right, another had intended on taking a chunk of your acidtubes from your organhoard as it went by. Snapping your sling back, you send a bullet through its left wing, separating the flap apparatus from its nub entirely and sending the Nephilim into a downward spiral. You hear the sickening crunch of the avian’s imaginary bones as it rams into the ground at terminal velocity. The minor discomfort causes you to shutter a small degree, but you put it out of your thinkpan, focusing on the task before you. Taking aim, you kill or disable three more of the raiders as they circle around your ridge, picking off their numbers as they swarm around you. At the same time, four of their ranks crawl up the cliffside you’re perched on, attempting to take you by surprise while the rest of them keep you distracted with their encroaching maneuvers. So they’re willing to sacrifice some of their numbers to attempt an ambush like this? You aren’t a particular fan of sneaking tactics. Perhaps being able to see the subterfuge outright the way you can instills a disdain that might otherwise lend itself to an appreciation of cunning. Or perhaps you’re just insulted by idea you’d fall prey to such a pitiful attempt.

Jutting forward, you load your sling with two bullets, positioned in a manner that they will ricochet off a small notch sticking out from the cliff’s face. When you reach the lip looking over the ledge, you let loose the payload and fling them down, striking the notch as you’d intended and launching the two bullets in opposite directions, finding their placements within the skulls of two of the Nephilim that had been scaling up the cliff. Seeing their sneak attack has been thwarted, the other two lurch toward you, slicing at your chagrintunnel as they leap out from below the cliffside. You skip back, avoiding the frenzied attack while slinging back another shot, launching it center mass into the first’s temple. Tumbling to the ground, the slain creature falls before its partner, though remaining undeterred, the last assassin leaps over the other’s corpse, nothing more than a meaningless obstacle to it now. It’s on you faster than you can load your sling, seizing for you with talons that would pierce just above your right bellowsac if allowed to strike, carving open the main vein leading to your bloodpusher. Without much time to consider, you raise your grabberstaff, placing it into the clawing palm of the creature before it can sink itself into anything more valuable.

“HuuaAAAaaa~” Clamping down upon the limb, the avian latches into your flesh, hissing its melodic songs into your mind as it attempts to sink its teeth into your sightglobe. Rocketing the fist of your prosthetic upward, you ram the prong plating into the underside of the creature’s jaw, shattering it in three places.

With the bit of breathing room you’ve bought yourself as the Nephilim recoils from the strike, you lurch forward with your prosthetic, clamping down and crushing its ignoranceshaft, causing it to crumple to the ground as it chokes. Amidst the takedown, one of the circling avians pushes in, attempting to rush your flank. Without turning, you pull your sling and fire, knocking a quarter of the creature’s flesh from its face, grounding it at its flailing wings give out. Unfortunately for you, the rest of the flock follow suit, dive-bombing your place on the ridge in an attempt to overwhelm your defenses. Only able to knock two of them in the charge, you’re swarmed before you can load another bullet. Ducking and diving through the haze of clawing strikes the hoard razed through your space, you’re able to navigate the onslaught with a minimal amount of injuries, already maneuvered through half their attacks before they’re even thrown. Yet even as you calculate their movements and minimize the damage they inflict, there’s only so many injuries you can mitigate before you’re overwhelmed. Sneaking in counter-attacks where you can, you begin an offensive amidst your evasive maneuvers. Utilizing the striking force of your prosthetic, you use the mechanical limb as your melee substitute while in such close quarters, jabbing and chopping deep indents into the swarming opponents. Some fall to the ground in defeat while other are able to endure the injuries, though it seems there isn’t an end in sight to the overgrown featherfiends. One of the more persistent members of the assault-squad attempts to restrain your left grabber to keep you from utilizing these concussive strikes, wrapping its tail around your collar nub and grappling you in place. Grabbing hold of the Nephilim’s tail at its base, you crush the appendage between your synthetic grabberprongs, pinching the nerves there enough to cause its grip to slack. With the small degree of leeway it gets you, you slip from the hold and drive your fist into the creature’s cranial shield with a firm strike. Capitalizing on the split second your hand is occupied, the other swarming avians pounce for you.

Having to jerk away to evade, you fall forward towards the ground and as you go, you tear a chunk of calcium from the dead Nephilim’s skull when you remove your grabber from its nub, loading the condensed bio-projectile into your sling and firing before you land. Killing the leader of their flock with this, the others flap their wings back a step before collecting themselves into another onslaught. Seizing for you while on the ground, the remaining swarm all slam into one another as they attempt to get to you first. Avoiding the stampeding force barreling for you, you roll out of the way of the collision as their collective forms all seem to explode out in different directions when they hit the stone you’d just occupied.

Taking a more proactive approach, you flip yourself back onto your balancepads just as the nearest Nephilim finds you in the aftermath of the crash. Swiping for you, you duck beneath the attack before sliding into the creature’s flank, throwing the cord of your slingshot across its neck and pulling it taught, strangling the avian. Whipping your hostage around, you’re jerked back as the others in the hoard slam into the one you’ve caught, clawing into its organhoard without relent. With the amount of force being placed on your living-shield, the tension of the sling starts to dig into the flesh of the creature’s neck. The sounds it gurgles out are chilling, and along with the rest of the flock’s hymns and caws, a sickening chorus is sung to life all around you. Forcing them all back with a strained push of your stridetrunks, you throw the frenzied flock off of you, casting them out into the space before the cliff, and with a large enough target flapping through the air, you pull your sling back, ready to whittle down their ranks. And as you hold tight to your ammunition, pinched between the mechanical prongs of your grabber, a slight crackle kicks off the hypertension of your sling’s cord. You’ve already sent the impulse through your nervous system to release when you notice the disturbance, and not a nanosecond later, your grip releases, launching your shot and hitting center mass against the pile of angel flesh. The chunk of condensed stone you’d used as ammunition strikes through the already dead posturepole of the Nephilim you’d employed as a shield, embedding itself within the bellowcage while simultaneously evoking a sudden and rather unexpected nuclear reaction on the atomic level there, initiating an instance of fission to take place and explode out in a fireball of heat and radiation which incinerates the flock in an instant. Shielding your sightglobes from the flash, you watch in your God’s Eye as they are made apart atom by atom from the blast, scolding all but the tips of their wings before the reaction reaches the extent of its scope, and the fried fiends plummet to the abyss, disappearing past the cliff. Huh… you didn’t know you could do that…

“WwaaaHAaaaHaaaaHaaAA~"

Before you can ponder the mechanics of your exploding shot and how you might more easily call upon its power, the sudden screeches of hymns and song breaks through the sky, bringing your attention to the fresh wave of avians invading your ridge. With a hearty sigh, you load your sling and take aim, mechanical hand already cranked back for the shot. However, before you can find the first of your many targets, a crashing whirlwind comes barreling down upon the formation, forcibly changing their course as they are knocked from the skies. Somewhat surprised by this, you notice Sara has appeared within your immediate vicinity, spotting her as she soars across the destroyed fields towards your cliff, Bladed Fans unfurled and ready for combat. Reaching the bottom of the mountainous landmass you’re on, the human plants her balancepads and leaps up to your ledge in a single bound.

“Dal! You alright?” She insures when face-to-face with you.

“For the most part, I suppose.” You grunt while moving under the influence of your injuries, however minor they may be. “I’ve definitely had better days.”

“What about-…” Pausing mid-question, the human girl had begun to inspect the carnage laid across your post when she noticed Amvinn’s body, left propped against a nearby boulder to allow you to fight without worry for it. “What about him.” She finishes asking while not breaking sight on the corpse.

“I’m not sure what’s happened with him.” You answer, not having to physically look to see what she’s talking about. “He was expelled from his vessel just before things started to get crazy and he hasn’t been back since.”

“And the others?” She turns away from the corpse, facing you now. “Is Esspin still alright?”

“She’s fine.” You assure the human, seeing the dread tearing at the edges of her face. “She and Creed are probably the safest place they can be right now.” You turn towards the direction they’re in, back at the original battlefield this all started in, well out of the Thief’s path behind you all.

“Good.” She sighs a breath of relief, loosening up at the news. “How about everyone else? Is anyone hurt?” She continues on, moving to you directly and placing a grabber on your stem, blowing a healing breeze through your chassis to energizing your weary form.

“Ryder's not looking so hot, but… I’m not sure you’d be able to get to him.” You explain to her while you watch the Thief of Hope tear through more of the cavern in your vision. You don’t watch for long, however. It’s an entirely unappealing form she’s taken in this titan body. Made up of two enormous stridepoles that connect at a hip, the only other feature she bears are a legion of endless grabberstaffs that sprout from her top like unkempt hair. Nothing like that should exist, and nothing that exists should have to behold something like that. At the top of it all, though, is the Page of Rage, knocked unconscious and bleeding heavily, his limp form held in the air by the Thief’s many grabbers, suspending him by his wrists as he’s stretched out into a T-shape while hanging there.

“I have to try, don’t I? Just tell me where and I’ll be there!” Sara assures you, waiting for your direction.

“Up there.” You point to the Thief as she shatters another portion of the cavern’s roof, sending large tremors through the ground all around you. “Right at her Crown, she’s got him hostage.”

“…” Taken aback by the daunting task before her, a moment of hesitation comes across the human girl. Yet not a moment later, she finds her courage, cracking her grabberprongs as she bends them outward. “Piece of Cake.” She declares before bursting from your ridge in a gale of wind. You watch Sara sore through the skies for a short while, observing as she barrels down her crash course for the Thief without fear. No, that isn’t right. There is fear in her, isn’t there? Just not of the Thief…

Your viewing of your teammates flight is interrupted, however, when you notice a Flock of Nephilim heading south, having slipped past your defenses while you spoke. Just outside of your Aggrieving Range, the featherfiends are too far from your ridge to be able to grab their attention with an attack. You could still probably hit them with your sling, but they wouldn’t have any idea where your shots would be coming from. And on top of that, at this distance, the damage would probably be negligible even if you did land a hit. With no way to attract them to you, you instead focus on the path the avians are heading on. Calculating the vector of their flight path, you realize they’re on a direct course for Creed and Esspin's position in the field, projecting they’ll be on them in under a minute.

“Damnit.” You mutter.

 

***

 

Creed’s chest rises and falls with an uneven rhythm, his human cherry blood soaking into the Mint Green of his cassock, splotches of the Rival Mage’s violet hues decorating atop this festive mess like the ornaments of a 12th Perigee Behemoth Leaving. Reaching over to the side of his trunk, the young man grabs hold of one of the three iron nails puncturing his stridepole and jerks if free from his flesh.

“Agh!” He grunts before moving his grabber to one of two nails embedded within his batting-arm’s forwardshaft, ripping it from his limb as well. “Is it so much to ask for a strife opponent who’s actually sane for once?”

“A tall order, I am sure." The Ragebound glares back at the Heir as he sits in his bindings upon the ground. It was a grueling battle, all things considered. Like any Orchid, your opponent was a fierce combatant, refusing to go down without a grizzly fight. You yourself still have a few of his nails embedded across your canvas, causing a stream of your own violet hues to seep across your tunic. Though, like many before him, you subdued your Brother on the Field of Strife and restrained him with a pair of manacles you had lying around from the Old Days.

“Oh, you actually feel like talking now, eh?” Creed jeers, jabbing at the Mage with the point of his cuebat. “Well then, how about telling us what the hell that thing is?” He points with his weapon off to the horizon, where the Leviathan rampages through the distant skies.

“Your Reckoning.” The Mage says with the slightest of smiles.

“Word of advice, Slick, you’re not exactly on good-standing with us as of right now, so I advise you cut the tongue-and-cheek act before we have to resort to extreme measures.” Creed warns the Mage, crouching down to look him in the eye on his level while he speaks.

“I need not Heed the Words of alien scum or their traitor cohorts.” He spits. Creed stares at the boy for a moment, a look of unimpressed tiredness on his human visage, before standing back up, twisting his flavorprobe about his fangfold, as if contemplating what to do next. Coming to a quick decision, the human takes his bat against the stephinge of the Mage. “Gah!” He half-growls at the pain. “Bastard…”

“For transparency’s sake, that was an incentive for you to start cooperating with us.” Creed regales while removing the second nail from his forearm. “But this?” He strikes again, this time on the opposing stephinge of the Mage, giving him a matching fracture. “That was because you tried sticking a nail in my dick.”

“Torture me all you wish. It will not Compel my Speech.” The Mage rasps through gritting fangs.

“T-ff, Torture? Torture?! Oh, you’ll know when I torture!” Creed suddenly shouts, appearing overly frustrated with the interrogation. Reeling back his cuebat, the Heir lines up a strike with the Mage’s cranium, a light thrashing to a Highblood, an otherwise lethal blow to anything else. You’d have permitted the rough treatment under the circumstances, however when you look at the Mage, you notice something rather strange. A small smirk cracking through the guises of his facepaint.

“Creed.” You call to your ally, stopping him before he can swing. “He’s goading you.”

“…?” Turning back to you, the Heir takes a moment to process what you’ve said before looking to the Mage once more, loosening the grip he has on his arms. “So he is…” Even in his agitated state, you had noticed a levelheadedness in Creed’s demeanor. You doubt he would’ve swung regardless of if you intervened. You more so spoke up to let your fellow Mage know his tricks won’t be working on you. Seeing his plan, whatever it was, has been foiled, the young man in the manacles sits up more properly against the rock he’s chained to.

“Once I am free of these restraints, I will continue my work upon your scaffolds.” He declares with a level tone, careful not to give anything away with the emotion in his voice. “The Cold Iron Bonds will pierce your flesh and cure you of your Impurities.” Though his words carry with them a hateful undertone, he doesn’t speak to provoke like he had with Creed. You aren’t fully aware of the intentions of his threats, but it comes across similarly to how one might read a passage from scripture, like you’re back in a Brood Merrimentblock watching a Grand Speaker spittin’ gospel. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was trying to appeal to your Worse Nature, attempting to summon some kind of sympathetic response for a fellow Highblood. You don’t take too kindly to it.

“Hmm…” You hum quietly to yourself, attempting to put aside your quarrels with the boy to better handle the situation. While looking him over, you notice the effigies he has strung to his hip as they lie on the ground beside him. One in particular catches your notice. Crouching down, you claim it from the Mage’s side.

“Tch-!” He tenses up when he sees what you’ve claimed from him. “Keep your grubby mitts off that!” Cloaking his cowl with a hazing smoke, the boy takes on the visage of a Wild Beast, eyes aglow with burning intent and fangfold torn open into a growling razored maw, threatening to rip a chunk from the trespassing hand. You aren’t intimidated. Ignoring the roars of his dark spirit form, you tear the trinket from the twine tying it to the Mage, observing it more closely. One of the Hope idologies, the small doll has a set of Wings stitched across its bellowcage. The top of the doll has been burned, its entire crown scorched black down to where the fangfold would be on its blank face. Leah…

“These are the conduits for your dark magic, yes?” You inquire while recalling the power he’d attempted to inflict upon you with your own doll. There’s no mistaking what it was. He’d attempted to use his Chucklevoodoos on you, and likely did so successfully on the others as well. “Speak. How have you made these effigies of us?”

“I have no words for a Faceless Heretic.” He spits at you as the smoke vanishes from his nugbone.

“Heretic?” You reel back at the familiar scorn of a Fellow Follower. “I’ll have you know I was in line for High Priestess of my Brood.” You scoff while standing back up, not allowing him to spur you.

“And where are they now, Sister?!” He hisses while jerking forward, testing the length of his restraints. “Where did all that Worship and Faith lead them? Where did it lead you…? Right here, to the Bowels of Hell.” He continues, laughing with a wide grin, accented by the frown painted into his face. You notice then that each of his teeth are blunt, lacking the typical edged point a Highblood his size would have. His fangs have been filed?

“…How old are you?” You ask him flat out. When you had first seen him, you assumed the Mage to be four or five Sweeps based on size alone. Talking with him, however, he sounds seven or eight in tone and maturity, leading you to believe he’s just a runt, but if he still has his wriggler fangs, perhaps he’s younger than you realize? Upon hearing your inquiry, the boy has a strange reaction to the question, his laughter falling silent as he tenses up and pulls away from you. Quite cagy all of a sudden… What could he possibly have to hide about his-CLUNK!

“Ah!” Creed suddenly cries, swiping away your attention from the Mage before you can investigate his cloistered nature. Glancing back to your friend, you find the human clutching a spot upon his cranium, as though nursing a wound there. Upon the ground, you see very clearly that a small stone sits where one hadn’t just a moment ago, standing out amidst the wreckage with a black piece of cloth wrapped tightly around its width, giving the item a long tail of fabric. Those are God Tier garbs… “The hell was that?” The Heir asks while looking up to see what’s dropped the item atop his dome. “Why didn’t- Shit!” Just as you’d reached down to pluck the stone from the wreckage, you’d felt a weight crash into your side, taking you off your balancepoles as you’re tackled to the ground. Looking down to the set of grabberstaffs wrapped around your waist, you catch the culprit red-blooded, still atop your torso pillar. It’s Creed. While you’re puzzled why he’d pull a maneuver like this, you’d say you’re rather impressed the young man was able to take you to the ground at all, given the size disparity. Just as you’re going to sit up, a sudden force scrapes by you, the razor influence carving a parting gift across your stemnub as it blows past in a burst of wind. In the flash it took to pass you, you’d seen the horrific perpetrator overhead, their twisted likeness to Angelkind not lost on your sensibilities, a total and unadulterated bastardization of the Sacred. After the first flies a second, then a third and fourth, until nearly a dozen of these abominable creations have zoomed past you in a slipstream, all flocking to the Mage of Rage at his stone incarceration, the first slamming into the boy and dragging him a distance from where you had him until reaching the length of his chain.

Rolling into a kneeling position, you draw On the Morrow from the strap you’d kept it on around your stemnub, opening fire into the homunculus attempting to maul the manacles free from the Mage. Unloading nearly all your chamber’s worth in an instant, you shred the pseudo-angle with a hail of lead. However, the one you’d killed wasn’t your original target, but one of its brethren who’d jumped in front of your spray, sacrificing itself for the sake of the jailbreaker. Pulling back the bolt of your firearm and loading another round to its chamber, you take aim once more with intent to fire, but before you can squeeze the trigger, another of the invading hellspawns leaps at you, latching onto your rifle and attempting to wrestle it from your grasps while digging the dewclaws of its hindlimb into your acidtrack.

“Begone, Fiend!” You command while trying to shove the thing from you. As you struggle with the grapple, Creed rushes in, slamming his cuebat down into the demented face of the creature, knocking it off of you as it wheezes a distorted whistle from its crumpled neck, causing a shiver to travel down your posturepole. Turning back to the Mage and his attending swarm of furies, you find that they’ve shattered the stone he’d been secured to, scooping up the Highblood as they fly him away. Raising your gun, you run after your quarry, firing round after round into the escaping flock as they flee with him towards the hills outside the valley. You bind a few of them from the sky, but where one falls, two others take their place, ensuring the Mage is shielded from your fire regardless of their casualties. Despite your efforts, the bulwark they’d formed round your target goes unpenetrated. It’s no use… He’s gone. “Blast it…!” You curse to yourself as the flock leaves your range, disappearing past the lip leading out of the valley.

“You get him?” Creed asks as he catches up, partly out of breath from having run to keep pace with you.

“…No.” You say, tightening the grip on your stock in frustration. You’d seen him, just before he disappeared. The Mage. He’d glanced back from the swarming shield of feathers, his nugbone sticking out from the bottom of the flock, gazing at you with an upside down view of the world. He wore such an unusual look on his face as he stared. As if… bored with what had transpired. Or perhaps unsatisfied with how it went. Like… like he was expecting something else… Shaking the events from your thinkpan, you turn back to Creed to discuss what to do next when you notice something off about him. “What… what is that you’re covered in?” You ask him, causing the boy to look down at himself. Appearing across his God Tiers and even upon the surface of his cuebat where they hadn’t been just a moment ago are these unusual stains, painting his form some strange Green Color, reminding you of a similar shade sopor slime takes once it grows too old to use and stagnates.

“Uh… the guy’s blood, I think?” Creed takes a guess while looking down at himself. Hearing this, you realize that the Mage’s blood has actually vanished from him along with this strange new substance appearing.

“That can’t be, no troll's blood looks like this.” You tell him while running a grabberprong across his shoulder, scraping a bit of the substance up to further inspect. However, once you feel it, once you get close enough to smell the stuff, the familiarity of the substance is undeniable. You’ve painted with it countless times before. There is no mistaking it, it is Troll’s Blood. “At least… none that I have ever seen…” Turning back to Creed, perhaps having initially mistaking the Hue at a glance, you check to see again. Looking him over, it looks like he had possibly gotten into a tussle with an Oliveblood, but the color is too light to be in the Midblood range. It almost seems yellowish, but it’s too dark to be Goldblood either. What is this? Facing the direction the Mage had vanished in, you gaze upon the horizon with an almost entranced anticipation, half-expecting him to reveal himself there once more. The thought is interrupted when you adjust your stance for the uneven ground below you, lightly tapping against a foreign object with your foot which lets out a light -clang- sound. Alerted by the noise, both you and Creed look down to its source, finding two discarded blades there amongst the torn up grass. Creed is the first to inspect them, crouching down to claim the weaponry from the dirt.

“…These are Ryder’s swords.” He declares after wiping the clutter from their hilts, revealing the purple wraps around the grips.

“His swords?” You ask while looking down at the human. “That would mean…” Pausing before you can finish, you turn and look around you, surveying your surroundings until you spot her there, amidst the cut and the wreckage. “Leah.” You say while gazing towards the girl, causing Creed to look as well.

“…” Unspeaking, neither of you can find the words that might properly fill the silence. You simply stand there, gawking at the mound that was your friend like witless half-beasts, not knowing what to do. After a moment of this, you step forward, making your way out to the site of the incident. Creed follows shortly after, arriving just a moment behind yourself, and together you stand there, just as silent as you were a yard ago. Until finally, the quiet ends. “Should… should we say something?” The Heir inquires, looking to you for what to do. Sara had informed you of the human practice of Funerals, but you doubt you are equipped to perform such a cultural ritual, especially given the circumstances. Regardless, something must be said, mustn’t it? Lowering yourself to your stephinges, you kneel beside the body of the Knight and place your hand upon her own, the girl’s firearm still clutched within.

“…Farewell, Sister.” You say after a moment of contemplation, unable to fully express the feelings stirring in your bellowcage. Tightening your grip, you hold on to her as though she’ll slip away, a faint stream of orchid trickling down your cheek as you speak. “I wish… I wish I could’ve done more for you…”

“…………Y…” Stirring beneath your grasp, a sudden tremor catches your attention. Your eyes flick upward, practically spring to the disturbance in your grabber. And there you see a twitch in the Knight’s pointer prong, spasming slightly as it attempts to remove itself from the weapon’s trigger guard.

 

“y…ou…… st…ill…… ca…n…”

 

***

 

“Things are getting rocky here, Ragnaa! Have we reached the border yet?!” Jason calls from over his stemnub as he runs ahead of you, his excavation device slung over his posturepole while he goes.

“It’s just up ahead, past this next gap!” You call back while trying to keep up as you book it through the winding creepers that litter the surface of LODAF. By now, the stone beneath the foliage had begun to heat up, adding an almost elastic property to the floor when you step on it. The smell of burning shrubbery nearly dominates the atmosphere as fires burst to life all around you, threatening to overwhelm the area. It’s only by the grace of the coursing winds that blow through the pores of the cave ceiling that a few paths have opened up amidst the skirmish. Right now, you and Jason are rushing the Thief of Hope to… well, you aren’t exactly sure what you’re going to do, but the Page seems confident that there’s a way to still defeat her. And so you advance when the only sane option now is to abscond. By all accounts, you two are racing to your deaths at record speeds. Maybe you would’ve suggested a different course of action, but you yourself haven’t been sane for a very long time. Yet even with all this considered, the only problem you can see with getting this close to the Thief is that her aura has begun to warp the tapestry of spacetime around her, creating a hard border between the Real World and Fantasia. Between Delusion and Reality. While titans such as Mia seem unaffected by the sway the Thief has over her environment, you have no idea what someone like yourself will do against it. “You should be able to feel its influence by now!”

“Yeah, I’d noticed!” He nods in agreement while leaping over a bursted vector of stone which had snapped under the forces of the collapsing roof. “Everything is starting to feel a little more floaty!” He adds while glancing back at his jump-path, as he’s almost glided a short distance in the leap.

“Jason…! This might not be the most apt time to bring this up, but why exactly are we barreling down a collision course for the Ender of Empires like this?!” You continue to yell to get your voice heard over the explosive chaos on the outer layer of the planet.

“Because… she’s got one foot in the grave! All we need to send her over the edge is one final push!” He emphatically declares, glancing back at you. You stare at him a beat, before turning to face your opponent, having to crane your chagrintunnel back to fully see her impossibly large stature as she towers into the sky, a great big tree of writhing and tangled limbs, grabbing at the world. Around the upper levels of her form, enormous plumes of color and warp bloom into the atmosphere, taking root and establishing themselves as the status quo of reality here, seeping into the programming of the world.

“…I’m not so sure about that!” You advise the human, though already well aware you’re too close to the Thief to turn back now. It’s like an event horizon, you’re caught up in her gravity well of influence, unable to escape.

“I’m serious, she’s circling the drain!” Jason doubles down, confident in his assessment.

“How do you know?!” You inquire, thinking you might be able to see where he’s coming from if you know what he has planned.

“You said that Dallra was injured, right?!” He asks back.

“That’s right!” You nod, confused where he’s going with his point.

“If she’s injured, that means there are other combatants on the field, but you said you didn’t see anyone else! If they aren’t showing up in your visions, that must mean they aren’t players, you follow?! That begs the question, though, who are they?!” He begins to explain while facing down the Thief. “Well if they aren’t players, but they’re powerful enough to contend with a player, then it’s likely that whatever it is was made by one! A Construct summoned to fight on the Thief’s behalf, like what Haugrr does with his Phantoms!”

“How does that mean she’s on the brink of death?!” You question, not seeing his logic in all this. “Shouldn’t powerful thrall mean her defenses are even higher?!”

“Not with how she’s using them! It’d be one thing if the Thief was simply making Constructs to defend the space around her, being that big it makes sense that she’d have something to guard her weak points, but these Constructs must be what’s going after Dallra! And if Dallra is nowhere near the Thief, then it isn’t just to guard her vulnerable areas! It’s meant to proactively hunt all of us down before we can regroup! Now ask yourself, why would she go after everyone?! If all she wants is the Ship and she’s big enough to ignore us, why would she bother going after anyone but me?! Because she isn’t just more powerful in this form, she must be more exposed as well! She’s trying to prevent us from working together to topple her, it’s the same reason she’s having her Sylph drown out our comms!”

“That seems like a pretty big gamble on not a lot of evidence, all things considered!” You point out to him, probably too late to make any meaningful adjustments.

“What can I say?! I’m feeling lucky!” He smiles, seemingly unbothered by the events transpiring around you. Seeing him there, amidst the decay of the world, you can’t help but feel the faint twitches of optimism in your pumpbiscuit, watching him navigate the collapse with a knowing assurance. And for a brief moment, the world seems to slow around the Page, and The Gloom opens up a silver lining in which he travels down, as if to say that There is Still Time Left for You.

While you admire the Page as he leads the way towards what in any other case would be Certain Doom, a sudden and sharp pang flashes through your thoughtsponge, as though you were struck by lightning. Wincing from the pain as it wreaks havoc through your mind, your vision is overwhelmed by images of an Ever Expanding Tree, where you and all like you have been trapped within a pool of amber, left to set and remain until the end of time. The images linger only but a moment, yet you feel the phenomenon expand infinitely in both directions, nearly crumpling your psyche with the simple motion. Staving off the apotheosis before you are completely stupefied by the revelations, you are reentered by the sensation of a pulse recoiling through your torso pillar, jolting you forward as if something had been forcefully connected into you there. In the split second your body is roughly handled, you are made aware of those around you, feeling the physical presence of Jason beside you, Mia and Sara down below, even Dallra and Esspin out in the field. It’s as though there were a tether wrapped taught to you all, each a node within a great net that leads up and away from the planet you are on, out into the cold void of the Incipisphere towards somewhere else…

“Ah…” You mumble in pain as your thinkpan flares out in crashing waves. What… what was that? It wasn’t an Omen, was it? You’ve never experienced a Vision like that before. Turning toward Jason as he staggers across the creepers, his stride seeming to have experienced a similar misfire as your own, you see the same blitzed look of confusion on his face that you had felt yourself make as well, letting you know he’d seen what you had seen. Felt what you had felt. Finding you in his befuddlement, Jason looks at you with the same understanding that what you’d seen was a shared experience, before his sightglobes widen and his expression drops.

“Watch out!” He calls, reaching out for you. Made aware of what’s spooked him so, you feel the static relay of the Thief’s influence encroaching on you, and when you turn, you are faced with a slew of her Hands descending from the Heavens to claim you, two or three hundred in number. You wince away from the legion, yet in an instant, the countless wall of grabbers before you burst like rubber partyspheres, pruning back the grasping hoard is a sweeping wave of force. Spiraling into a bout of hallucinations, you watch as a gallant shade dances across the stage, weaving through the Thief’s tangle as they trace across the mutilated grabbers, pantomiming their destruction as it passes its excavation device through the limbs with overwhelming strength. Standing in the wake of the shade as it catches up with realtime is the Page known as Jason, a worried look on his face as he checks on you. “Are you okay?” He asks with a heavy breath.

“Y-…Yeah.” You nod, slightly taken aback by the bombastic show of force. He really is something when he gets serious…

“Good.” He says, letting out a sigh of relief. “We’re at the cusp of the Thief’s influence now, aren’t we…?”

“That’s right.” While the Thief herself and the enormous strideshafts that come with her are still far enough away that they’ve yet to jeopardize the integrity of the cave roof you travel on, the sphere of influence she projects out into the world is only a few meters from your placement on the roof, looking you right in the face while it grows ever closer. “We’re just on the other side now.”

“I think… I think I can feel it. It feels like every cell in my body is being woken up for the first time in my life. Like every molecule in me is its own person, each drawing their first breath all at once. Ha…” He half-laughs, attempting to cope with the tremendous power before refocusing himself with a shake of his nub. “The Finish Line’s in sight. Now all we need to do is figure out how to bring her down.”

“…Did you seriously bring us all this way with no actual plan?” You ask him as what little gusto you have deflates out of you, hoping he’ll say no, but already knowing what his answer will be.

“I was more or less planning on winging it.” He frankly tells you, not an ounce of jest in his demeanor.

“Well… I suppose we all have to die at some point…” You settle into it all, resigning yourself to the fate you’ve raced headlong into.

“Don’t be dramatic, winging it has seen this group through the storm countless times before. Why would now be any different?” He sincerely asks, not seeing the gravity of the situation.

“I can think of a few reasons!” You shout as the Sun of the New World barrels towards you.

“No time to think about that now, we have to-“ *DING* “Have to… have…” Pausing a moment, Jason glances back as his Sylladex notified him of a new message, prompting him to summon a labyrinth puzzle which he blurs through with an expedited speed. Appearing in his possession is his palmhusk, aglow with the promise of news. “Oh hey, someone responded to the memo board.”

“I thought you said the Sylph was blocking our vox?” You recall while summoning your own palmhusk, finding no new updates on your Trollian account. “Who is it?”

“Creed.” He mutters while reading, growing more and more confused as he goes. “But he’s not making any sense, it’s all just a bunch of gibberish.”

“Can I see?” You ask him as you peer over to glance at his screen.

 

GK: R*ydNer oN= goFlFiath’s cLR*owN=e,
GK: WakNe hFim up aN=d takNe cLovNeR*

 

“Any idea?” He turns to you, clueless.

“That’s a typing quirk.” You recognize in passing. “He’s saying that… Ryder is… up there…?” You translate for the human while glancing up the summit of the encompassing figure that looms over you now. Ryder’s on the Thief’s crown? In the tangle? “He’s saying to wake him up and… take cover…”

“Cover?” Jason repeats while looking to you for clarification. You shake your nugbone, having no insight to what he means. “I guess this is a rescue mission, then.”

“You want to go up there?” You say in disbelief, looking back up the length of the Thief once again, indescribably daunted.

“No, but we only-… only, uh…” He suddenly stumbles through his words while scratching his chagrintunnel. “You, uh… You’ve got something… there.” He gestures down to your stridepole. Following his point, you find one of the Thief’s severed grabbers clamped down on your dress.

“Eh!” You yelp, hurriedly brushing the limb off of your person. “Gross…”

While busy checking your entire body for any other extra extremities still sticking to you, there comes a notable shimmering from above, feeling as if the atmosphere were rumbling with a teeming force. Looking up at the disturbance, you watch with a kind of dread as a Legion of Winged Devils pour out from the tangled grabber-locks cluttering the very top of the Dual Pillars that make up the Thief’s form. Without having to wonder, you see very clearly that the throng have set their sights on you and Jason, already having begun their dive bomb for your place on the battlefield.

“HaaAaaAaaAaaaa~”

Heralding their arrival, a bloodcurdling chorus comes raining down upon you, evoking an eerie atmosphere that quite literally crawls upon your skin, manifesting phantom stimuli that grip and grab for you just as the Thief’s thousands of arms had. You grit your teeth at the sensation, physically appalled and set on edge by the haunting experience.

“Suppose those are the Constructs.” Jason proposes while gazing straight up at the approaching hoard.

“What do we do now?” You ask while stepping closer to the Page, uncertain of anywhere else.

“OoooOHhOohWoooah~”

“Only one thing we can do.” He tells while readying his excavator.

“MmMmmMmmMmmmm~”

“We climb the Mountain.” With a confident grin, the Page faces out towards the endless stream of demons with an uncharacteristically bold presence. As if the world couldn’t touch him. Perhaps you were right in your assessment of the young man. Perhaps there still is time left for you all.

 

Ragnaa, Ascend to the Gates of Heaven.

Chapter 79: > Den of Wolves

Wide-eyed, you’re too stunned by what you’re seeing to react and are left to watch in chilled silence as the reanimated hand sets itself atop your own, grabbing hold of you in an unbreakable grip. With its claim on you assured, the corpse seems to come to life one limb at a time as the movements follow up her grabberstaff into her stemnub, jutting her chest up as she sits forward. Swinging what remains of its head down, it almost has to strain to turn its attention up. Once it does, you are face to half-face with the corpse as it watches you through an eyeless gaze, the only part of Leah’s visage left intact being from the mid of her nose down. And through gnashing teeth, it whispers to you;

“Re...gi...cide...”

“Wh-…what?” You mutter out, the urge to retreat from the corpse practically screaming in your thoughtsponge yet going unheard regardless.

“Reg...icide...!” It repeats, a slight tremble in its jaw as it struggles to speak, hazing out words with great difficulty. “Kil...l... the Pre...tend...er to... the Th...rone...”

“I-I don’t understand.” You shake your head, unsure what it’s trying to tell you.

“Rah…!” The corpse growls in frustration before pushing itself upright, staggering to its balancepads before you. “Ca...n’t think... wit...hout... pan…!”

“…Haugrr?” You suddenly realize, feeling a tad foolish for not recognizing him immediately. “What are you doing outside of Amvinn’s body?” You ask the… girl? As she walks by you, shambling towards Creed who’s begun to backpedal a step, put off by the corpse’s approach.

“Bah!” She swats in your general direction. “Pl...ant... fuck... kick... soul from... ves...sel...” She explains while continuing to pursue the Heir who, in turn, continues to back away from the girl, seemingly greatly disturbed by the situation. “Creed stop Running!”

“The hell do you want with me?!” Creed cries back with a shimmer in his voice, like the way the squeamish get when confronted with a bug.

“Brain... need brain...!” Haugrr exclaims, following after the human, the two of them going circles around you.

“He’s gone full zombie!” Creed accuses her while hiding behind you, trying to use you as a shield agains the undead. “Put him down, Esspin!”

“Need... cat...a...lyst... can’t... cast... pow...ers...” She bargains with the fleeing Heir.

“Creed.” You call to him, hoping to speak reason with the boy.

“Hey, don’t look at me, he’s the one without a head!” He protests while leaning out from behind you to speak. “You can’t go running up on someone, Horseman style! This ain’t Sleepy Hollow!” Lurching forward, Haugrr suddenly leaps out at the both of you, tackling into the Heir as he stick out from your side. “AAH!”

“Hold... st...ill... wriggler...” She tells the boy while seizing him by the cranium, forcing her grabberprongs against his calciumshield as she pushes through his hair. Retracting her hands from the boy’s scalp, Haugrr extracts a mesh of thin green wires by the tips of her human vessel’s fingers that extends out of Creed nugbone. Wrapping the mesh around her like a bandage mask, the distinct shape of Haugrr’s cowl begins to take shape, outlined by the neural strands that sit upon her absent face. Once enough of her visage has been constructed, two glowing green eyes pierce through the wrapped mesh, the upper half of Leah’s body blazing back to life once more. “gaaaaAAAH!” The jaw of the vessel stretches, regaining its dexterity. “Jegus fuck, Creed! You know how hard it is to function in a corporeal vessel without a fucking thinkpan?! Greedy bastard, hogging all the cognitive processing power!”

“The hell did you pull out of me?!” Creed protests while trying to pull the wires off of his head, inadvertently pulling more of its length from his nugbone in the process.

“Cohesive Thought. I’m borrowing some of yours while mine is unavailable.” Haugrr simply explains. “If you people refuse to learn how your fucking powers work, then I have no choice but to use them for you. Speaking of which-” Reaching over to the last of the Mage’s Nail sitting in the Heir’s stridetrunk, the Prince rips the metal from his leg, claiming it for herself.

“Hoh!” Creed yelps while clamping down on the limb with both hands, trying to lessen the pain under his grip. While he’s busy tending to the wound, Haugrr takes a length of the cognitive mesh connecting the two of them and uses it to wrap the still-bloody nail to the side of Creed’s head, giving him a one-sided Horn. “The hell are you doing…?!” He wearily growls at the girl while still in leg-anguish.

“Turning your human pan into an Antenna.” She informs him. “Something’s blocking our messages again. I’ll need a powerful transmitter to break through the mess and the water in your spongey body reflects radio waves well enough to create a dielectric resonator.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’ve got poor manners?” The Heir grumbles still before being grabbed by the sides of his face by the Prince.

“Turn this way, please.” Haugrr says while forcibly turning the boy’s head to the side, leaving him somewhat stunned by the brashness of the action. “Perfect! I should be able to get a signal through.”

“Do you need to borrow a palmhusk?” You offer, figuring Haugrr wouldn’t know how to operate Leah’s Fetch Modus to retrieve the artifact.

“No need, I’ve already hacked into Creed’s.” She rejects with a smile, earning her a glare from the objectified Heir. Looking at her, you’re able to peer past the mesh coiled around her face in only a few places, but all together you’re able to get a halfway decent look at Haugrr’s face, their actual face, appearing as a ghostly manifestation beneath the mask. While obvious to you now that you can physically see them, the fact that Haugrr looks nothing like Amvinn feels off to you somehow. You supposed they’ve possessed the Seer’s body for so long, they’ve somewhat become one in your mind, with you associating the Prince’s appearance with his Oliveblooded vessel. It’s strange to see them as someone else. What's even stranger is that they have actual horns, unlike Amvinn, their ghostly visage poking out from the face wrappings. Four in total, two on each side, typical of a Goldblood. The look somewhat like the roots of a tree just before they burrow underground, moving in a curve like a }curling bracket{ that's been bisected through its center.

As you ponder the face jutting out from the girl, she’s already taken to action, as her phantom sightglobes suddenly spark with a surge of power, invoking a torrent of orange and blue energy to spring forth from her sockets, traveling out and across the mesh towards the long metal pike tied to the Heir’s cranium. Watching her work, you realize that the Prince is channeling a considerable amount of psychic energy through a nonexistent thoughtsponge, using it to access a technological device that isn’t even physically present before her. Goodness! Psionics sure are something!

“You’re reaching out to the Boss?” Creed asks with a wince as the energy passes through him. “For what?”

“The Bastard’s making a mad-dash for Ginormica over there. I figure we should give him a head’s up for what’s coming.” Haugrr tells him as the energy from her eyes dies back down, returning to a normal dark green glow.

“What… exactly… is coming?” You step up to the two, unsure what the Prince is alluding to.

“We are.” She looks to you, the energy standing in for her sightglobes glancing at you with a devious idea brewing behind them. “Wanna play God, Sister?”

 

***

 

“Jason, I’m not sure this is a good idea.” Ragnaa tells you while strapped to your back, her left arm hooked over your shoulder while her right hooks around your ribs, forming a sash across your chest to hang on from. “Maybe we should just scale her strideshafts and take it one step at a time."

“Nonsense.” You tell her just as you finish equipping your Rocket Boots + Gloves, adjusting the seal on your left glove. “Flight is our fastest way to the top and we don’t have time to be climbing the entire way. Besides, weren’t you the one who said the space closest to the Thief's legs were like a blackhole? There’s no way we could stay there long.”

“I-I mean… we could try…?” She seems to suggest, seeming very opposed to the current course.

“Trust the process, Rags. We’ve got this in the bag!” You try to reassure her. Normally, you yourself would be opposed to a maneuver such as this, but something feels different now. It’s hard to explain, but ever since you came out from the hills, you’ve felt so… in tune with yourself! Like you’re finally figuring out this whole Page thing! Facing upward, you rev the Jets in your equipment, flaring to life the fires that will carry you to the skies. “Common Rocket Boots, please actually work this time…!” You mutter under your breath.

“What was that?” Ragnaa tenses up, having heard your little prayer.

“Three,two,one,blastoff!” You quickly stammer out, activating your engines and taking off in a burst of propelling force. Feeling the strain of her grip on you, Ragnaa’s holds tight against the whipping winds as you shoot up into the air.

Reinforcing her grab, the Seer tucks the heels of her feet into your stomach, locking them around one another to secure herself as the G-Forces start to kick in. Just above you now, you see the flock of Angel Constructs the Thief had dispatched to gut you, the winds too loud around you to hear their dismal tunes. Kicking your engines into overdrive to give yourself one last boost, you max out your velocity before cutting the jets on the rocket gloves completely, freeing up your hands before reaching the flock. Equipping Bane of All Mountains in the split second before flying into the first wave of combatants, you charge your kinetic strike with a slew of temporal energy, eviscerating the bird-creatures as you fling through their ranks, popping out on the other side above them as the momentum from the boost reaches its limit, leaving you to slowly arch through the air as the speed sheds off of you before plummeting back down. Kicking your boots up a notch, you accelerate back towards the hoard you’d just carved through, building a striking thrust from the dive and reintroducing those you meet there with your pick’s head once more. It’s a flash, too quick to see everything in detail, entire portions of the creatures are cleaved from the whole, limbs set loose from their bodies, chunks of angel flesh sent flying in each direction. You’re pretty sure you cleaved one in half. Like, right down the fucking middle, nose-tip to tail-tip and all. Kicking your legs out, you break the momentum of your dive in a way that sinks your stomach as you stop on a near dime and swing back out. Fuck. You’re really fucking dizzy now.

“Are you alright?!” Ragnaa shouts over the howling winds, noticing your sudden stall.

“Y-yeah, just a little shaken up!” You shout back, shaking it off. As you do, one of the surviving angels swoops in for you, trying to take your damn head off. Leaning back, you end up twisting completely over to avoid the attack, doing a full flip in the air as the assailant flies by. Stumbling to get your footing again after the swing-around, you widen your stance, reengaging your left glove’s jet to balance out again.

“Coming back around!” Ragnaa warns as she watches behind you for the angel’s follow up. With your stance stable, you whip back around, pick-first as you cleave into the bird’s face before it can reach you, knocking it away. With most of the first wave scattered, you take the opportunity to ascend further up the length of the Thief while you still have time, making sure to keep your distance still from the edge of her influence until you’re right at the summit. “Behind us!” Rag calls again, glancing below you. Turning that way as well, you spot just in time as one of the pursuing angels has caught back up with you, latching onto your leg like a fucking cat with untrimmed claws!

“AAW!” You bellow as the talons sink into your calf. “Fucker!” You snap as you kick the thing across the jaw with your rocket boot, the heavy metal cracking the beast off of you. Free from the handsy prick, you kick your boosters into overdrive once more, catching your opponent up in the flames before it can get back on you again.

“Up ahead!” Ragnaa alerts, directing your attention above you in time to see the second wave of the angels barreling down on top of you both. Rolling to the side, you narrowly avoid a mid-air collision with the front runner but are met with another two diving at you. Swiping Bane across your forward guard, you slam the side of your pickaxe into the broad side of the left angel’s face, colliding it with the right and batting the both of them away. Suddenly, as you’re in the followthrough of your attack, you are seized by your swinging arm, keeping you from readying your pickaxe again. Facing the resistance, you find one of the birds has flanked you, grappling its tail around your arm to keep you in place as it unhinges its serpent jaw to take a sizable chunk out of you with its bite. “Another, coming in!” Rag calls out, facing down below you. Without the time to look, you deal with the snake in front of you first, taking your left glove and shoving it into the monster’s face, flaring up the engine into a plume of flames that scorches the mouth of the creature and sets its skull on fire. Without needing much more persuasion, the serpent uncoils around you, flying away while clutching its burning snout. The moment you are free, you take your pick and bring it swinging down, finding the approaching angel’s forehead as you slam your spike straight through it, killing the thing instantly. The reverberations of the hit travel up your hand, accenting the chilling sensation you feel when you hear the wheezy hum it lets out as it dies. “Pincer incoming, both sides!” Before the shuttering feel can occupy your mind any longer, you are alerted to the next maneuver in this dog-fight. Pulling your pickaxe back, you go to swing for the right angel first, but find it unmoving while still buried in the corpse of your last opponent.

“Shit!” You exclaim upon seeing your weapon stuck within the body, right before you are struck on your side, the right flanking attacker reaching you first and carving a gash into your shoulder. Before the left flank can be bombarded, you pull your pick to your guard along with the corpse attached to it, shielding yourself with the cadaver as it’s nearly cut in half from the attack intended for you. The impact from the hit tosses you into a spiral, the weight of the angel’s body leaving your balance lopsided and struggling to stabilize while its tail flops around like a limp fish.

“Three more, lower starboard!” Ragnaa exclaims as you fight against the turbulence. With no time to figure out which side is fucking starboard, you instead cut all four of your jet engines all at once, dropping down before the aerial attack can reach you. Plummeting out of the way, you find out that starboard apparently means right, as three of the angels come swooping in from that direction, passing through the space in the sky you’d just occupied. Kicking back to life, your jets blare with propulsion, rocketing you horizontally out of the way as the surrounding birds regroup and begin their pursuit once more. Quickly growing sick of the corpse you’re dragging along, you channel a surge of temporal energies into Bane, its empowered state activating and subsequently carving through the skull of the angel as though it were warm butter under the weight of the inertia pulling on the cadaver. “Jason-JAson!” Your Seer suddenly calls, drawing your attention to your forward guard. While you don’t see anything directly, you feel in your bones as the fast approaching barrier between you and the Thief appears, your fleeing flightpath leading directly into it. With all your strength, you rip yourself around, fighting the inertia flinging you towards the border. Unable to completely stop yourself, you redirect your thrusters down, kicking your engines into overdrive and shooting upward as you try to avoid the hardline in reality.

PSHOOOESN’GLOOOOOOOOOOOOVES!

Despite all your efforts and momentum, you aren’t able to fully evade the barrier before you, and you feel yourself unshackle as you dip past into Fantasia. You don’t go in deep, not even half your torso passes fully over the boundaries as your face goes scraping against the dome in your rocketing ascent upward, yet even that small sliver of you is enough for the Thief to get her claws in. In the split of a second, you feel yourself remade, redesigned. You melt and reshape as if made malleable under extreme heat, and the byproduct of the process streams out of you like chemical runoff poisoning the nearby rivers. Your Sins streaming out into the Waters. It is Blood. Blood flows from your Sleeves, blood that does not belong to you. It flows and it flows, and it flows some more, reaching far and wide, extending out like the arms of an octopus, reaching and grasping and throttling any living creature it comes across. You are shaped, and molded. Folded like a Sword, one thousand times. Folded like Tesseract, eight trillion times more. It doesn’t stop, it unwinds you, as if you were made of yarn, pulling and pulling, making less of you with each row stripped! You are back on Earth, walking the desolate streets as the Dead shamble in the alleys. You are in the Stars, stumbling across the planes of Neighborhood Night and Witchlight. You look up into the Sky and see a Moon. A Bastion of Hope and Things to Come, it orbits the Cradle of the New Universe, the Start to Those that will come after you. You see the Moon and you want to crush it. Snuff it out! There can be only You! You and You and You! One Divided into Two! Two Made One Again! Collapsed in on One Another! It is You! The Scourge of the Stars! One is the Rarest, Two to Make One again. It is You and The Other. It is You and You. There comes a Bumping, a Thumping and Pumping from your core. From your heart’s heart, three levels down, locked away behind the Wrappings of a Gift, a Gift your very good friend had given you! It’s You! The Thumping is You! Your Good Friend Jay! Clawing and cleaving and tearing to get out! Out! Out! He Wants to Get Out! Out, out , out o,ut Ou,T ,,,,o, T,, Tuo, ttouttoutt,O,U,T,T,t,T, OUOUOUTTTT, OUT OUT OUT OUT OUT OUT OUT OUT!! Take!,,,,,,Me!,,,,,,,Out!,,,,,TAKE!!,,,,,ME!!,,,,,OUT!!,,,OUT!!,,,,

 

OUT!!

 

OUT!

 

OUT

 

Something grips you by the back of your hair, and you are taken out of the Dream you had fallen into. In an instant, your lungs are filled as you gasp a desperate breath upon returning to your Harsh Reality. Glancing back, you see the Seer of Doom there as she holds your head up, as if plucking it from the current of a raging river.

“Did you see which way my sister went?” You ask her, unsure where she’s gone. She was just here, wasn’t she?

“What?” She peers at you, unable to decipher what you’d said.

“Hold on tight!” You repeat for her as you blast backwards, putting a safe distance between you and the Thief’s influence. Christ, your head is on Fire right now! While you’re trying to get away, one of those Angel things shows up again. It feels like forever since you’ve seen one of these things, since back in the Collective Libraries! You reach out to pet the feathery friend, but when you do, you find it’s been split in half. And in the hand you had reached out towards the poor guy is your Pickaxe, its exhaust vents burning with a brimming power, a funny little reflection of yourself, peering back in the mirror of its spike. Oh… You never realized…

“Jason…?” You never realized it was you. “Jason…!” It was you all along. “Jason!” You thought it was someone else. Anyone else. But in the end, you were the one to swing the pickaxe. “JASON!”

“What?” You suddenly snap out of the stupor you had been in since leaving the Thief’s aura, finding yourself floating lower in the sky that you were when you first fought with the angels. What the hell?! You haven’t progressed at all!

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Rags screams at you, her teeth occupied as she bites into your ear, and you- She’s biting your ear.

“AAAAH!!” She’s biting your ear, she’s Biting Your Eaaaar!! “AH! AAAAAH!! I’m Back, I’m BAck!!” 

“You Better be!” She chastises, removing her fangs from your hear-flesh. Finding yourself once again, you realize that you are soaked in the weird glowy juices the angels bleed, and when you glance further down, you find that below you, the bodies of several serpents plummet towards the planet, large chunks torn from their forms, their lifeblood steaming through the air behind them. What is…? “Incoming, another Wave!” Rag alerts you of the legion of angels pouring from the Thief’s jungle of arms. “This is taking too long, Jason. We can’t get caught up in another skirmish.”

“Another skirmish…” You mutter while scanning the army bearing down on top of you, searching for any possible routes past them. “We’re running out of time…” Finding a sizable enough gap in their line, you follow the course in your mind. You’ll have to go fast. Real fast, lest you want to be swarmed by the lot of them. Revving up your engines, you prepare for the dash. “Hold tight, Ragdoll. This might get bumpy…”

“…?” The Seer peers over your shoulder at you, nervous of what you’ve got planned. Soaring up into the sky, you face down the legion of Heaven’s Choir, feeling an uncertain twitch cross your brow, all that confidence you had found in the Hills stripped when you were born again in the World the Thief had made around her. Just when you realize this likely isn’t a good idea, you’ve reached the point of no return. Do or die, commit or condemn, Advance or Abscond? Barreling forward, you instruct the controller in your gloves to divert all reserve power into propulsion, and you stir your engines into a buzz. Bursting upward, you feel as if you are about to come apart under the turbulence of the ascension, and you close your eyes as they tear over from the wind, unable to withstand the turmoil of the world. And in these fleeting seconds before impact, you wonder… what would your Father have thought of you in this moment?

 

-WOOOOOOSH-

 

Thrown from your course, a dual stream of winds blows past you, intercepting your path in two enormous vectors the intersect in an ‘X’ before the hoard of angels, kicking their formation into an aimless spiral and casting the lot of them aside as they helplessly tailspin towards the world, fallen angels made of them all. Bailing out of your boost before you go spiraling into the airstreams along with the rest of the feathery bastards, you cut your engines all at once. Still flung a ways up from the speed you were traveling, you eventually reaching the zenith of your momentum before beginning to fall. Before you can re-engage your equipment to catch yourself, a sudden vortex spins to life around your legs, stabilizing your balance and securing your place in the sky.

“Yeah, that’s right! The only Master of these Skies is Me, you weird little Cobra Chicken! Get out of here!” A familiar voice catches your attention, as Sara slowly rises up to your level, shaking her fist at the scattered flock of birds.

“Sara!” Ragdoll exclaims first, drawing her attention to you both.

“Well well, aren’t you two a pair.” Sara laughs, seeing as the Seer remains clung to your back. “What are you guys doing up here?”

“Saving Ryder.” You put in simple terms, trying to expedite the conversation while not knowing how much time you have before the onslaught regroups.

“Oh! Samesies!” Sara exclaims with a smile. “Was just on my way to the top.”

“Wait, how do you know where-?” You begin to ask.

“Dallra.” She nods to the side.

“You’ve seen her? H-how is she?” You quickly ask, searching for news of the Seer, nearly destabilizing the twister platform as you flounder.

“Oh, y’know, doing her thing, killin’ angels.” She nonchalantly shrugs. “A little bloodied, but… aren’t we all right now?”

“We really are.” Rags agrees, glancing over your shoulder. Before you can ask anything more about your… team, a sudden blaring screech tears across the sky above you, like the dismal calls of a busted foghorn the side of a football stadium.

 

“UuuuuuuUAAAAAAHHHHHHHhhhh~”

 

Looking up all together, your trio watches in silent horror as out from the wilds pour an unending flow of angel meat, evacuating the tangles of the Thief’s arms into a war-march diving straight down to where you are. As if brought about by the gains your two-man party saw when receiving a third member, the enemy bolsters their forces ten, twenty, fiftyfold. Hundreds in numbers, thousands maybe. Reinforcements upon reinforcements with no end in sight.

“And it looks like it’s about to get a lot worse.” You add on to Rag’s previous note. “Uuuh, think you can give us cover?” You turn to Sara who seems just as nettled as you are.

“I-I don’t think I can summon a slipstream large enough for this…” She breaks the news as more and more tear through the skies towards you, eclipsing the Firmament with an incomprehensible downpour, a writhing storm cloud that will thunder your world to pieces. “Jason, I-I can’t fight this…!”

“…I can show you how.” The Seer upon your Back says, catching both of your attentions.

“What?” You ask her first.

“There are powerful threads of Fate at play here. The Land we walk is Unfinished.” Ragdoll explains to the two of you. “There is an Angel trapped within the Stone of the World. That’s what these premonitions were trying to tell me. It needs to be molded, to be made its Final Shape. Only then will it fit into its final resting place, where it was always destined to go. Which means there's an exorbitant amount of power just ready to enact this change!” Turning to Sara, the Seer speaks directly to the girl. “I can show you the paths to walk. I can show you how to find the Potential this planet Silos, and how to crack them open to use for our own purposes. After they are let loose, the Land’s Doom will do the rest.” Slowly lowering herself from your back, Rags steps down into the spiral of wind you platform on, spreading out into a platform of her own that Sara weaves under her. “Will you do it?” She asks while offering out an open hand to the Girl in Wide Glasses. “Will you be the Chisel that will Free this world?” Taking the few seconds you still have left, the Sylph contemplates the question with a serious deliberation, before facing up once again, finding the approaching sea of monsters practically upon your doorstep.

“Was there ever really any choice?” She half-chuckles, clasping hands with the Seer like two muscle-bound bros reuniting after years of estrangement. Never had a Choice, huh… That’s funny. Almost like you were progressing on a track.

“Once you two do what you’re going to do, make a break for the caves. You’re not gonna wanna be in the air for what happens next.” You tell them both, reengaging your engines and preparing to take off again, looking up at the Angels as they’re almost upon you, hovering in your skies like those familiar Meteors that started this whole mess.

“Shouldn’t we try to catch back up with you to get Ryder?” Sara asks with a concerned look. You shake your head at the question.

“You two can’t get near the Thief.” You advise the girls. “Her aura is completely dominating the space around her. It’s Hell in there. Like Literal Hell.”

“And what about you?” Ragdoll asks, uncertain of what you’re thinking, but trusting enough to know you have something up your sleeve.

“Don’t you worry about me. Just focus on getting out of here before it hits.” You instruct the two.

“Before what hits?” Sara cocks her head at you.

“…What?” You ask, unsure if you misheard.

“Before what hits?” She repeats her nonsensical question. “You said get out before it hits. Before what hits?” What is she talking about…?

“I didn’t- look, we’re out of time. Ragdoll, take it away, before we’re all bird feed!” You turn to the Seer, prompting her to nod before bringing both of Sara’s hands together, laying her own atop them.

“Center yourself.” Rags tells her while closing her eyes. “Know yourself by your every Flaw. Feel the Limitations of the Flesh, and make yourself a Conduit for all outside your Flesh to pass through and be amplified by. Brought to its Absolute Threshold due to no other reason than because it was always supposed to be this way.” Cloaked with a eerie energy, Ragdoll begins to glow as her Influence over Doom is tested. “Now Engage.”

Following the Troll’s instructions, Sara begins to glow herself, a wisping energy casting off her form as though she were a specter made of mist. You begin to feel a churning presence from the girl before you, emanating out with a power impossible to ignore. And while close in proximity to the Sylph, you feel that even if you were somewhere far from where you are, you’d still be able to feel her presence, for it insists upon itself as every idea does.

 

Howling Sul Tasto

 

Brushing past you, the winds start to kick up, sending ripples across the cloth of your God Tiers. Growing stronger as the seconds tick down, your cape begins to billow behind you, waved higher and higher by the winds as they gain speed, until eventually being pulled to the side and keeping there, as the invisible forces attempt to pull you into its clutches. Without fail or falter, the gales build more and more, cultivating a formidable might with each cycle it spins. The power is building fast, but you’re out of time. The hoard is upon you. Five seconds. Five seconds until they reach you. Ten before Sara’s Power reaches its Apex. Stop them. You have to stop them!

Bursting out, you rocket into the sky, a Man on a Mission. You reach them at Cont Two. Have to slow them down. Not all of them, just the ones in front! Extending your arms their entire wingspan, reaching out as far as you can, and with a strain, you cast a Full Time Stop on the frontrunners of the Army. Four Hundred and Thirty-Seven if the burning in your core is an accurate enough counter. Under normal circumstances, your energy reservoir would’ve been drained in two or so seconds with this many targets being influenced, but with the weight of all the other angels pouring down on top of them, straining your grasp, your reserve doesn’t even last a quarter of a second, expending all your energy near-immediately, leaving you to rely on your vitality as a substitute. You end up shooting past your natural limiter thresholds at supersonic speeds. The backlash nearly causes your chest to collapse in on itself, leaving you feeling as if your own ribs were piercing into your flesh, snapped off from their racks and gouging into your organs. The impact evokes a cough of blood to eject from your throat, and a shutter passes over your form, like you’ve gone into shock. Yet through the torment and the pain, you hold steadfast, keeping all 4:37 within your clutches frozen in place.

As the seconds tick on, One…Two…Three… each moment an eternity under the anguish, there comes the predictable strain at the edges of your eyes. Your body is trying to shut itself off, slowly but firmly pushing you down into unconsciousness. Damn it… Damn It, Damn It! Stay awake! Stay Awake! Only a little while longer. Hold the line just a little while longer!

Watching the world before you get further from where you exist, feeling like nothing by an onlooker in your own body, you behold in inaction as the legion of angels pours over the rampart you had placed in front of them, like a tidal wave breaching the boundaries of a sea wall, spilling out on all sides of their frozen ranks. You can do nothing about it. You are locked in place, too focused on holding the line to adapt to the breach they’ve already established. Stressing on you more, the backlash of your overuse extends out into your limbs, burning through your biceps and thighs as though they were made of film, crumpling the musculature and locking up the fibers there before moving onward, reaching into your calves and forearms, ripping at your ligaments and threatening to snap every motor functions there forever. Four…Five…Six… Just a little longer. Seven… The recoil of your powers reaches your fingers now, pulling them out to the very limit of their extensions and attempting to stretch them further. Eight… It’s relentless, feeling as if the bones will break themselves, as though the flesh will split under the pressure, the webbings between digits ripping apart from the tension. Nine… You’re gone. No more. Your back breaks first, jerking forward as your concentration cuts with a shattering reverb, like a string snapping from overuse. In that instance, you are no more than a mannequin, unable to move as you plummet back down, the full might of the downpour now let loose upon you as you watch through squinting eyes, kept away by misguided will and nothing else.

 

…Ten.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Snapping awake, you are struck through your spine by the blowing force of a geyser rushing through you, funneling an entirely replenished tank of crisp and cold air into your lungs, making it feel like you’re on top of a Mountain! Eyes snapping open entirely, you are faced with the skies above you being divided by a Squall of Monumental Proportions, jet streams of force that could rip flesh from bone, that could saw stone like butter, channel across the heavens, tearing into the ranks of the angels with ferocious force. All of them, save for the dregs of their army, are thrown continents away, vanishing in seconds, banished to the Distant reaches of the Land. Those left behind are bounced with reckless abandon between gusts of wind, like plastic bags in a hurricane outside the long abandoned grocery store at the edge of town no one talks about because teens go there to smoke. Reorienting yourself, you find that you ride an updraft into the sky, pouring you up into the upper atmosphere along with the rest of the winged vagrants in the sky. It takes you a moment to realize how fast you’re going, but once your equilibrium returns, it dawns on you that you’re rocketing through the air right now, blowing well past the height of the Thief already, leaving you towards the upper half of the planet, where it’s starting to get hard to breath. At the rate you’re going, you’ll be knocked clean into the Incipisphere.

Positioning yourself into a dive, you rocket back down, struggling against the winds attempting to blow against you. With the amount of times you’ve kicked your jets into overdrive, your gear is beginning to falter, sputtering often enough to let you know a multi engine failure is in the works. Even with that considered, you have to push the tech to its limit to protest against the gales. Groaning like the metal hull of a bending ship, your boots and gloves strain as you Measure Up to the might of the winds, their joints aching as they bring you lower, helping you fight your way into Hell. Pushing further and further, you feel the hiss of the Thief’s aura burning against your face as you grow near to the border. Unlike last time, you come prepared as you dive head first into the haze, activating a Dilation Close Off and slowing the world around you, (>2 sec. your time =1 sec. local time). Your temporal reserves are all but scorned at this point, meaning the most you can manage without grievously wounding yourself is a pitiful 1/13 second tacked onto normal time, yet the pitiful augmentation to chronology isn’t a problem in the slightest for you.

Passing the barrier and entering into Fantasia once more, the effects of the Dilation activate, and you are enclosed within a shield in spacetime that ensures your Fate to a single track, blocking out the warping nature of existence the Thief has hold of. Space contorts around you, like an oil drum barely withstanding the crushing pressure of the ocean weighing down on it, attempting to shape it how it likes. But withstand it does, and you are free to progress through the aura unscathed. Blasting through the negative-space with Sara’s winds greatly diminished under the Thief’s influence, you begin your approach, using the last of your engines’ power to get you there fast. However, your invasion does not go unnoticed by the Throne. Flying in, you are met with a Tangle of Arms reaching out for you, attempting to pluck you from the sky. Rolling out of the way, you attempt to weave in and out of the grabbing hands before they can lay claim upon you, but with your rockets on the decline, your maneuverability is limited. Feeling a snag on your right heel, you look back to find one of the hands has got a hold on you, attempting to steal the boot from your very foot. Readying Bane, you go to swing your spike into the greedy limb, but your followthrough finds resistance, as another hand has caught you as you struggle with the first, grabbing hold of Bane’s head and keeping you from attacking. Knowing not to grapple with these branches, you instead get straight to the point, grabbing the wrist of the hand and engaging your glove’s jet, scorching the appendage from its winding arm and freeing your weapon. Turning back, you go to swing on the hand grabbing at your boot once more, only to divert when you notice another hand grasping for you, encroaching on your right. With no time, you pierce the third hand through the back of its palm, tearing the thing in two as you yank your pick out through its front. Before you can search your surroundings for the next threat, you feel as you are taken hold of by the nape, forcing your neck and head forward as if deliberately shoved down. Turning back, you see a retreating hand, it’s fist balled up, as if holding something in its grasp. You swing at it, if for no other reason than to retaliate for the shove, but your attack is too far to land. While you’re distracted, the first hand succeeds in finally tearing the boot from your leg, causing you to lurch forward, free from its grasp but with your stability nearly halved. In the burst, you go plummeting down, landing with a crash against the crown of the Thief, finally reaching the Summit of the Mountain. Scrambling to your feet, you face the sky, anticipating the Many Arms of the Thief to pursue you into the tangle of their branches, yet none come your way. The Legion of Hands simply wave about their skies, as if no longer caring to come after you, already counting you among the many pieces of loot they’ve claimed. Watching them now, it almost seems like they act without any kind of sentience, reflexively grabbing at the thing closest to them on instinct. Glancing down at your missing boot, you lament the loss of such an important artifact. Flying’s gonna be a bitch now. Maybe you can find your shoe on your way to Ryder…

Speaking of the Page, you need to get going. Even with your Dilation cranked to such a low level, it still eats at your total reserves. And if your temporal energies run dry this far into the Thief’s influence, you’ll be shit out of luck. Hurrying along, you jog through the forest that makes up the Thief’s scalp, unsure how to orient yourself on the unusual shape she’s in. Come on, where the hell is he?!

“Turn back...” A whisper crawls across your mind, sending a chill through you. In an instant, your guard is up, prepared for anything.

“Who’s there?!” You frantically search around you for the voice’s source.

“There’s still time to run away, Jason...” The whisper continues, seeming like its coming from every direction of the forest. “Isn’t that what you always do...? Run away when things get serious...? Pass the buck onto the next person...?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You growl, feeling twitchy in anticipation for the enemy’s eventual play. This isn’t like the influence you felt when you first dipped into the Thief’s aura. Anything paracausal should be blocked out by the Close Off. No, it has to be the Sylph. She’s somewhere in the forest…!

“Always running... always blaming someone else...” Backing up, you try to put your back to a wall, bumping into the base of an Arm. Though once you do, you feel something push back, and when you look you find the contorting spine of an Angel as its form peels itself from the trunk of the Arm, slicking off with a squelch as its limbs and wings rip free from the larger mass. Turning around, it seems to home in on you immediately, roaring a distorted tune as its face still drips with its glowing blood ooze. Lunging for you, the bird swipes at your neck, but before it can reach, the thing is jerked back, its tail still attached to the stem of the arm, anchoring it to the tree. With the opening, you break forward, sending your spike through its skull while it looks back to see what had stopped it. As you pull your pickaxe from its corpse, the whispers pick back up. “When your World ended... when your Father died... when You Ascended...... When you killed your Tribe... Always somewhere to run to... always someone else who’s fault it was... Now is no different...“

“Tch! Fuck this!” You grunt, ignoring whatever mind games are being played here and making a break for it. Jogging through the forest, you glance from side to side, focusing on your mission to get to Ryder. Yet even as you run, the whispers follow.

“What do you think is going to happen to you if you continue down this path...?” They ask as you carve a path through the forest, making quick work of the angels who seem to be roused by your appearance, killing them before they can make it off of their trees. “Have you not Heeded the Words of the Saleswomen...? Where do you think you are, Apprentice...? You stand before the Seventh Gate of Heaven...” Hearing those words, you halt where you are. Seventh Gate… of Heaven… In an instant, the scene from the Mage of Light’s RV returns to you. The information you’d bought off Ukulele and Ginnun, about the weapon meant to kill you. “Complete Annihilation were her words... Herald by the Deaths of a Hopebound and a Ragebound. Then it turns its sights on you, young man...” Hope and Rage players… Leah and…

“That’s bullshit!” You call out into the tangle, searching for where the Sylph is hiding. “Ryder is still alive!”

“Is he...?” The whispers simply ask back. “The only indication you have that his heart still beats is the word of an Insane Little Girl... Can you truly trust a person who can’t trust herself...? If she is wrong, that will be the end of you... Annihilation... Unmade and Forgotten... Is that a gamble you are really willing to make...?”

“…Y-you’re lying!” You stammer, reinvigorating your resolve as you clutch Bane. “That’s your specialty! You spin lies, Sylph!”

“My specialty is secrets... And I have one last secret for you, Apprentice...” The whispers hiss at you now, sounding more hostile than before. “Behind the Seventh and Final Gate is God... and She has been waiting so long for you to arrive... waiting to deliver divine punishment upon the unworthy... yet She is merciful... She will still let you go... you need only run away, just as you have time and time again...” Pivoting at every twitch, your eyes dart from side to side, seeing shadows moving just beyond your flank, encroaching on your position as the walls close in. It isn’t true… She’s just trying to get into your head! But… if Ryder is already dead, it’d line up perfectly with the warning Lucas left… Hope was first, then Rage, and then its sights would be set on you… Leah went first, then Ryder… Looking down upon the radiant soil that seeds the Grabbing Branches, you contemplate that which you stand on. The Gargantuan form of the Thief, tearing down all around it. The End of All Things… Beware of Mal… Seeing the hesitation wrap itself around you, the whispers double down on their efforts. “Take the deal, Jason... preserving yourself is what you do best... You are exactly as you were when you started on your misguided quest... the same as yesterday... and the day before that... you haven’t changed a single time in your entire life... A static creature... wanting nothing more than to forever be the person you are at this very moment... preserve yourself, Jason... run away...”

“That isn’t… that isn’t…” Lingering there amongst the brush as reality attempts to eat its way into your shell, you feel a labor in your breath. Do you… always run away? Was accepting the Deal to enter the Arena just another way to avoid taking responsibility? To avoid the consequences of what happened? You forget sometimes that you aren’t the Alpha Jason anymore. You’re just a Doomed Offshoot version of him. Maybe refusing to change is what sent you down this path to begin with. Maybe… maybe the Sylph is right… this is just who you are… As you lament the words that were spoken to you with a sense of sorrow in your heart, there comes a sudden stirring that catches your attention. No, not quite a stirring, but a tingle, an almost burning sensation, right over your left eye, where your scar lies. Change. “That isn’t true…” You mutter. “I can change… I have changed!” You aren’t Jason Prime anymore. You’re someone else, and you have the scars to prove it. You might have come to the Arena running from your problems, but that isn’t the Jason you are anymore. That version of You has been Lost to Time. “Come out. So we can face each other for real.” You order the Sylph, taking your problems head-on!

“...” Yet not a whisper returns.

“Come on, don’t tell me you’re shy now!” You call into the forest. “What’s wrong, afraid of a little Strife?!”

“...” And still nothing.

“Oh… I get it… You’re vulnerable in this state too.” You realize while continuing on through the forests of ‘Heaven’s Gate’. “What, is the space too dense around the Thief to open up those rifts you make...? Of course it is, you would’ve warped me away the moment you laid eyes on me.” Hurrying now, you make your way through the tangle, feeling the Sylph’s presence leave a taint in the air, invoking a hazy atmosphere around you as you progress. You must be getting close. “That’s why you’re hiding in the dark, playing mind games. You have no fangs to bite with.” You laugh, knowing she can still hear you. “She who Sows Doubt… honestly, I respect the hustle. No one seems to bother with bluffing in the Arena, everyone’s always so quick to go for the throat. You really had me going there for a second.”

Placing your pick through the temple of yet another emerging angel, you march through the endless trees until you eventually come upon a clearing in the fold, a kind of grove opening up amidst the clutter, enough to be noticeable right away. Emerging from the wilds, you break through the tree line into the field, and immediately you notice an item out at its center. A sword, embedded into the glowing stone of the Thief’s skull like Excalibur. Walking out to the artifact, you identify it quick enough by the purple rags wrapped around its handle. This is one of Ryder’s. Grabbing hold of the sword, you give it a pull, and with a surprising ease, the blade slides out from the vector it’d stabbed into the Godflesh, unleashing a radiant glow from the wound when it's removed, like a shining light beaming through the keyhole of a door. Even from behind the Dilation Close Off, you feel the unparalleled power emanating from the fissure like the death rays thrown from the irradiated concrete of the Elephant’s Foot. It corrodes away at the edges of your temporal isolation like an acid, trying to eat its way in. Looking down to the weapon you’d retrieved, you contemplate its owner as you tuck it within your waist belt. With Ryder’s weapon reclaimed, that just leaves the question… where’s the Page?

 

*drip*

 

*drip*

 

*drip*

 

As if to answer your question upon conjuring it within your mind, a sudden force comes and taps you on your head, as if to politely gain your attention. Flinching away at the unexpected sensation, you feel as the warm liquid tossed upon your temple trickles down into the tracks of your eye. Raising a hand to wipe it away from your vision, you look to your gloved fingers to find blood upon their prints. Perplexed by the substance, you glance up towards where it came from, and there, you find your missing ally. Strung up in the space above you is the Page Ryder, several of the Thief’s hands clamped down upon his limbs keeping him in place as his head hangs down, a stream of blood trickling from his head down onto you. My god… she hung him up like Jesus Christ!

“Ah shit…” You mutter, seeing him all the way up there. He doesn’t… look dead, you think? You just have to get up to him and you can rewind his injuries. Glancing down at your rocket gear, missing a boot and with two gloves starting to falter, you roll the dice and attempt to jump into a hover. Upon activating the engines, your left glove kicks out a spark before short circuiting, cutting the flame of its jet out and staggering you back to the ground. Damn. Probably shouldn’t have tested your luck with an enemy that can Weave Misfortune lingering around. Pivoting to another angle, you follow the length of the hands holding onto the Page, finding that most of their arms lead off into the horizon, disappearing into the forest. One, however, touches down just outside the clearing’s left side. Hurrying over to the twisted tree, you think of what to do next. Can’t chop it down. There’s at least eight or nine other hands holding onto Ryder, knocking out just one wouldn’t get you anywhere near freeing him, you’d have to find the whole bunch. You’d be here all day running to each trunk. Guess that just leaves climbing.

Taking Bane, you plunge your pickaxe into the glowing bark of the tree and use it as a notch to pull yourself up by. Grabbing hold of the arm with your gloved hand, you feel through the metal that the surface has an uncomfortably fleshy texture to it, allowing you to easily grip onto it. Putting the uncomfortable thoughts out of our head, you press on, retracting Bane and planting it in again higher up, slowly scaling the limb to get to your man. Your climb begins to grow shoddy as the width of the arm slowly condenses the closer to the hand you get, forcing you to slink as you get further out on the narrowing branch. Captchaloguing Bane once you get high enough, you begin to climb using both hands, your arms growing shaky while this high up with your rocket gear out of commission. Once you get close enough, though, the arms of the other hands clamped onto Ryder reach close enough to use, allowing you to find a foothold on them for support.

“ [text.object not found] ” Growing close to the captive boy, you hear as he mutters something beneath his breath, too quiet to make out exactly what it is. Regardless of the incantations he’s mumbling, you progress to your target, finally reaching your fellow Page at the top of the Arch he’s being kept at.

“Ryder! You alright?” You call over to him, shakily crouched upon the partial dome of arms leading to him. He doesn’t respond. “…Shit.” You huff before reaching over to the boy, fighting against the wobble in your body as you remove a support in your tripod crouch. “Ryder… Ryder!” You yell, trying to shake him from his stupor.

“ [text.object not found] ” Remaining unresponsive, the Ragebound appears to be completely unconscious.

“Alright, simple enough fix.” You say to yourself as you pull your hand from him, summoning a cog-construct to initiate a Damage Turn-Back. Going to engage the ability over the boy, however, a series of sparks arc off the hands binding him, shocking back at you and deactivating your powers, turning the cog grey before it shatters. “Damn it…!” You yelp at the sudden shock, its effect still biting at you even behind your gloves. Looking his prison over, you realize that even if you aren’t under the influence of the Thief’s power, anything outside of your Dilation still is. “Got to get him out of there...” You mutter while drawing Ryder’s sword from your belt. Unsure how to use this Specibus, you awkwardly place the edge of the weapon against the closest arm to you, sawing into it and eventually causing the limb to -snap- once halfway through. “One step closer to freedom, ey Ryd?” Your assurances fall on deaf ears, as Ryder remains motionless in his chains. Continuing your work, you saw through two more arms holding onto him, freeing his right hand, and as you go to reach over him to get at his left side restraints, you notice a slight twitch in the boy as his head unsettles. “Hm?” You look to the Page, thinking he’s begun to wake up. However, before you can say anything to him, you’re suddenly seized by your throat. “Tk!” In an instant, your jugular is nearly crushed by the gripping force, and you look down, thinking one of the nearby arms had taken offense to your hedge trimming, only to find that the one with a stranglehold on your throat is none other than the Page of Rage; Ryder himself, eyes ablaze with crackling lightning as he chokes you with the hand you had just freed for him.

Stunned by the attack, your mind is sent reeling, enough so that your concentration on the Close Off slips, if even for a moment, allowing the Hell to seep in within that fraction of a second. As Rye Bread’s grip doubles down on its killing intent of throttling you, your suffocating brain begins to unload its greymatter with chemical panic, feeling as if a dam has broken in your mind under the threat of your neck -snapping- from the pressure. With his still-bound arm, the Page reaches over to you, unbothered by the incarcerating grips of the Thief’s hands, and jerks the sword from your grasp, flipping it into a proper hold and turning its blade against you.

“ Atrox Fatum “ A voice comes from him, despite his mouth remaining motionless with an agape slack. Seeing this display, the panic soon turns to an unbridled animosity, enraged by his audacity. This uppity bastard… after everything you’ve done for him?! And he has the Gall to stab you in the Back?! Indignant Little Shit! Traitors! Nothing but a Filthy Den of Traitors!!

Clamping your hands around the weasel’s throat, you strangle him back, the mechanical hands around your grip enhancing your strength as you dent his neck like a can of soda. You grit your teeth so hard they might just crack, your eyes budge with a madness, snarling and snapping, you foam at the mouth, made rabid by this Ignorant Fuck! You could kill him with a single twitch! Does he know that? Does his minuscule fucking brain comprehend this Fact?! He exists by your grace and your grace alone! He’s only alive because you fucking allowed it! And here he is, trying to undermine EVERYTHING you’ve worked so hard for! It’d be easy! You could snap his neck like it were a pencil! Engage your Jets and Scorch him to a fucking Crisp! Erase him from the Fucking Timestream! Kill him as if he were an after-thought! Do it. It’ll be Easy so Do it! Kill him! Kill him! Fucking Kill Him, Jason!

 

“DIE!”

 

***

 

The world around you is a never-ending vortex of power, razing the shell of the Land into a valley of dust and fury. The Winds kicked up by the Fraymotif have completely encompassed the world now, tearing at the outer edges of the planet and eroding enormous vectors into the crust, etching their runes there like conquerors emblazoning their mark upon the fallen. You see it all as the trails of destruction glow hot within The Gloom, circling around you as if you were in the center of it all, the world made your cage as more and more paths carve to life and take the form of your cell bars.

To your left is the Sylph of Breath, an unrelenting stream of wind majyyks cascading off her form as she directs the apocalyptic hurricane like a conductor. You’ve hung close to the human, suspended aloft in the air by her influence over the sky, conjured in the form of a small twister about your strideshafts. You think you can fly independently of her with the cyclone, but you’re too nervous to test that theory. If you’re wrong and you were to try, and ended up falling, you doubt Sara has the dexterity with winds as powerful as the ones she currently uses to catch you gently. If she, as a crack-reflex upon seeing your plummet, attempted to guide one of her gales to your rescue, you’re almost completely certain the force would rip you clean in half. And so you linger in her space, watching in amazement at her works, handling a Planetary Storm with what is undeniably an unparalleled feat of Skillful Grace.

Turning your attention away from the show for a moment, your thoughts drift to Jason, having seen nothing of the Page since he rushed into the Thief’s territory. Surely he’s located Ryder by now, yes? Gazing up at the form of Graziella as the twister winds churn the skies into a frenzy, you spot as a consistent stream of her winged thrall pouring from her upper half, dispatched to deal with you and Sara, only to be swept away as soon as they venture out from her aura. The result of this, you notice, is that while the Devils are spirited away from your vicinity, those that survive the brutal ride through the slipstream are dispersed about the Land, finding footing about the caves of the planet. And for some reason… this feels right. As if this variant of creature was always destined to be present on the planet. Fitting in here just as the Consorts do, appearing no different from a SGRUB construct than those that spawn with the generation of the Land itself. You do your best not to fixate on this, but the longer Sara focuses on the storm, and as more Devils are taken away to populate the wilds of the world, the more you see them appear in your thinkpan. Like pieces of a puzzle being clicked into place, forming the final image they were always supposed to look like.

This is… this is all supposed to happen… This is LODAF’s Doom. Sara isn’t just expending all of the excess power of the planet with her winds, she’s inadvertently bringing the Land into its Completed Form. That’s why your omens have been so intense since approaching this place, that’s why Haugrr heard that buzzing coming from everywhere! It was the planet’s Doom coming into fruition! The Land of Dust and Fury was not created as it was supposed to be! It held potential that needed to be fulfilled, just as the Land of Frenzy and Crash was brought together with the Land of Conflict and Repose by Eren Coin, and just as the Forge was destroyed by Jason on the LOAEAF. You’re completing these worlds… but why? To what ends must these events transpire? What… what is the true purpose of you being in the Arena?

“Aahh… ah…” Sara moans, drawing your attention back to the Sylph, where you find her form has slumped, and where once she had lifted her arms to command the gale storms, they now fall slack, beginning to run wrought with exhaustion. That’s always been the downside of your Fraymotifs. They always seem to drain the energy from those who collaborate with you. “Ragnaa… I-… I don’t think… I can carry on much… longer…” The human informs you, reminding you of Jason’s plan. Perform the Motif then get somewhere safe for whatever is coming. Now would likely be the best time to get out of here, seeing as the rate of Devils, while consistent, has slowed to a manageable level.

“Understood. Let’s make a break for the tear in the ridge to the west.” You tell her, pointing to the break in the Land’s ceiling. “From there, we’ll- DAAH!” Before you can continue, another flash of lightning strikes throughout the entirety of The Gloom, and you see once again as the shape of LODAF is broken apart, the silhouette of its fragments drifting away from one another behind the clouds in your mind, illuminated by an offbeat strike of Lightning every other second. What is this? You’ve already seen this exact Omen three times now! What is it trying to tell you?

Beginning to grow frustrated with your inability to decipher what you’re being shown, a memory sloshes its way into your pan, one of Haugrr advising you on your premonitions. ‘Be patient’ he had said, ‘Omens are roadsigns, you’ll know what to do once you reach what they’re warning about.’ You just have to be ready to deal with it once it arrives. Is that really an okay approach to the world falling apart?

While you grapple with yourself on what to do, still reeling from the pain throbbing through your nugbone, an even larger force comes barreling in through The Gloom, overshadowing the ever expanding remains of LODAF. Striking through the clouds is an enormous Bolt of Crimson Lightning, dividing the storm like the head of an axe shooting through a log of wood, and you hear through the echoes of its Thunder a single word, permeating through your mind; DIE. In the wake of the strike, you see plastered upon the clouds of each side are Jason and Ryder, the two boys throttling the others chagrintunnel, attempting to kill one other. Ooh… man…

“Rag…naa…” You hear as you attempt to compose yourself still. When you look, you find that your Motif has taken a far larger toll on Sara than you had realized, watching her slowly drift away from you as she collapses from exhaustion, falling to the world like a leaf on the breeze. She’s already too far to reach for when you realize what’s happening, some several yards away. Your first instinct is to go after her when you see she’s fainted, but the crackling aftershock of the visions you’d seen in The Gloom informs you that you have an obligation to a higher crisis transpiring upon the Thief’s crown. The cyclone enabling your flight won’t last long now that Sara isn’t able to ensure its stability. Based on the rate at which it spins, you’d estimate there’s only a minute or two left before the power deactivates, and you fall. Fly to Sara, or fly to the top of the Mountain, you only have enough wind magic to do one of the two. Try both, and you’ll likely plummet to your death when the breeze beneath your balancepads give way. Split between the two friends and their immediate perils, you look back and forth to your two options, feeling the clock ticking down as you meander like a clueless spaz!

“Ah… Ah…! AHH!” Panicing, you do your best to fulfill both obligations. Placing the tips of your grabberprongs against your temple, you focus your thinkpan upon the Fate of the Sylph that drifts away. Channeling your sight onto the Human Girl, you perform an Augury, looking into the Human Schrödinger Box to discover if the purrbeast still lives or not. In doing so, you collapse causality into a single outcome, binding the girl to your prediction and Dooming her to the fate you foresee. Watching her journey through the air run its course, you observe as Sara drifts down to the exterior of the Land, passing effortlessly through the pores of the cave ceiling and continuing on until she lands at the doorstep of a tunnel that leads into the crust of the world, nestling her gently within the refuge of the shelter. Safe. She’ll be safe at the End of her Fall. Finding peace of mind knowing your friend will be fine if left to her Fate, you hurry after the two morons trying to kill one another! Responding to your intentions, the cyclone Sara has weaved around you follows after you like a loyal barkbeast, flying you higher and higher through the remnants of the wind storm that has begun to die out without the Sylph to conduct it. It’s only once you’re halfway to the Mountaintop, when you’ve used up most of your wind magic and have passed the point of no return to get back to the ground safely that you realize; you have no protection against Thief’s influence over reality. “Ah… shucks…”

 

***

 

“What do you mean ‘We’ are coming?” You ask the corpse, unsure what she’s getting at.

“Isn’t it obvious? We’re going to kill the Thief!” She answers with a conviction confident enough to convince you that what she has planned is founded on some level of merit.

“How the hell do you propose we do that?” Creed crosses his arms, the cognitive mesh hanging from his temple giving him the appearance of a priest dressed in ceremonial horn robes.

“Simple. With this.” Haugrr answers while holding up Leah’s Revolver for all to see.

“…Are you sure you’re properly hooked up to my brainpower, Haug?” Creed asks after a pause, seemingly too stupefied by the proposition to immediately respond. “Because I’m not so sure you’ve thought through this so well. That thing’s a fucking pea-shooter compared to whatever the hell the Thief’s turned into, that’d be like trying to take down an Elephant with an Ant Bite.” He derided the idea, causing the smile on the lower half of Haugrr’s face to reform into an annoyed scowl.

“Haugrr, my friend… while I appreciate the optimism of your plan, perhaps we should consider that we’ve been outclassed by our adversaries, and instead of focusing on striking back, we work to limit the casualties from growing any further while we still can.” You advise the Prince, attempting to bring her off the Warpath. “If the Thief we saw has truly transcended into the Leviathan currently rampaging through the underground, then surely they are beyond the means of simple firearms, yes?”

“Ugh! You aren’t thinking Big Picture enough, either of you!” Haugrr chastises you both. “Don’t you get it? Leah was right next to the Thief, close enough to put a bullet in her nugbone!”

“Yeah. Was. You didn’t see how that played out?” Creed reminds her of the fate that had befallen her vessel. “Not to mention, that was back when the Thief was still human. Take a look at her now!” He waves over to the gargantuan twin obelisks that reach up past the ceiling of the cavern. “It doesn’t matter how many bullets you’ve got in that chamber, your gun isn’t going to do anything to her now.”

“Not if we change what happened.” Haugrr declares, causing a confused but skeptical look to cross Creed’s face.

“Whaddya mean?” He nods at her, imploring the Prince to continue.

“Good people, what I mean is that we’ve stumbled upon a very interesting predicament here.” She elaborates. “Leah’s body is still warm, I can still access her Full Array of Powers in this state. So answer me this, what do you get when you combine Weaponized Hope with an ability to Destroy through Doom?” Thinking the question over a moment, an idea seems to flash in Creed’s eyes.

“You’re saying…” He begins.

“I can use Leah’s Doom to kill the Thief.” She finishes for him. “Right at the moment she met her demise, it’s the perfect opening to get a shot off.”

“You can do this with just Leah’s powers?” Creed inquires, thinking over the logistics of the plan more seriously now.

“Not entirely.” Haugrr shakes her head. “What we’re attempting goes against Every Rule in the Book. Tampering with a Fate that has already met its Conclusion is next to impossible. Luckily, we have a Mage who specializes in just such a subject.” She explains while looking to you.

“Wha- Me?” You point to yourself, making sure you’re following the discussion accurately, causing Haugrr to smile. “What can I do?”

“Are you kidding? You’ll be doing most of the work.” She laughs with a scoffs. “But to put a task to that ask, I’ll need a spell. A big one.”

“Um… truly, I hate to rain on your paraid, Haugrr, but I’m not familiar with the Witchcrafts.” You break it to the Prince. “I’m not sure what to tell you.”

“Oh you’re familiar, alright. Just not in the way you think.” She retorts.

“Haugrr, I-“ You begin to object.

“All I ask is that you try.” The Prince cuts you off while raising her chin at you, resting her fists aside her hips. Hearing those words, you glance down to the Doll in your hands, looking over scorch marks that decorate the top of the trinket’s head.

“……Okay. Where do we begin?” You ask her, finding your resolve.

“Where every great venture begins. With a Dream.” Haugrr says, growing a sly smiles.

 

***

 

Contemplating what to do as you linger about the skies, you hang in the air above the Thief, right at the border of her influence, looking down at it the way one would behold an active volcano about to spill over its molten spew. You have no idea what will happen if you venture into the laughing radiance, yet at the same time, you’d long run out of options to choose from a while ago. At this point, it’s less a question of if you will enter, rather when. Perhaps it’s just nerves getting the better of you, but whatever the reason, you can’t help but procrastinate your entry, putting off the inevitable one moment at a time. By now, the Devils flowing from the Tangle of Grabbers have been able to escape from their master’s territory without trouble, the gale winds drifting off into the high atmosphere of the Planet, far enough away from their runways to allow them a proper takeoff. You take the fact that a swarm hasn’t come for you yet as a sign that they still haven’t noticed where you are, meaning you have the advantage, technically.

Taking a deep breath in, you calm yourself enough to focus on what you’re going to do, instead of dreading what might happen. It’s likely that the Thief’s grabbers will attempt to snatch you up once you get close, but if you let yourself fall, you might just be able to sweep past them long enough to reach the surface of the Thief. From there, it’s up in the air of what will happen to you. The arms might pursue you into the brush, or maybe you’ll go unnoticed. Maybe you might just evaporate, like a bug hitting an electric zapper. You have no idea! Reviewing the possibilities, you find hesitation once again, feeling yourself wanting desperately to try your luck with flying back down to the ground on what little magic you have left. Yet when you contemplate this escape again, you feel yourself unable to commit. Not because you fear you would not make it, but for the fact that you would not be able to face yourself if you did. Looking back down to the tangle of limbs that wave your way, you understand that you can’t leave them in there. The boys. Leah would go back for them, and… since she can’t, you’ll have to do so for her!

Allowing the madness to set in, you prepare for the insane task ahead of you, focusing on the Doom you are fated to meet at the end of your trail. Shining like the burning waypoint of a Call to War, you trace your way back from this Eventuality through the wilds between you, mapping out the Preordained Path you are destined to take and ensuring you stay Bound to its Perimeters no matter what you meet along the way. Programmed upon the squishy surface of your thoughtsponge, you are forever Doomed to walk the Path until you Reach its End. It’s as simple as a walk through the woods now… Nothing More, Nothing Less. With one last breath, you allow yourself to fall through the cyclone, taking the first step of your Pilgrimage.

Plummeting down through the air, you feel as your form passes into the Thief’s aura, splashing into the waters of the Endless Lake before sinking to the bottom, a forgotten stone tossed from this plane of reality. It feels like you are drowning in reverse, as if the air in your body was leaving out through your feet, tracing up your legs and stomach, eventually reaching around your throat to find your face, where the last of your oxygen is burnt from you, leaving you a smoked cigarette ready to be flicked from the chapped lips of the one to inhale all your poisonous fumes. Your eyes are open, but you see nothing from them. They have been cursed, doomed to see nothing but death and suffering so long as they shall live. And so you blinded yourself, gouged them out to see no more. Yet the shapes still paint themselves on the backdrop of your unseeing focus. Ensembles of Rot and Decay, stage-plays dedicated to the demise of you and all your friends, symphonies composed for those who would dance upon your grave. And at the center of it all, a Flower Blooms, opening up its petals to catch you with. You are falling. Falling into the folds of the poor man’s rose, unable to escape its gravity well. You are All falling. Unable to change Course. You are riding a ship down a cascading river into the clutches of the bloom, and you feel as you brush past the biomass, the red tendrils of the rose wipe the tears from your cheek, attempting a small show of tenderness to console you. A little gesture, to let you know you are not alone. But it is meaningless. You are alone. You will always be Alone. That’s just the way things have to be. That was always the path you were going to be on. That was always where this Trail was going to lead you. So you accept the inevitable, and throw yourself into the Singularity, passing through the Needle’s Eye as everything you know is made irrelevant. Pages unwritten, inks retracted, the ground and the sky and everything in between vanish into the backdrop, and you find that you are no longer the one who speaks your lines, usurped by an Understudy. Shattering past the Looking Glass, you fall into what lies beyond, tumbling down and down and down, until finally… you trip.

“Uph!” You exclaim as you are thrown to the ground with a -thud-! Propping yourself up, you notice that you had landed on your bag. “Oh! Please don’t tell me-…!” You panic to yourself, quickly picking up and searching through your leather knapsack to ensure your parcel is intact. “Aah… Thank the Lord.” You sigh, observing that your Grimoire has gone undamaged. Turning back, you spot the culprit responsible for your fall. “Hm… Pesky Root!” You chastise the wooden creeper that sticks out from the ground of your trail. Getting up, you dust off your skirt and adjust your coif before setting out again. By the Lord, it’s already well past Midnight! You really need to hurry now, threat of tricky roots be dashed!

Quickening your pace, you use the glow of the Moonlight to guide your way through the darkness of the forest. It’s a Hunter’s Moon tonight, after all. That means Pa and your Brother will be heading out for a fortnight come daybreak, along with the other menfolk in town. You had asked Pa before what they all do Out in the Dark for so long, but he never gave you a straight answer. ‘It’s Man’s Business out there, Raghilda’, he’d say with his gruff voice, ‘Don’t be gettin’ any ideas in your head about it’. You aren’t sure what could be so interesting that they get so taciturn about the trip. It’s only the Woods, after all.

Whatever the boys do in their time out in the wilds, Grandma had wanted you to take them extra supplies before they set off. Red is usually the one who she sends out on errands like this, but he already left for the cabin they all stay at, out at the edge of the village. They say they go there to rest up before their time in the woods, but you’re pretty sure they just use that as an excuse so all the Fathers and Sons can have a night of drinking without the judging eyes of their Womenfolk on them. Regardless of the true reason they leave a night early, Red wasn’t around for the task, and so Grandma sent you in his stead. Responsibilities like this usually fall to you in these circumstances, piled on atop the chores you already are to look after. It happens more often than you’d like…

Busy bemoaning your lot in life, a sudden scampering from out in the dark snaps your attention to the overgrown bramble just beside your path. What sounds like twigs and leaves crunching under the weight of footfalls. A chill rolls over your body, realizing something is close by that you hadn’t noticed was there before. Cautiously, and ever slowly, you take a few extra steps down the trail at a molasses pace, praying to God that whatever is in the cut won’t notice you making your way through the woods.

“You there… Girl…” A guttural voice comes grumbling out from the grove.

“-!” You yelp, freezing in place as you hear the monstrous tones focus upon you.

“What business does a thing like you have doing so far from home?” The voice asks you while seeming to follow you down your path from the bramble. “Don’t you know the devils play in the air tonight?”

“No, I-I didn’t… Thank you for telling me…!” You try to politely engage, hoping to keep the stalker from turning hostile. “W-well… Good Night.” You say before walking away with a quick step.

“You didn’t answer my question, Girl.” The voice pursues you. “What business do you have here, so far from safety?”

“I’m… delivering dried meats and tuck-away bread to my father and brother. They’re about to go on a very long hunt to prepare for the winter months.” You hesitantly inform the beast, hoping the mention of Hunters will scare it away.

“Yes, I had smelled them there in your satchel while I was still a mile off. It's what brought me to you...” The voice tells you, suddenly coming from the other side of your path, having switched without you realizing. “But I wanted to know what you’re really doing out here, pet.”

“I-I already told you, I’m delivering-“ You try to repeat, cut off by the long form of the beast shooting up from brush, the tall size of the creature towering over that of your own stature, its mangy and matted fur giving off the noxious stench of death.

“Lies!” It exclaims, the glowing eyes howling with madness as they pierce through the veil. “I smell something far more precious on your person.” It calmly follows up as the figure slinks back into the brush. “Something far more interesting than salted flesh and stale breads…” You clutch the indent your Grimoire makes in your bag upon it being mentioned.

“I-… I shouldn’t say.” You mumble, foolishly attempting to hum away the fright.

“Your book… It’s not just any old book, is it…?” The voice asks, its mad eyes appearing through the bushes beside you, the slinking form of the beast effortlessly gliding across the land, as a specter or phantom might. “Let us see, won’t you? Come now, don’t be shy.”

“Um…” Nervous and wanting the stranger to go away, you relent to their one request as you stand at the side of the road, retrieving your book for all to see. With their wish fulfilled, you pray that will be the end of it and they will be on their way once more.

“A Witch?” The voice asks, sounding surprised as it observes the tome you hole in your grasp. Though when you don’t respond in the affirmative, the wide eyes of its figure seem to settle. “Ahh, I see now. A Fortune Teller.” It laughs a sickly, weasel-like chuckle. “Did you think the Moonlight would grant you a more apt Foresight? Perhaps sharpen your Clairvoyance?” It continues to mock. “Come then, Teller. Won’t you read my Palms?” The voice requests as a furred hand extends out from the cut, gnarled and jagged claws growing from each fingertip.

“I’m sorry.” You shakily tell the voice as you take a step back from the hand, telling it no. “I am no Mystic. You are mistaken.”

“I am not.” It snarls.

“I must get going now. My family will be waiting.” You reaffirm while turning to walk again.

“I can escort you, Teller.” The voice slyly says, lightening its tone as it appears on your other side once more. “Step into the forest, and I will show you a…” The words pause for a moment. “Short Cut.”

“I must stay on my path.” You disregard the offer, walking along now.

“Oh won’t you reconsider?” The voice pleads. “The woods are so wondrous this night, Teller. These oaken beams; an ideal corridor for a midnight walk, where moonbeams spill through treetops and play amongst the grotto. You can play there too, Teller. Come, make merry with me and those other amongst the dark.” You feel a forcefulness in the beast’s persuasions. You know it isn’t asking you this, rather it is telling you instead. “Allow yourself these simple pleasures, and you’ll want for nothing ever again. A simple glance, and you will find yourself beguiled, all you need do is let the dancing lights guide your way.”

“Your words are pretty, stranger. But you waste them on me.” You tell the beast, firm in your rejection this time, finally realizing what it is that’s found you out in these woods. “I know what you are. And I know what you’re trying to do, Trickster.” You reveal to the forest-bound spirit, knowing they cannot pass the threshold of civilization where you walk. “And no will-o'-wisp or excess of glib will persuade me to be your fool.”

“Is that so…?” The voice asks as it passes over you, bounding above the woodland trail. “Regale me, then, oh Fortune Teller mine; What. Am. I?”

“They call you the Plenilune Wolf… the Creature Who Stalks the Ten Thousand Acres.” You meet the beast’s challenge, answering its furious riddle. “But that isn’t true… You aren’t a wolf, you’re a Drake. A Daemon.”

“Mhmhmh, is that what your little book calls me?” The beast chuckled at you, amused by your assertions.

“It does.” You answer the likely rhetorical question. “It also called you a Dodecagon, a creature who can only manifest twelve times upon the world of man a year. You only come out on full moons, and tonight, the night of the Hunter’s Moon, you are at your strongest. Even still, you are bound to the confines of your wilds.”

“Studious.” The voice declares, neither commending nor judgmental, but simply observant. “Yet even with your erudition, you still folly. Do you think the bindings of my mortal flesh is where my influence ends…? Do you think I cannot reach where you are?!” Suddenly from beside you, a hellish maw laden with countless spearheads snaps at you from behind the brush, falling just short of sinking its clutched into the flesh of your arm. Twitching back in surprise, you watch as the mangey snout snarls at you as it just pokes beyond the veil.

“My… what big Teeth you have.” You tell the beast, showing that you will not be frightened by a dog on a leash.

“Did your mother not tell you never pull the tail of a wolf, girl?” The beast warns before slowly slinking back into the dark.

“I never had a mother.” You tell the beast. “She was taken when I was still young.”

“I shall have you.” The monster declares.

“You shall not.” You deny. With nothing more to say, you continue on, ignoring the beast the best you can as you walk the path.

“You think I know not of the ceremony you and your Coven conduct this twilight.” The voice follows regardless. “You think I cannot find you, out in the dark. This is folly… I own the Dark. It has been my claim since the First Light was Extinguished a Millennia ago. Carry on to your ritual grounds, Teller. I will meet you when you stray the course.”

“No such thing will happen.” You dismiss their empty threats. “I know the way Through the Wood. I have seen it in my Tome. So long as it is by my side, I am bound to its pathways, just as you are bound to its wilds.”

“You will stumble. You will find yourself lost, out in the Dark. And when you do, I will be near, to gobble you up.” The voice continues to threaten. “Trust. When you lose yourself in the Woods, I will not be far behind. And then… I shall have you all the same…”

You pause in your tracks, a chill rises up your spine from the monster’s words. Though it cannot hurt you, the hate and vitriol remain poignant nonetheless. Waiting for the thing out in the brush to continue, you find yourself waiting an age, as it appears your pursuer has finally grown bored of prodding at you, leaving you alone with the quiet chirp of the woods. Continuing on, you traverse the path with a faint sense of paranoia, anxious over the Wolf’s return. While you drift your attention from side to side in anticipation of the whispers creeping back down from the forest once more, there comes a break in the thicket you travel, and the woodlands begin to open up. Peering dead ahead as you creep forward towards the tree line, you find a scene transpiring upon the moonlit clearing. There in the field, you see your brother Red as he wrestles with Jacob, the neighbor boy from down the lane. In his hand, Red holds a dagger that shines and shimmers as if made of twilight, and amidst the struggle, he attempts to drive the point of the blade into the neighbor boy’s heart. Stunned by what you see, you watch on as the two boys wrestle through the grass, fighting one another over control of the knife.

“R-… Red…! Jacob!” Finally snapping out from your stupor, you rush out from the forest trail to the boys before one of them can wind up in the grave. Though run as you might, you never seem to get any closer to the scene, the earth beneath your feet warping and stretching, widening the gap so that you never gain ground, and you are kept at bay by these forces beyond logic and reason, helpless to intervene on the strife. “Wha…” You mutter as you gaze down at the unruly earth, mystified by the weird magics afflicting your path. You aren’t fated to walk these grounds… Not yet, at least, but… why? What more do you have to learn?

“Everything is ready.” You hear from off in the distance, towards the other side of the clearing. Looking over, you find a ritual underway at the corner of the field, led by three individuals adorned in robes and ornamental masks, stood in the center of a candle circle. The one who had spoken first wears grey robes with a mint trim, hiding his visage behind the Fox Mask drawn over his face.

“Then let us begin.” The one in Dark Green robes declares. This one wears the Mask of a Jackalope, a set of Antlers hanging above their Hood. “Sister?” They turn to the one with black robes, bordered with gold trim.

“I am afraid I find myself still unsure of what to do, Hendrix.” She says while turning to the others, showing you the Bull Mask over her face. “How is this spell supposed to work?”

“You need only dream, Sister.” The Jackalope assures her. “Dream of what could have been, had only the world been a Just place. Pray if you need to, but it is imperative you conjure the images into your mind. Imagine it were real, right here in my hands.” Looking at the Horned figure a moment, the Bull nods before crouching down on her knees, clutching a small and tattered fetish in her hands as she hovers… hovers before a body. Laid out in the grass between the three is a body, wrapped in sacred fabrics, like one of those mummies from Pa’s explorer books.

“What is it I am to imagine?” The Bull asks while her head is bowed.

“Her Gun.” The Jackalope answers.

“Her-… her Gun?” The Bull repeats, glancing up from her prayers.

“A Knight needs her weapon, does she not?” The Jackalope asks back with a raise of their chin. “Imagine one. Craft it in the recesses of your mind palace, one so detailed and precise, you can’t deny it to be true. So in-tuned with the world we reside, you can reach out and touch it. Make it Loud! Louder than God’s Revolver, and Twice as Shiny! Make it kick, make it bite. Forge it from Metals Unheard Of, its designs sourced from Dynasties that Conquered the Stars! Load it with Bullets that could split the Heavens when fired, pack them with Gunpowder that would burn through Hell when ignited. Make it Quick, and make it Real. And I will make her reach out to claim it.”

“…” The Bull says no more, only muttering incantations beneath her breath as the Jackalope reaches down to the body to direct its arm, positioning the limb to their front as they manipulate its hand open. Watching closely as the figures work, you see the curling hand of the corpse take form as the Jackalope adjusts each finger, abiding by boundaries of an imaginary object in its grasp. Creeping closer to the group, you realize once you’re nearly upon them that the hand of the corpse has remained in its same position even without the control of its attendee, its index finger cocked forward as the three following digits curl around an invisible handle, and you realize then that there is something real in its grasp, as the cultists had devised.

“Someone is here.” The Fox announces to the two, looking up as his eyes reflect the glow of the candle flames, sitting just behind the opening slits in his mask. It’s then that you realize how far you’ve trespassed upon their ceremonial grounds, being close enough to hear the exhales of their breath shudder against the insides of their masks. You freeze, unsure of what they will do now that they’ve noticed you, but… when you look to meet their eyes, you find that they do not look at you, rather their attention has been directed beyond you place before them. Hesitating to look at first, you soon find it inevitable before you face whoever it is that’s found their way behind you. Turning to see, you had expected no one else but the Plenilune Wolf to be there in your shadows, having found you just as they promised to. Yet that is not who you find.

Standing there to your rear is what looks to be a girl, but you aren’t quite sure. Dark locks clutter around the base of two strangely colored horns atop the crown of her head, and just below that, on her face, you are met with the girl’s ashen complexion, her skin appearing to be a dark grey. She stares at you with wide brown eyes, appearing just as confused to stumble upon you as you are to be stumbled upon. She wears a simple, yet ragged dress, its dark green fabrics appearing torn and frayed at its edges, and upon her chest she bears an emblem of a misshapen skull, an image familiar to you for reasons you cannot recall.

“What manner of devil are you?” You ask the strange creature as she slows her approach now that you’ve seen her.

“You’re one to talk.” Your own voice answers back at you. “Look at what you’re wearing.” Upon the stranger’s request, you look down at yourself, finding your skirt and blouse have been replaced by a dark green robe with black trim at its edges. Upon seeing this, you realize as well that your coif has been exchanged for the Wolf Mask you now wear, hiding your visage from the onlookers who hunt for you in the woods. You look up at the spirit once more, having found the page in your Grimoire that spoke of her genealogy, ready to speak the invocation that will banish her back to the Abyss.

“There’s… there’s no time for this.” You say instead.

“That’s right. We need to wake up now. We’ve almost reached our off-ramp.” She says back in near-gibberish.

“Pardon?” You tilt your head at the statement.

“It’s time to wake up.” She repeats. As she does, you see as the world behind her begins to melt. Slowly dripping down like the heated paints of an irresponsible artist, your forest comes apart one strip at a time, each leaving behind a ray of blinding radiant light in its stead. “The others will need a guide for where they are going.” More and more, the world around you is torn down, until you are standing in a bright white void, the grass beneath your feet replaced with glowing stone, the trees now strange pillars of flesh. You are Out of the Woods. “Especially for what comes next.”

“GRRAAAAAAH!!” A snarl suddenly comes from behind you, snapping you from your trance. Turning back you find Jacob and-… No, that isn’t his name… Jason. Jason and Ryder. You see the two boys high up in the air, tussling about at the top of several grabberstaffs, currently strangling one another in an attempt for dominance. Under any other circumstance, you might have found yourself blushing, beholding such a publicly displayed scene of ♠concupiscent tusslings♠ but right now is Not The Time! Are they both insane?! Are they... No... it isn't just a fight... Ryder is acting on reflex, in a kind of autopilot while too injured to be fully conscious, while Jason responds in kind out of self defense. Dang it, those two knuckle draggers! What the hell are they doing?!

“Jason!” You shout up to the only conscious one of the two. But he doesn’t hear you. You need to get to him. Reaching for your sylladex, you realize that what you were going to retrieve was already deployed, held firmly in your grabber. Your trusty Clamber Slinger, loaded and ready to fire. Disregarding why you already had it in your possession, you take aim and launch the anchor up at where the boy’s hang in the air, sinking the spike into the under-side of the grabberstaff they hang on. Retracting your line, you reel yourself up to the anchoring point with a -zip-, arriving to the two in the blink of a globe. “Jason!” You call again while looking up at the Red Page as you hang from your perch.

“Rags?” He glances at you in confusion, not expecting you to appear right beside him. “Is that-… where did you get a Grappling Hook?” He asks as he chokes under Ryder’s death-grip.

“Quit messing around already!” You ignore his question for the far more pressing issue. “Ryder isn’t attacking you, he’s just operating on impulse! He isn’t awake!” Hearing your please, the Page glances over at his brethren, seeming to realize that he hasn’t so much been fighting Ryder, but rather his nervous system. “Just heal him already!”

“God… damnit…” Jason gurgle as he removes a hand from Ryder’s chagrintunnel, using it to summon a clock construct in his grasp. “Wake the fuck up, Samurai!” He grunts before shoving the gear into Ryder’s bellowsac, cranking it to the side and turning back the injuries on his form enough to rouse him from his slumber.

“-duh?!” Ryder suddenly lurches awake, a startled look on his face as he unknowingly keeps his hand clutched to Jason’s ignoranceshaft.

“Friendly fire, asshole!” Jason grunts while jerking the grabber from his person.

“Where are we?” Ryder barks while shooting his attention from side to side.

“On the Monument to all our Fuck-ups.” Jason tells him while dropping down from his perch on the grabbershafts. “Shit!” He hollers when he’s unable to decelerate his fall fast enough for his rocket kit to catch him, landing hard on the ground below you. “aaahhh…”

“You alright?” You ask the Page as you repel back down to the surface of the Thief with your Slinger, watching him groan while he knees upon the ground.

“M’good...” He wearily answers while still recovering. Above, Ryder swaps his blade to his other grabber and uses it to slash himself free from the Thief’s grasp, dropping down beside the still hobbled Jason just as you set back down as well.

“Where’s Dragomir?” Ryder inquires while glancing about the tangle of limbs around you all, searching for his enemy still.

“Who, the Thief?” Jason rasps as he stands back up, rubbing his windchute while he rises. “We’re standing on her, genius.”

“Be serious, we still have business to settle.” Ryder tells him, marching forward towards the cut where those three… cultists… were? What were you just thinking? Wait, where are you right now? How did you get here? Last you remember, Grandma gave you a-… what’s a Grandma?

“I am being serious! You unlocked some kind of super form in her and now we’re stuck here!” Jason yells after him while he pursues the boy with a slight crimson trail dragging from his form, moving at a suspiciously slightly-above-average speed. You take a few steps in the same direction as the two Pages but eventually lag behind as you start to look about your surroundings. This was just a forest a moment ago, wasn’t it? Lost in your confusion, you slow your stride to a stroll to find your bearings. Once you do, you begin to notice a strange mist that hangs about the area, laying heavy in the field you’re in. Following it to its source, you find Ryder at the thickest point in the smog, dead center, like it’s following him. Or rather… it is escaping from him? Contemplating the anomaly, you notice that you’ve fallen behind into the thinner ends of the mist and things… “Hey… Hey, get back here, we’re not done talking!” Things start getting weird…

All around you, the grabberstaffs that sprout from the ground began to morph into dark yellow and brown fibers, twisting themselves into an entirely new material. Below you, the glowing stone that made up the floor begins to dim, revealing behind it; a humany flesh substance that the newly made fibers scatter across. It was Ryder. He was putting off an effect that countered the Thief’s influence, enough so that you were shaken from its effects. Falling behind it is causing you to slowly lower back into the Fantasia…! Looking forward, you spot the two Pages as they venture through the tangle of cords, disappearing from your sight as they move on, their distant bickerings getting fainter as they leave. You hurry after them before you can get completely lost in the Dream, struggling to run in the mess of a terrain everything has become. What even is this stuff, anyway?!

“Au Contraire, Little Lamb.” A rumbling voice comes from below you as you fight your way through the jungle towards the divide your boys disappeared down. “I believe this one brings quite a bit to the Table.” Continuing to vibrate up your steppers, you feel the gargantuan voice rattle your calcium scaffolds to their core, nearly throwing you to the floor. “Flash Stepping.” These words… where have you heard them before? “A very interesting technique, to appear right before your Goal in the blink of an eye like that.” You know them, you’re sure you do! It lingers just at the edge of your thinkpan, mocking you as it eludes your recall. “I like it.” Forgetting trying to remember for now, you push forward, reaching the ridge the Pages traversed just a moment ago. Pulling back the sinewy curtain, you see Jason and Ryder just up ahead, Jason turning back when he hears the commotion you’re kicking up behind them. “Although… I must say I’m far more partial to that other ability of yours.” Looking past the boys, you realize what’s happening. Before you, large enough to take up the entire sky, is the image of Leah, down on her stephinges as she writhes in agony. It’s the exact same scene you’d seen in The Gloom, that of her Death at the hands of the Thief. But if Leah is out in front of you… “What was it again…?” Raised up as if conjured forth from the primordial cradle, a monolith erupts over the horizon, two pillars of steel engraved with runes of hoodoo and majyyks. The Thief’s shrapnel caster. Her voice, the dirty blond woodlands… This isn’t another forest… You’re on Graizella’s Crown…

“Ah!” Pulling away, your sight is drawn from your very skull to show you the Murder once more, the afterimage of its grizzly sight still imprinted upon your mind from the first time you were forced to witness it transpire. It’s the same as before, a near perfect reproduction of what you’d seen. And as the Thief presses the barrel of the caster to the back of Leah’s head, you can’t help but feel your heart shatter all over again.

“Oh, that’s right…” The Thief smiles as her finger tucks against the trigger of her gun. Just when the fatal blow is about to be struck, you see a stillness come across Leah’s face. One that wasn’t there the first time you’d seen this vision. Glancing back, her sightglobes dart to the corner of their sockets, registering the threat that stands in her rear guard, something she had been unable to do the first go around, too labored under the Mage’s curse to realize. Moving faster than Lightning, the Knight reaches behind her head, laying claim upon the Thief’s firearm as she jams a finger between the hammer and firing pin of the gun. Taken off guard by the sudden maneuver, the Thief attempts to fire her weapon, not realizing the hammer won’t go anywhere with the digit blocking the way. Then, quicker than a twitch, Leah draws her pistol, aiming it behind her and finding it level with the center of Graizella’s eyes, not even having to look to be sure.

 

 

 

 

 

“Bang.”

 

 

 

 

 

Returning to you, your vision readjusts to a first person view, seeing Jason as he's turned to speak with you, Ryder up ahead glancing back as he feels something amiss. Jason opens his mouth to say something, but you beat him to the punch.

“Take Cover!” You shout. Not a second later, the beam of energy Leah fires comes ripping through the surface of the Thief’s skull, a geyser of radiant authority boring a hole straight into the sky as it illuminates the midnight darkness of LODAF. The breach comes directly beneath Jason’s balancepads, and you see him no more, caught up in the blast of white magic and disappearing from view. You have no idea how you would react to this. Perhaps if allowed a moment to process what it is you had just witnessed, you might’ve screamed or cried. But you don’t get that chance, as not a moment later, the unleashed innards of the Thief’s Titan Form come spilling out on top of you, and you feel yourself unhinge from where you are in Existence. You become everything, and nothing at all.

 

***

 

PESTERLOG:

-- titansCorpse [TC] began gnawing senileMinor [SM] at 11:43 --

TC: I thΘught I shΘuld be the Θne tΘ let yΘu knΘw,
TC: It’s a bΘy.
TC: See yΘu when we see yΘu, BrΘ.

-- titansCorpse [TC] ceased gnawing senileMinor [SM] at 11:44 --

 

 

Reader; Continue?

Chapter 80: > Interlude; Convergence

You lie kneeling down in the dark of an unknown room. You don’t remember how you got here, and you don’t know how long you’ve been here. It… it feels like it’s been a long time. There’s a pounding in your ears, radiating with the beat of your heart, like the ticking of a clock. What’s happening?

“H-hello?” You ask in a muted tone, slowly laboring up from the ground. Only getting halfway, your back erupts with a searing pain when you try to stand upright, and you collapse back to the floor. “A-ah!” You weakly moan as you hold the base of your spine, probing the area for the source of your torment. It’s tender there, flaring up at the slightest pressure. The flesh feels hot to the touch and a protuberance juts from its form, like something is broken and sticking out. You’re hurt…

Wearily, you manage to pull yourself together enough to prop upright again. This is bad… you have to get out of here. Cautious of the injury you’ve sustained, you place a foot underneath you and shakily bring yourself up, a slight tremble in your legs in anticipation of another flare of pain. Reaching the full height of your stance, the most you can muster is a meek hunch, kept crouched by the silent burn radiating from your back. That’s the best you’ve got at the moment, unable to push any further upright than what you’ve managed. It’ll have to do for now.

Looking out at the room you are in, the vague outlines of its items and furniture peer at you from behind the veil of darkness, and a dull sense of familiarity is brought to you, burning at the back of your mind. You’ve been here before, you think. A very long time ago. Long enough that you aren't able to recall anything from just its faint reminders. The harder you focus on remembering, the more distant the feeling becomes. It’s just a far-off memory to you. Perhaps from a life you’ve long left behind.

Taking a step forward, you limp at a slow pace through the dark, unable to walk with a proper stride as you traverse the room. Placing a hand upon one of the more box-like shapes as you pass, you recognize the material it’s made of. Wood. Not real, but the cheap laminated stuff they sell in department stores. It wobbles when you make contact with it, one of its pegs or stands or whatever it’s got being higher than the others. You push past it, stumbling a few steps as a sudden bout of vertigo throws you off-kilter. You feel light headed, and… and there’s a scent of iron in the air that’s making you dizzy…

-SLAM-

Ahead of you, a door is closed shut, causing you to jolt at the sudden sound. It’s hard to tell how far away it was, but you don’t think it was too far off. You thought you had heard something moving just before it slammed, but you aren’t sure. It might’ve been the wind, but the air in this room is stagnant. Old. You don’t think there’s enough ventilation to conjure a gust strong enough to move anything down here. Are you even somewhere down? You thought this was a basement, but you can’t tell. It’s just so hard to breathe here.

Moving on, you nearly lose your balance and end up tripping into a nearby obstruction in the room. Catching yourself there, you place a hand against the object to stop your fall. It’s soft, whatever it is, but it’s covered in something wet. When you pull your hand back, sticky strands pull off with it, forming a web of viscous gel between your palm and the plush surface. It’s a couch, you think. Or rather the corner of one, at least. Shaking off the excess substance still stuck to your hand, you can’t seem to get much of it off, leading you to wonder what it is. Blind in the dark, you hesitantly bring your tainted palm closer to your face, giving a tentative whiff to the stuff. Immediately, your senses recoil as if outright assaulted, the repulsive scent of pungent slime burning at your nostrils like some kind of chemical dissolving agent. The smell is near indescribable, an overwhelming musk of rotting decay mixed with notes of spoiled milk crawl into your sinuses and slink around to coat the back of your throat. You vomit, right then and there, the refuse from your stomach splattering against the concrete floor. The force of this is enough to bring you back to your knees, crumpling to the ground and continuing onward as you fall completely over, landing in your sick.

“Tick… Tock…” A voice suddenly comes from the dark. Slow and melodic, you almost don’t hear it, too caught up in your sorry state to register with you. Shifting your head up while it presses against the ground, you search the pitch black room for the source of the voice. You’re in such a daze, it’s hard to pinpoint where it’s come from.

“Wh-… who’s there?” You call into the dark while wiping the bile from your bottom lip. “W-w-who said that?” You call again. No one bothers to answer. Just then, a chill runs up your broken spine as you realize whoever it is in the room with you doesn’t want you to know where they are. With nowhere to look, your eyes idle back and forth, too frazzled to focus in on one spot within the darkness. Quicker this time, you push yourself up, feeling defenseless on the floor the way you are. The pain is biting, but the fear of wherever is near trumps any protest your body might have. Back on your feet once more, you limp onward, glancing from side to side, paranoid of the vague shapes you see around you in the shade. You think you hear what sounds like the shutting of another door, back in the direction you’d just come from, but you aren’t sure. It was too faint for you to be sure. Facing the way you came, anticipating another sound to ring out, you end up running into something ahead of you, the corner of the object jutting into your stomach. “Ah-…!” You weakly yelp, the sudden force of the stop agitating your back.

Sliding your hand across the surface of the obstacle, you feel as your grip brushes against a piece of paper there, causing a shimmer to echo from the two materials rubbing against one another. Directing your attention to the source of the sound, you stare at the parchment through the void, unable to fully see what it is you’ve come across. It’s old, the paper. Weathered by the air and dust. At first, you think it to be a document of some kind, but as you peer closer, an almost supernatural glow seems to beam back at you as your eyes adjust to the dark enough to make out its contents. It’s a children’s drawing, depicting two crude stick figures holding hands. Above them, the figures are labeled ‘Me’ and ‘Jay’ written in crimson paints. You’ve seen this before… or rather, you were the one who drew it, years ago, when you were young. What the hell is it doing in this place?

“Tick… Tock…” The mysterious voice calls out once again from somewhere around you.

“Who is that?! W-who’s out there in the dark?!” You yell back, demanding answers. “What is this place?!” The more you scream into the black nothing of your surroundings, the more you feel a sick chill flow through your bones. You don’t want to be here anymore.

With a few panicked breaths, you make a break forward, moving as quickly as you can with your slowed pace. Get out… you have to get out! You heard a door, right? That means there has to be an exit. But where was it? You got all turned around when you fell! Damn it, damn it, damn it! You don’t understand what’s happening… You don’t understand where you are! What is this? Why is this happening to you?! Running through the void as you ask yourself the same meaningless questions over and over again, there comes a sudden snag around your foot, and a rush of terror shoots across your back thinking whoever is in the room here with you has finally gotten their claws onto your person. Looking down, you feel through the black night that your foot’s gotten stuck within a divot in the floor, a jagged break in the concrete snagging its thorns into the laces of your shoe. Ripping yourself free without regard for the conditions of your footwear, you pry yourself out from the rift in the floor, leaving a chunk of fabric behind as you hurry on.

Where is he? This voice in the dark? He’s near, you can feel it. Why is he doing this?! What’s going to happen to you when he catches you?! Feeling yourself spiral into a nervous breakdown, your mind goes numb as the pain radiating from your back becomes too much to bear, all coherent thoughts leaking from your skull, escaping out through your eye sockets and mixing in with the stream of tears breaking down your face. You’ve too terrified for reason anymore. It’s all instinct now. Until, through the whimper and the panic, something stops you like a deer in the headlights. You hear music. Trumpets, violins, strings, an entire symphony, gently easing in from the dark around you, like a cold draft creeping in from the night sky. Like a boat rocking back and forth to lull its travelers to sleep. It starts out soft, barely audible if you don’t focus on it. But it soon grows louder, too loud to mistake it for anything but what it is. It steps forward towards you, as if trying to sway your person. To take lead in a ballroom dance, rocking back and forth and back and forth! Back and Forth! Back and Forth! This isn’t real… it can’t be real. This is just a bad dream. That’s it, a Bad Dream! A Bad Dream! It has to be! It’s all just-

“Tick… Tock…” It comes again from the dark, the voice that has been following you. It comes again from the dark, and you feel its breath brush past your neck. Turning as fast as your back will allow, you whip around, a sinking feeling plunging into your stomach as you feel you might hurl again. But there is nothing there...

“H-… Hello?” You call into the void. As if to answer your foolish calls, a sudden draft falls over you. A chilling presence as if you were at the mouth of an endless cave exhaling an updraft from its clutches. Something is coming for you. You can feel it. It’s far away, but it’s coming. It’s heading straight for you, approaching from behind! An unseen predator making its pounce! You have to get out of here!

“Tick…. Tock…” Just as you go to move, the voice returns. Right on top of you. “Tick… Tock…” Right in Front of you! “Tick… Tock…” All Around You! “Tick.. Tock..” The voice continues, getting louder and louder. “Tick.. Tock.. Tick..Tock..Tick.Tock.” You need to run. Need to get out of here, but your legs refuse to obey your command. You are stuck. Helpless, you turn to face the coming threat, feelings no bigger than an ant in the face of a tidal wave. It’s coming…  “Tick.Tock.Tock.Tock.Tick.Tock.Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Ticktockticktockticktockticktockticktockticktock”

“S-stop, just s-s-stop the ticking!” You shout through a hoarse throat. Then suddenly, as if heeding your commands, it stops. The voice goes quiet... All is silent...

...

......

And then it hits you.

That cold draft that first found you out in the dark was just a precursor. Its Herald. What follows is a bitter wave of frostbite, like the full brunt of a blizzard, it slams into you all at once. Barreling down upon you like an avalanche, it’s inescapable. The sensation hits you with the full weight of a colliding truck against your chest, and you are thrown to the ground, flat onto your back. There’s a moment, as you lie upon the ground, the briefest, most fleeting moment of your entire life, where you don’t feel it. The Fall. It’s as if you are numb to it. But that was just the buffer period, where your body was deciding if it was going to go into shock or not. Apparently, it decided Not. You feel your vocal cords rip, eviscerated as you lose yourself to your screams. You don’t know how long you lie there on the ground, taking in breath just to stay focused. You think it might have been a long time. Minutes, hours, days. It doesn’t matter. There is nothing outside of this room…

“tick…… tock…… tick…… tock……” The voice comes back, raspy and weak.

“who… w-who are you?” You whisper back at it, unknowing of who you are yourself as your mind reels from the pain.

“tick…… tOck…… tiCk…… tOCK… TICK… TOCK… TICK!” It builds up from its weary state, gaining strength once more. Amidst the calls from the hidden voice, there comes a backlash from your vocal cords, and you cough up blood from your throat.

“s-stop, please… i… i can’t think straight… there’s nothing but the ticking…” You beg, unable to feel anything aside from the all encompassing pain wracking your body.

“There is Nothing but the Ticking.” It suddenly changes. There’s a strain in their voice still, but a calm has come over it now.

“…what?” You hesitate to say, too fearful of the answer you might receive.

“There is Nothing but the Tock of the Clock as it ticks down to the End of All Things.” It substitutes.

“I-I-I… I don’t understand…!” You wince through the pain, taking heavy breaths to keep yourself composed.

“Swinging of a Pendulum. Back and Forth. Tick… Tock… Tick… Tock… Until we are No More.” It continues. Lying there on the ground, unable to move even the smallest degree without incurring a new wave of broken wrath to wash over you, a thought crawls across your brain with the legs of a spider. Where is the voice coming from…? It sounds so close to you… but you feel no one nearby… You are alone in this room. You are alone…

“Who… w-who are you?” You wearily ask the dark.

“One Divided into Two… Two made One, once again… An Ebbing and a Flowing… A Ticking and a Tocking… The beating of a heart… carve it out… Carve It OUT!!” The voice rasps, sounding only one wrong word from wearing itself out for good. “Unending Madness… It’s all just… Unending Madness… It must be stopped… Stop it, stop it! Make it Stop! Please!! Make it STOP!!”

“Who are you?!” You shout over the voice, demanding it cease its insane ramblings.

“…” A quiet comes, down there on the floor. Something is coming for you again. Another wave of cosmic force that will crash down on you just as the first one did. You… you aren't sure if you will survive this one.

“Well?!” You demand once more from the voice. There isn’t much time left for you. You have to know. You have to know why. But before your answer comes, suddenly, as though possessed, you are moved from your spot on the ground. “A-ah! AaaAAAAHH!!” You shout as your splintered back is broken and shattered even further, an invisible force propelling you off the ground regardless of the physical consequence. It hurts! Ithurtsithurtsithurts! You try to scream, but your vocal cords no longer answer to your pleas. You are a passenger in your own body. Contorting out of place, your spine feels as if it has been fractured, an unending feed of torment piercing into your brain as you are pushed further and further, the unrelenting heat of the hellfire scorching any thoughts from your mind. It is all encompassing. Inescapable. It is Pain. Nothing but Pain. Excruciating, Abominable Pain.

“You-… Y-you know… w-who I am.” The voice says, its words shaky. Trembling as if short of breath. Unlistening, you are lumbered forward, forced upon your feet as this phantom presence controls you like a puppet. Jostling about, your joints pull in unnatural directions, your muscles and flesh twisted every which way as the invisible strings bolted to your bones are wound taught, threatening to dislocate your every limb, flay the skin from your surface, to rip you apart in every conceivable way. Again and again, you tumble forward, a cracking and chittering automaton, programmed on a set path. You think the torture might go on forever, until finally, you feel yourself go numb, your body going into shock as your mind tries to defend itself. Yet even still, you are puppeted forward, all about the midnight halls of your prison. Clattering against a table, you are forced to look up, and through the dark, you see your reflection looking back at you in the vanity at its top. Two old and sallow eyes stare back at you, an unearthly glow piercing your gaze through the night. At first, you don’t recognize yourself. It had been so long since you last seen You. The hunch in your spine peering over your shoulder like a humpback, your long greasy hair hanging down well past your neck. You look like a frightened animal… And as you are stared face-to-face with this stranger, you see as your lips begin to move without your permission, possessed by those same phantasmal bindings that had brought you here. And you hear your voice say only one thing; “I am You.”

 

That’s right… You had forgotten.

 

There was never anybody else.

 

It was always… just… You…

 

“Tick… Tock…” You mindlessly mumble as you gaze into the dark mirror, that stranger within staring right back.

 

“Tick…"

 

***

 

"Tock…"

 

***

 

"Tick…"

 

***

 

"Tock…"

 

***

 

"Tick…"

 

***

 

"Tock…"

 

***

 

 

 

Tick                              +                               Tock

 

 

 

==>

Notes:

Happy Halloween, dear reader! Feels like forever since I've had a Holiday Note. Consider this a makeup for missing Last Month's Friday the 13th.

Chapter 81: > Brother, where art Thou

The smoke has completely overwhelmed the skies by now. The moon and stars swallowed whole, hidden from you forevermore. Coughing as the soot fills your lungs, you search through the thicket and the bramble for any sign of him. You see nothing but the many tails of the flame consuming the forest around you. The fire has made the collar of your blouse unbearable, the vectors of heat pour out every which way through the forest, cooking you like an evening roast as you hurry through the brush. Unable to withstand the potbelly conditions any longer, you begin to strip under threat of collapse from heat-exhaustion, and just as you had discarded of your ritual robes long ago, you cast your shirt aside to be consumed by the pursuing flames that nip at your heels, leaving you with just your bodice for modesty.

Making a cut through the grotto, you awkwardly hop your way across a patch of thorn bush, nicking and biting at you the entire way. Your skirt’s long been torn to little more than shreds of cloth since the wildfire’s broken out, too occupied with escaping the scorch to worry about preserving your outerwear. You’re just thankful you had the thought to wear your winter latches on your walk tonight, otherwise you’d be running on stumps by now.

Making your way across the small grove, something moving in your vision catches your attention. About the time that you’re exiting the pit of thrones you see it, a shadow moving across the ridge. Thinking it could be Red, you eagerly look to see if he’s appeared there, but your blood runs cold when all you find in the lumbering form of a giant slowly barreling through the woods. The Plenilune Wolf. The shadow of its silhouette moves across the forest backdropped, illuminated by the raging inferno as the flames consume everything there is. You can tell by the heavy stream of blood trickling off its brow that the thing has been injured, a sizable strike that’s cleaved open its skull, leaving a trail of its ichor to blaze a path through the forest floor.

You watch, quieter than a church mouse, as the beast lurks across the fields, brushing entire trees from its path with a simple wave of its claw, splitting the wood trunks with as gentle a gesture as laying its paw upon it as it pushes past. Then suddenly, the form of the Wolf slows, its head craning down and spilling out a reservoir of its ill-hued juices. It turns, revealing the extent of its wound, the entire left half of its snout torn apart, leaving the last few scraps of its face to hang down by only a few connecting fibers, the sinewy veil lifted, revealing more skeletal bone than flesh behind it. The Revenant must be close on its trail if it hasn’t had time to piece itself back together again.

While your mind dwells upon the Hunter you had released upon the woods, you are soon brought back to the moment when you hear the sounds of the Wolf sniffing about the clearing, something in the air catching its focus. It’s then that you realize the scene playing out before you is tangible, able to touch you, and the reality of your situation sets in as it occurs to you that more than likely, the thing that has caught the daemon’s attention is in fact you yourself. Dropping down, you duck back into the ranks of the thorn bushes, hiding amongst the brush as the Wolf turns in your direction. Paying no mind to the fangs of the creepers as they bit into your shoulder, you gaze from your cloistered view with baited breath, anticipating the sudden eventuality where you are seized from the pasture by the Wolf. You can see it in your mind, the dread claw reaching in to pluck you from the vine, a savory treat for the hungering maw. You need to stay calm. Thinking to mask your scent, you reach to the ground and take two handfuls of ash that had snowed there and coat yourself with the gray burn, hiding yourself from the predator’s keen nose. Time seems to slow there, as you wait to see if your little disappearing act worked or not.

Slowly stomping through the foliage, the Wolf creeps your way, prowling after the scent it’d picked up on just a moment ago. It knows you’re near, but it doesn’t know where yet. You feel a bead of sweat trail down your brow, be it from the approaching heat or the overwhelming fright. Yet right as the tension is at its apex, and the Wolf crouches down low to sift through the ash, there comes a noise from the west. What sounds like the cracking of a stick as someone tramples upon it, drawing the creature’s attention away from you as it gazes off towards the disturbance. The large head of the predator hangs just over you now, the dark ooze seeping from its torn open face dripping down to the forest floor before your foxhole. You don’t dare try and sneak a glance, though wish as you might to tempt fate. You can do nothing but wait for your kismet to be decided for you. Then suddenly, and without warning, the Plenilune Wolf bolts from your grove, bounding away to disappear further into the woods. The abrupt and powerful move nearly throws your heart from your chest, and you have to cover your mouth to force yourself from shouting as your body trembles like a leaf in the wind. In the moments after it left, you wait, listening for the beast, ensuring it isn’t baiting you from your hole in a sly trick to lure you out. A tick passes, and all you hear is the crackling roar of the fires… It’s really gone… You wonder what scared it off...

Hesitantly, you remove yourself from the underbrush to check your surroundings. Though your area is devoid of any others, you sense a slight tingle in the air as fey magics play beneath the smoke filled skies, and you hear the not so far-off slink of Armor being moved in, chainmail clashed against plate, metal boots marching. The Hunter is near... Not wishing to come in contact with the fairy-folk on top of everything else this evening, you venture on in the opposite direction the Wolf had vanished in. With the greater threat of the drake finding you now gone, you’re faced once more with the more encompassing threat of the wildfire, of which you are at the center of. Hurrying along, you begin to pick up your pace as the forest floor clears itself of clutter, opening up into a low grass grove. It is here that you are able to make out footprints in the recent blanket of ash that’s fallen to the ground. Red… it has to be him!

“Brother!” You call as the flames seem to draw all around you, trapping your person within the natural amphitheater. “Brother, where art thou?!” You call again as the smoke forms a cyclone in the sky above you, a vast and terrible eye that peers down at the world below it, at you down in the cradle of the valley as the flames creep in. The frantic breath in your chest runs rampant, unable to quell itself as the ash chokes your throat. A few wheezing coughs are forced up from your depths as you stumble across the stage, the forest reaching the height of its power as all the ages of stored energy is released from the oaken coffers, spilling out into the ether as they run off to rejoin the cycle anew. “Red!” You call once more through breaths. “Redmond Adams!”

“Rags, what the hell are you squawking about down there?” A voice suddenly shouts from above. Snapping up to look, you find a steep hill laden with rocks and boulders along its ridge. You’d heard him higher up on the small cliff, towards its top where the smoke hides.

“Red?” You call out to him, unsure if you’ve found him or not.

“...Who the hell else?” He answers after a moment of baited anticipation.

“Ah!” You rasp in relief as you break forward, hurrying through the rock field to awkwardly scale up the side of the drop-off. With a bit of struggle, you climb aboard the main boulder this ridge is made of. There, you spot your Brother, standing across from you, only glancing back as you clamber onto your stomach while he faces the overlook of the vantage point. “What are you doing here?!” You chastise the boy once you’re back on your feet, walking over to where he stands on the peak.

“Trying to take control of all this.” He says while looking back out at the valley below you, a field of amber flowers all in bloom as they exhale their black smog into the air.

“…What?” You question, wondering if you’re seeing the same things. Take control of all what? The wildfire? Has he hit his head?

“There’s too much of this hope-stuff overflowing after the impact. Pretty soon, it’ll burn the entire cave and everyone in it to a crisp.” He elaborates while crouching down to scrape a bit of ash from the stone below him, rubbing the substance between his fingers as he inspects it. “I need to figure out how to redirect it… I need to protect us.”

“A cave…?” You repeat, unsure what he’s referring to. To your knowledge, there aren’t any cave systems in the area or even in the region as a whole. Perhaps he really did hit his head during the inferno’s outbreak.

“I’m thinking I could just sort of… reach over… and…” He mindlessly mumbles while slowly raising a hand out towards the blazing valley. “Take the Reins.”

“Red, have you gone mad? What are you saying?” You plead with him to come back to reality, hoping he might snap out of his lunacy while the fire is still at bay.

“What I’m saying is all that power is going haywire without the Thief to command it. It’s tearing everything apart!” He continues, turning back to face you like you’re the one talking nonsense. He speaks of a thief, but you’re the only two around for miles! “I tried fighting against it, but I can’t get any traction. The stuff has been concentrated, it’s too pure to destroy outright anymore. An unending surge of raw, cosmic mastery. It’ll reduce this place into a primordial void if left on its own… but… if I corrupt it, change it into something more malleable, I could direct the forces behind it. Like getting behind the Wheel of a Car. I just don’t know where to go with it once it’s in my hands… Any ideas?” He prompts you for your thoughts on all this.

“What’s a… car?” You repeat that word he’d said, completely giving up on trying to get him to see reason.

“Uh, like a… creepy-crawly… buddle buggy or whatever you Trolls call it.” He shrugs, seemingly flippant with his insult.

“Wha- Excuse You!” You humph, snatching Red by his ear with the sternness one would expect of a mother.

“Ah!” He yelps, twisting with the grip you have on him, bending towards you to try and lessen the pain.

“I risk life and limb looking for my oaf of a Brother in the middle of an Inferno, my dress gets ruined, I get covered in soot, and my reward is name calling? Redmond Adams, where are your manners?!” You chastise the boy for his poor treatment of his Sister.

“Name calling? Rags, the hell are you talking about?” He whines while batting your hand from his ear, rubbing the sore appendage with a sourpuss on his face. “And why the hell do you keep calling me Redmond?”

“What else would I call you?!” You press your fist against your hips, waiting for your Brother to start making sense.

“Ryder…? My name.” He gawks at you like you’re dull.

“…Were you and Pa drinking at the Hunter’s Cabin tonight, Red?” You ask him, figuring if it isn’t moonlight madness then he’s likely in the throws of the devil’s stupor. He could never handle his spirits…

“Wait... I think I know what's happening. Hold on.” He says with a roll of his eyes while turning forward again. You go to say something in return, but you pause, unsure if what you’re seeing is real or simply a hallucination in the smoke. While turned away from you, Red had extended his hands out before himself, and with clawing fingers, he’s dragged his greasy mitts across his front as though he were trying to stretch his shoulders wide. Yet, when his fingers pass through the space there, they… they catch upon something. The forest beyond him shimmers and sways, the way the flat plains do when hot. This is something completely different, however. He’s grabbed hold of the air itself as though it were tangible, as if the spatial tapestries were made of a literal fabric one could grasp and hold onto.

“Redmond… you’ve employed the witchcrafts as well?” You realize once you see the influence of his sorcery teaming at his fingertips. Such power… surely he hasn’t… yet the only way you can possibly conceive of that a mortal might wield this potent of a magic would be if he had formed a pact with a Devil or Abyss Born. What could he have exchanged for these majyyks? What price has he had to pay?! Brother, where have thou strayed?

Instantly, you draw the grimoire from your satchel and flip through the old tome in search of any insight it might have on breaking Fiendish Bindings. It’s one thing to invoke the spirits of the natural world to bring about a spell, but to directly link yourself to a Hellspawn… it’d tarnish one’s Soul! It’s fine, though. You’ll find a way to undo what has been done. The Kingdoms of Sulfur and Brimstone will not have claim over your Brother! You won’t allow it!

“I said hold on.” Red continues just as you’ve gotten to the chapters on the clairvoyant arts. “You’ll see in just a sec.” Then, with an outward swing of his arms, the two grasps upon the air Red had dug his fingers into are thrown out of the way, opening a rift in the sky like the curtains of a stage being tossed aside. On the other side of this window in space is a blinding opulence, illuminating out into the world and basking you within its ire. In an instant, your human skin is ripped from your canvas, leaving behind a grey completion in its stead. In an instant, you recall who you are, as the Dreams around you fade, and you are back on the crown of the Thief as the Shot that Parted the Heavens burns into the Midnight Sky.

“Oh…” You mutter, beholding the ivory rays pouring out from the Thief and enveloping the existence you occupy.

“Are you…?” Ryder turns back, looking to see how you’ve reacted to the exposure back into reality.

“Yeah, no, I-I see it, I see it now.” You nod, realizing the situation once again. You’re in a kind of liminal space at the moment, only halfway through the instant you were about to be vaporized, existence slowing to a crawl while under the effects of the Shockwave brought on by the Thief’s Demise.

“So… got any ideas on what to do with all this?” Ryder asks, gesturing to the ungodly amount of White Magics soaking into the fabric of reality right now.

“…You said you could corrupt this power?” You ask back after a moment of contemplation.

“Yeah. Pretty sure, at least.” He sighs, looking out at the fields of Hope as though he’s still struggling to grasp the unending possibilities of it all. “If I could transform the Dreams Dragomir created into a Nightmare, I’d be able to actually use all the power floating about before it burns a hole through the planet. Only problem, though, is the one we’ve had from the start. There’s just too fucking much of the stuff to get rid of. I’ll probably fuckin’ burst if I take hold of it all without having a way to use it immediately, but what the fuck do you use it on? You put all of it into an attack, you cut a hole through the entire damn Medium. You try and release it, the whole atmosphere and edge of the void gets set on fire. Try to contain it, the force collapses into a blackhole, try to vaporize it, we all go fucking insane when the aerosol mists descend on us. We’re stuck!”

“We all Atlas, with no way to set the weight of the World down.” You mutter, recalling the myths and monsters your Human Father used to tell you about at bedtime.

“…Who the fuck’s Atlas?” Ryder glances back at you, a confused look on his face. It shouldn’t surprise you, really. The boy has no sense of Imagination. But… but he does have a sense of Dogma. An unshakable certainty of how the World is Supposed to Be. Glancing down as you feel the Hum of the World, you see past the Thief as if she weren’t even there, watching in awe as the crust of the planet turns transparent, allowing you to gaze at the celestial body in its entirety. The collateral damage of Ryder’s battle has extended well below the surface of the planet, creeping closer and closer to the core with burrowing red roots that dig their way towards complete gravitational destabilization. The Land is falling apart, exactly as you’d seen before…

“The Destroyer of Worlds.” You mutter, the words unconsciously soaking their way into your thoughtsponge. You can still divert it. You can stop the Apocalypse. “Extend it outward.” You turn to Ryder, telling him the plan you’ve devised. “Don’t use a blade, turn the Rage into a veil to drape over the world. Take all that power the Thief’s left behind and use it to mold the Land into something preordained. Orient it into its Final Shape.”

“Rag, I appreciate the input, really I do, but what the fuck does that even mean?” Ryder bores as the instance in unreal space slowly but surely heads towards its End.

“Don’t fret the details. You’ll understand once we begin.” You assure him while directing the Page forward towards the Bounty of Hope before you both, your thinkpan brimming with ways of how to bring it to Entropy. “Allow me to design the Scaffolds and I’ll ensure the Bones in which the World is Built upon will be Sound.” You instruct, hanging your grabbers in the space beside the Human’s crown. “If you’ll be the Painter, I’ll be your Muse.”

Reaching out, Ryder extends his reach towards the Endless Fields of Fantasia, now left unguarded. Taking hold of it all with an unyielding grip, his Dark Magics seeps into the billowing ivory, corrupting its sanctity and claiming it for himself. And with this Act of Sacrilege at hand, you guide the Page in the creation of his Mural. You feel then as the hissing reality burns all around you, every last quark, tainted and stained, as a darkness comes across the Land like the night. Above you both, the glowing radiance of the god-shot that had bore a hole through the Head of the Thief shines like a Star in the Pitch Black Skies. Yet this Balefire is soon overshadowed, an Eclipse falling over the Land, forever plunging it into Darkness.

 

***

 

You are in Stasis. You don’t know how long it’s been, as Time ceases to hold any relevance when you’re outside of it. Gauging it based on your own Chronology, you’d say you’ve only been gone a few seconds, but again, it’s really only guesswork. No way to actually be sure. For all you know, you’ve been gone an eternity. Gone an Eternity and Back again, something Weird and Forgetful of itself. You’re pretty sure that’s not the case, though, as you can remember your name. It’s Jason, of course.

You were following after Ryan through the Forest of Hands when Ragdoll called out to you to take cover. After that, you felt that growing power boil up from underneath your feet, but… it wasn’t just her that warned you. You heard a voice in your head, just before the impact. Crow had been there, speaking into your mind just as he had so many times before.

Boss, No Time to Explain
He had said, with great urgency.
Time Capsule Yourself

Between him soaking into your brain and Ragdoll shouting at you, you didn’t think twice to duck and cover, activating a Time-Capsule Jump and throwing yourself inside. So now you’re floating through… well it isn’t exactly space. In fact, it’s the opposite of Space, really. You’re drifting about a slight extradition within the temporal flow, kind of like a hernia on the timeline. Without much to do here, you’ve just been twiddling your thumbs, waiting for the ability to reach its conclusion. At first, you had thought you’d made a fatal mistake, jumping so haphazardly into the timestream the way you did, recalling the last time you messed with Time’s Gridlock, back when the Heir of Rage first found you and Dallas. However, it’s been a relatively benign experience so far. Kind of peaceful, actually. You guess that’s because you’re not really surging forward or backwards on the Timeline like your Checkpoint ability causes you to do, meaning you’re likely heading to the Future under normal chronology, One Second at a Time. The only difference is you’re in your own kind of pocket dimension in the Time Capsule. Honestly, you didn’t even know you could Capture yourself with your Capsule ability, you thought it was just for, like, objects and stuff, not living creatures. You wonder what would happen if you were to activate this ability over an enemy in combat. Would they be able to get out on their own, or is it an even more permanent Time-Out button than your Time Knots? It could probably be used as a makeshift storage-unit in a pinch, as well. You guess you should familiarize yourself more with the powers you’ve been granted while in the Arena. Who knows, you might find a few new exploits to abuse on your quest out of this dump.

It occurs to you after waiting around this negative space for as long as you have that you don’t really know how long you actually have to wait for. You aren’t even sure what you’re trying to wait out. There was something about to blow you out of the sky, but you aren’t sure what, it just kind of sprung out of nowhere. You have a feeling it was something big, like wipe-you-from-existence big. Maybe that Sylph wasn’t bluffing as much as you thought she was when she told you this was the Seventh Gate… Regardless, you’ve found yourself in quite the precarious situation. If you exit the Capsule too early, you get caught up in whatever it was you were trying to avoid. Exit too late… well, you can’t quite think of any negatives with that one. You’re just kind of bored of waiting like this.

As you contemplate your next move in this battle, a sudden shimmer echoes up from below you, like the heat rising from a fire, warping the air around you. Glancing down, you peer into the void, wondering what the hell that was just now. Just as your attention is focused elsewhere, that same sensation passes over you, leaving you feeling like a diver and something big had just swam through the waters above your place in the depths. W-… what the hells is that? You’re alone in here, aren’t you? Feeling the tingles of paranoia creep across your flesh, you contemplate if it’s just the abrasiveness of Time’s Flow getting to you as you spend more and more time unshackled from its embrace. Come on, Jay. You’re being silly. What could even find you, riding alone on the outskirts of causality?

 

Wherefore art though, Jason?

 

Nope. Nope! Pulling the ripcord, you’re outta here. The void is speaking back, you’re blinking first on this shit. Reaching out, you grab hold of the confines you had created when activating your ability, disengaging the temporal energies suspending you outside of Time and spitting you back where you were. Popping back into existence, you feel the air tingle around you, raising the hairs of your neck with a static that scatters across your form. It takes a moment for your eyes to readjust to your surroundings, however before you can fully get a bearing on where you are, it registers for you that your body is falling. Snapping your full attention to the current phenomenon of you plummeting to your death, you realize that the gargantuan body of the Thief of Hope has completely vanished, leaving you no platform to stand upon.

“Shi-SHIT!” You shout as you fall from heaven with nothing to slow you down. Except your bomb-ass rocket gear. Except your- “Ah!” You exclaim as you notice the gloves still wrapped around your hands. Holding your mitts out as if to physically catch the world barreling towards you, the jets of your equipment burst to life, putting out all that they can to slow your descent. While your right glove’s engine erupts with a sizable propulsion still, your left is struggling heavily, its flame flickering in and out of ignition as it can’t quite fully bring itself online. Needing all the anti-fall you can get regardless of the consequences, you push the glove as far into overdrive as you can force it. Springing to life, the pillar of fire that expels from the engine easily doubles that of your right, and you think for a moment that your strategy of forcing your equipment to submit to your will seems to have worked surprisingly well. That is, before the jet explodes. Suddenly thrown into a sickeningly fast spiral, the recoil of your Broken Rocket Gambit sends you spinning like a drill as you plummet. Doing your best to fight against the inertia of your spiral, you pull your booted leg through the G-Forces until your knee is pressed to your chest, and with your last two remaining jets, you exploit both engines for all they’re worth, blasting both rockets into a single driving force in an attempt to transform your death sentence into a survivable fall.

Even with your boot and glove acting as a unified front against you splatting against the pavement, you still rocket towards the ground at dangerous speeds. Pushing the equipment to its absolute limit, you hear the whirling buzz of the rising jets work against your dive with what little fight they have left, cringing as you expect them both to explode just as your first had. Before they can, however, you reach impact, hitting the side of a steep hill and tumbling down its length. You aren’t sure if its a hill exactly, since your vision is still too blurred to see straight as you’re trapped in Spinning Hell, but you’re pretty sure you’ve hit some kind of an incline, as you feel your shoulder slam into a solid surface, transitioning from a dive-bombing tornado spin to a tire-down-a-slope tumble spin. While the landing knocks the breath out of you, it wasn’t enough to break anything, you don’t think. Severely bruise? Undoubtedly. But break? Well… it could still be up in the air, you’re kinda numb all over right now so it’s hard to tell. Wow, you have been rolling for like… a really long time. Where the hell are you right now?

“Hah?” You exhale, a sudden relief from the battering your bone-bag has been receiving. It appears you’ve begun to plummet once again. So to answer your question; the air. You are in the air right now. Until- “Ugh-!” You land. But hey, you landed on something soft! Everything’s coming up Jason. Pushing yourself up, you feel an enormous flare of pain go shooting down your left arm, causing you to flop back on your squishy landing-bed. Glancing over at the cause, you predictably find that your exploded gauntlet has inevitably caused problems in the health department. The damn thing’s been split nearly down its middle, cracked open along its length until it reaches the propulsion unit at your palm. The shrapnel has pierced into your flesh there, causing a fair bit of blood to come spilling out of your busted glove. Following the trickle of your vital juices, you watch as it falls against the glowing green surface of whatever it is you've landed on. Is this a giant…? “God damn… fuckin' mushroom…” You rasp while falling against the fungus, letting your face rest atop its cool surface as you breath a few pained breaths, decompressing from the fall. Well that fucking sucked.

With your horizontal view atop the mushroom throne, a slight confusion comes over you. It could just be the daze from the fall, but… you don’t think you’re on LODAF anymore. Sitting up, careful of your injured hand, you look around for a moment, attempting to get a grasp on your surroundings. The area you’ve landed in is a desolate landscape of burnt-up wastelands, completely different from the lush caves that should be here. Sure, the Thief had destroyed a good portion of the Land you were in, but this… it’s damn near unrecognizable. The ground below you is cold and dark looking, twisted dead roots strewn about in patches, making it hard to tell where the vegetation ends and the warped stone paths begins. The gulch you’ve fallen into in particular has an ominous gloom cast over its reach, only lit by the ghostly glow of mushroom clusters and pale bioluminescent moss scattered few and far between each other. Aside from this, the only light in this trench that you can see is the occasional incandescent vector of dim smoldering heat in the fissures between rock formations.

A sudden breeze blowing against the back of your neck catches your attention, directing your focus upward. There you see the cliff you’d fallen from, its shelf overflowing with a coarse grey dust that sporadically brushes off with a passing gust of wind, left to fall into the trenches below. While looking up, you also notice that the roof of the cavern has been completely ripped from its foundation, streaks of rock from what used to be the ceiling pulled like heated glass into needle-like mountains that aim dagger-end at the heavens. And what a heaven it is, a completely pitch black void hanging above you, populated by what look to be two newly minted asteroid belts around the planet, forming an ‘X’ over the atmosphere of the Land. Amidst the chaos there, you see what looks to be a Burning Orange Sun, gargantuan in size as it overshadows nearly a third of the western skies, yet its full might is hidden, eclipsed by some unseen object between you and it, forming a Glowing Ring in the sky too chilling to look at for long. Above you again, the winds howl, a cacophony of baleful tones echoing through the open air of the trench. At least… you think that was the wind. The dread creeping along your neck could easily convince you otherwise, made worse when you gaze into the dark between beams of ghostlight. What the hell happened to this place…? How long were you gone for?!

Feeling the need to explore further, you slowly push off from the top of your mushroom, slinking off the side of its cap and dropping down a further distance than you were expecting. Landing, you think for half a second that you broke your ankle, as once your feet hit the ground, you feel yourself crumple, causing the rest of yourself to crash against the hard stone plain as well.

“Ah!” You grunt, discovering the ground is just as hard as it looks. With groaning labor, you push back up again, confused what the hell happened to you. It was a bit of a drop, but at most it should’ve just been a stiff landing on your legs, not a full collapse. Looking yourself over, you discover that, aside from the mushroom juice that’s soaked into the front of your god tiers, you’re also bloodied head-to-toe. Inspecting yourself further in search for any possible injuries, you pull back your sleeves to find that a series of long cuts run along the length of your arms. No… not cuts… it almost looks like you were coming apart, like your skin itself had begun to crack open, leaving long fissures along your person. Pulling back your pant legs, you find that all your limbs bear these injuries. Raising up your shirt, you find the cracks there as well, running up your torso and into your neck. Aware to it now, you reach up to your face, feeling the gloved tips of your fingers rub across two or three rows of these indents in your flesh. From the looks of it, you’d lost a considerable amount of blood from all these cracks in your skin, but it doesn’t look like you’re leaking anymore, so your guess that means your regeneration is still keeping pace with any injuries you sustain. Suppose that’s good news, but based on the weak feeling in your arms and legs, you’re still not back to 100% yet. Still need some time to heal.

Flopping back against the stem of the mushroom you’d landed on, you contemplate what the hell happened to you as you wait for your body to put itself back together again. Time-Capsules don’t require much temporal energy to manifest, but you were running on absolute empty when you activated it. It’s possible this could be the extreme end of what happens going past your limiter the way you’ve been doing. You’d wanted to take it easy, going overboard with your power use, but with nonstop problems throwing themselves at you every chance they get, it’s been exceedingly more difficult not to rely on overusing your abilities as a way to make it through the day. Even still, this seems a little extreme… Maybe this is just what happens to living creatures when they’re stuck in a Time-Capsule too long? You might avoid using it as a retreat too often, just in case.

Speaking of injuries, though, you glance down at your destroyed gauntlet, a considerable amount of metal still embedded into your forearm. Knowing better than to try and physically remove the glove, you instead captchalogue your gear, the busted artifact vanishing back into your inventory. Thank god for post-digital storage innovations. Although, as soon as the pressure of your glove is removed, you’ve got nothing keeping your hand pinned together, and a fresh wave of blood comes spilling out. Ah… Damnit, that hurts… Without many resources at your disposal, you reach back, using the tail-end of your cape to bind up your broken mitt. Okay, that… should be fine. You still aren’t clear on if Gods can get sick, so you aren’t sure if you should be concerned with infections or not. It’s probably nothing your regeneration can’t handle.

“Jason!” Someone suddenly calls for you from above, echoing throughout the chasm. Feeling well enough to stand again upon hearing that familiar voice, you stumble out from under the shade of your mushroom, looking up for her appearance. You’re waiting there a few minutes, searching the cliffside for where she’s gonna pop up at as you listen to her calls ring out from above you, until just as expected, Dallas appears just to the east of where you are, setting down at the ledge of the cliff with a firmness like she’d been running, kicking a plume of dust off the edge as she nearly goes skipping by. “Hah!” She shouts in surprise, as if she can’t believe her own eyes. Then, with a pullback for an extra bit of leverage, the Troll throws herself from the cliffside, leaping out and arching into a dive down into the cavern.

A burst of horror flashes through your mind at the unexpected maneuver, but instead of splatting into the ground, the Seer lands atop another of the large mushrooms in your cavern, just a little ways away from your own. Piercing into the top of the fungus’s cap, pointed foot first, Dallas perfectly decelerates her fall as she passes through the flesh of the enormous toadstool and drops down on the other side, instantly coating herself in a matching glow of mucus that stains your own outfit. Needing no time to recover from her landing unlike yourself, the Seer makes a B-Line for you at top speeds. You run to meet her as well, but find yourself labored by your injuries to go too quickly, and she finds you before you can find her, leaping out into your arms and damn near tackling you in the process of her hug.

“Ho!” You exhale, having to pivot into a spin to avoid getting taken to the ground, inadvertently twirling the Troll around as if you were showing her off to the world. Wrapping tightly around you, you swear her robot arm might just crush your spine as she clings on, as if worried you might disappear the moment she lets go.

“Jason, you big jerk! You nearly stopped my bloodpusher, popping out of existence after an attack like that!” She chastises, pulling away to get a look at your face, yet holding tight all the same. “I thought-…! I thought…” A teary kind of panic seems to begin to set in with the girl as she ponders the possibilities of what could’ve happened in the fight. So there was a blast before you jumped into your capsule. From her perspective, it probably looked like you’d been annihilated, with not a trace of you left behind. Seeing her there in your arms, so worked up over a guy like you… it begins to dawn on your dull sensibilities that this girl really cares for you. It’s stupid to say you just realized it, but yeah… You guess you weren’t really sure how she truly felt deep down. You knew she’d been friendly towards you when you first met, but after learning about the Acquainting Shake and how it affects the people on your team, you guess… you guess you let those doubts control how you thought about your relationship with her. But now, seeing the raw mix of joy, panic, relief, annoyance, all fighting for a place in her eyes, you think you understand how she feels, even through all the mischief and nonsense of the others in the Arena. Before the Seer can get any more worked up, you lean in, planting a kiss against her lips to keep them from trembling. And with that little show of affection, all the anxiety seems to melt away, leaving you both hanging there in your embrace, covered in mushroom juice. You don’t know what’s gotten into you that you feel so confident, pulling such a move, but whatever it is, you let it take the lead, your face bright red but not a drop of embarrassment to hold you back, simply letting the fuzzy warmth pour over you. Pulling away, you and Dal stare at one another, a quiet giggle shared between the two of you.

“Sorry to make you worry.” You say, a half-chuckle riding your voice as you enjoy the jade tones blushing across her face. She smiles, seeing you’re alright, undaunted from the fight.

“…Your human-bones took the impact of that fall quite well, I have to say.” Dallas comments, moving on to the next subject like it was the first one she’d wanted to talk about, waylaying it only to deal with the more pressing matter of your near annihilation. “You aliens are a lot sturdier than you get credit for.”

“Nah, I’m just super tough, is all.” You sarcastically brag, leaning back to try and over-extend your muscles.

“Oh, is that right?” She laughs while descending from your arms. “Big tough guy, huh?”

“Ho-yeah.” You confidently nod as she pushes against your shoulder. “Real tough. Meaner than a Junkyard Dog.”

“I’ll have to keep that in mind for the future, then.” She continues to play along with your act before taking you by the hand with her mechanical grabber, leading you forward. “Now come on, we gotta make sure the group gets back together alright. Some of us have had a worse day than others.” She explains as the two of you set out on the closest path through the tough terrain of the planet.

“What about you, Angel-Killer?” You ask while following in tow. “Last Sara said, you were taking on Heaven’s Finest throughout the strife? How'd that go for ya?”

“Not too bad." She slyly alludes with a smirk. "I guess you could say I handled a few of them.”

“Yeah? How many you get?” You raise an eyebrow at the boast.

“Five hundred and twenty-five confirmed bags, six hundred and eleven total casualties.” She nonchalantly reports.

“Hell of a hunting season.” You whistle.

“I appreciate the appreciation. My hunting prowess has always been something I prided myself on.” She playfully declares, pulling you forward to walk beside her. “By the way, I quite enjoy your stripes. They look quite striking on you, you should wear them more often. It's quite funny, though, I was unaware humans could unfurl their skin.”

“Uh… we can’t?” You glance at her strange, unsure what she’s saying. Looking yourself over for what she might be talking about, you realize she’s referring to the lines covering your limbs. “O-oh no, these are just cuts.” You hold up your arm for her to see closer, only realizing how pointless that gesture is for the Seer you’re talking to, leaving you to awkwardly lower it again.

“If they’re cuts, then why are they sealing up so quickly?” She looks at you quizzically, genuinely unsure of what you’re telling her. Getting a second look at your wounds upon seeing her skepticism, you notice that the cuts along your arm do seem to be sealing themselves in a rather timely manner, zipping up the length of your limbs, not even leaving any scars behind.

“I guess I am regenerating a little faster than I usually do…” You mumble, watching your skin mend itself, somewhat in awe of it yourself.

“That’s quite an ability.” Dal tells you, her eyes transfixed on your forearms in study.

“Y-… yeah…” You passively agree, a little bashful of the close look she’s giving you. “S-so, this really is still the Land of Dust and Fury?” You try to keep the conversation flowing, drawing her attention up to you as you stare out at the dark forest of bare and crooked trees that lies ahead on your path. “It’s like we’re on a completely different planet. Some real Halloween Town shit going on in this place.”

“It’s the same across the entire Land.” She confirms with a sorrowful look. “Everything from the surface to the core, it’s all gone through a metamorphosis. The blooming fields of the cave replaced with enormous plains of dust, aimlessly blowing over the scarred stone below. Roughly half the cavern ceiling was cast off into the planet’s upper atmosphere, occasionally crashing down like meteorites onto the surviving consorts when they drift out of their orbits. The consorts themselves now huddle in what remains of the cave tunnels, squabbling over the limited viable territory available to them when not actively fending off the Nephilim that’s colonized the world.”

“Sounds like one big mess.” You lament the… tragedy? Although, you guess that’s the nature of a Land in SBURB. Constant crisis for the Player to solve. Aren’t the Denizens usually responsible for causing all this, though? Where the hell are they in this equation...? Questions for later.

“It truly lives up to its name now, you could say.” Dal sighs, the distant look in her eye sparkling like a star. “Goodbye to the caves of old…”

“Sorry that it turned out like this.” You tell her, walking in pace while you still hold her hand. “I know how much this place reminded you of home.”

“Thank you, Jason.” She rocks into your shoulder, passively nudging you for the condolences. A small quiet comes over your duo as you enter into that cursed forest you’d seen, and you can’t help but feel a prickling sense of paranoia drape over your shoulders, feeling as though you’re being watched. “…What’s a halloween?” Dallas asks after a moment of pause. Before you can answer, a slight static tingle ripples across your neck, alerting you to a disturbance to your rear. The sensation is alarming enough to whip you around, wide eyed as you ready to face what’s coming. Turned there, you watch as Cameron’s corpse comes spilling out of the ether, the space around him tearing open with a static screen of a scrambled television as he seems to fight his way out of the subspace.

“Gah…! What the hell?!” Henderson shouts as he puppets the corpse, fully removing himself from his fellow Troll’s inventory. You thought Sara said this guy was missing-in-action, didn’t she? Guess he’s back now…

“Oh, Haugrr, you’ve returned.” Dallas passively comments, much to the boy’s frustration.

“You shoved me into your sylladex?!” He barks.

“Well, what else was I supposed to do? I wasn’t gonna go lugging your corpse all about the place. It’s unsanitary!” Dal defends herself.

“You people are sick in the head, y’know that?” He huffs while storming off, forcing his way through your and Dal’s hand-hold as he breaks through your bond.

“Where are you off to in such a rush?” You ask the rude prick, watching as he begins to sprint down the path.

“Where else? Back to the fight, this Strife ain’t over yet!” He turns back to yell over his shoulder as he goes. Isn’t over? Jesus, why can’t anything ever be simple in this place?!

 

***

 

Something feels off about the atmosphere here now. Before, the cave was a dry climate, but now, there’s a moisture in the air. A cold moisture, like the type you get during heavy rainstorms. You feel it ride along each exhale of your breath out, feeling as if you’d catch a cold if you stayed out too long in it. Even with all this damn dust everywhere, it does nothing to dry things out, leaving the whole planet to fester in a dreary miasma. Needless to say, the detestable conditions remind you all too much of the discomfort of your own Land. Feels all too much like Home.

Racking Heed No Warning over your shoulders, you tread through the desolate wastes just as you’ve tread through every other cartoony-ass world existence seems to enjoy cooking up. Which is to say completely indifferent to all the zany bullshit you might come across here. You've got a mission to accomplish, after all. Last you’d seen her, you had the Thief’s leg near-cleaved through when… whatever the hell happened happened. From what you saw, someone blasted the skull clean out the back of the kaiju’s head. At first you thought Ryder had finally put the bitch down, but from what it looked like, it was White Magic ripping the lid off things up there. And here you thought the Runt was the only one with enough guts to take the Thief out. Consider yourself surprised.

Whoever it was that dealt the killing blow, it seems they were thorough about it, as the enormous corpse of the Thief’s Battle Form vanishes as quickly as it sprang into this world. And with her went the quaint underground grove of the caves on LODAF, leaving behind this trash heap in its stead. Right now, you’re scouring the desert in case the Thief slipped away before succumbing to her wounds. Can’t be leaving any loose ends untied with enemies as powerful as these chumps, and by the way things have been going, this rope is as frizzy as the split ends of the blonde bitch who started all this.

And speaking of the devil, you hear the distant chatter of a girl lamenting her shattered dreams as you approach the ridge of the hill you’re on. Reaching the crest, you spot her as she limps across the ashen plains, leaving behind a trail of bright glowing ichor that dims to a normal red hue the further out from her it gets. In her state, it’s easy to see she’s both injured and exhausted. Easy pickings. Trotting down the hill, you cycle Heed No Warning from your shoulder to a one-arm hold, resting her within the crook of your arm, readying to finish things as you walk after the fleeing prey. Her injuries are slowing her down enough that you don’t have to hurry all that much to catch up with her. Just about upon your prey, you’re about to start getting serious when you feel a presence approaching from your right flank. Glancing in its direction, you find your good-for-nothing pupil has finally returned to the fray, falling out of the sky, sword in hand, landing on all fours like a beast ready to pounce as the dust kicks up all around him. Oh good, you weren’t sure if he was alive still. Rising up to his full stature, the short bastard stretches his bare back out like he’s got no shame before stomping after his opponent.

“Dragomir!” He shouts, grabbing the girl’s attention as he closes in. “We have a score to settle.”

“Just the Lamb I was looking for…” You hear the Thief mutter as she cranes her head back to glare at her pursuer with two glowing golden eyes, a giddy and sly smile peering through the bloody veil pouring down her face. Say what you will about the vulture, she’s got gumption. Seeing your student has some fight still left in him, you hold back, lingering at the edge of the strife-grounds, curious how he’ll handle things. His prey is tired, but if that sloppy form he’s sporting is anything to go off of, Ryder’s just as exhausted, if not more so. Only kept going by pure spite. “Von Wolfhart, it has been too long!” She mocks, spinning around with open arms to greet him, her golden ichor pouring from her like sap off a tree.

“Draw your gun, Bitch! I want you to struggle as I rip your fucking Head off!” He orders, resting the back of his katana against his forearm as he aims the tip of his blade for her jugular.

“As you wish, my Lamb.” The Thief smiles, drawing the shorty from its holster at the base of her spine.

“Mia!” A voice suddenly calls for you, drawing your attention from the stand-off for a moment. Looking over, you spot the Doom Seer, having just stumbled down the same hill you’d descended to join you in your observation of the Strife. “Please, we have to stop this!” She pleads as she struggles to catch her breath.

“We do?” You question, watching as she straightens out after recovering.

“If this strife sparks back up, Ryder and Graziella will continue to gain in power just as they had the first go around. They’ll rip the world apart again!” She declares, an urgency in her voice. Turning forward to watch once again, you pay the girl’s warnings no mind. She doesn’t see it. The only reason their first fight got so out of hand was because the Thief had already stockpiled an exorbitant amount of power before taking Ryder on. He matched her command over reality as a way to stick-it to her. With her worn out, he’ll have no reason to power up again. Meaning no bottomless source for her to steal from. The fight’s already decided.

“Come then, weary traveler.” The Thief beckons for the Runt. Loading two shells into its chamber, she flicks the barrel of her gun up, locking it in place as she holds it parallel to herself. “Suffer not a fool to live.”

“It’s on whenever you want it…!” Ryder growls as he stares the girl down, his eyes glaring at her just above the cusp of his blade’s edge as he tucks into his stance, bearing his fangs with intent. Taking aim, the girl cocks back her hammer as the barrel of her gun heats up like the throat of a spitting dragon. You hear as her finger pushes against the trigger, a quiet clicking the moment before hell kicks off again. The instance before she can fire, however, there comes a racing presence that flies by, talking you by surprise as it darts past without you sensing its approach. Only getting a glimpse of it as it goes, you feel an overwhelming sense of calm pass over you, like a spring breeze billowing through a field, carrying with it the grace from which flowers bloom. They glide across the field, a stone skipping on the water, and raised by her hand is the Righteous Fist of Vengeance.

 

 

*bang*

*bang*            *bang*

*bang*             *bang*

*bang*

 

 

The flashes crack like thunder, barrel cycling faster than lighting, until only the echoing -click- of a trigger pulling is left in its wake, its shooter trying for more ammunition than they had prepared. Standing there with the smoking gun, golden cape flowing in the wind, is the Knight of Hope, to the crowd’s surprise. If not her, then her twin. At the end of the girl’s barrel, the Thief of Hope falters, six new holes blasted clean through her back and out through her chest.

“……Ah…” The Holy Sister mutters as if coming to a conclusion, glancing herself over before collapsing to her knees and falling to the ground with a -thud-, kicking up a plume of dust in her wake. Breaking his stance, Ryder slowly lowers his guard upon seeing the Knight returned before him, staring wide-eyed like he’s seen a ghost. You go to ask the Seer girl about all this, seeing as the sudden revival of what should be a headless corpse seems to go directly against the Tenets of Doom to your knowledge, but when you look, you find the Troll already gone, sprinting forward toward the Knight. Man, you senses have been lagging behind recently.

Ahead of you, the scene plays out as one would expect. The Seer slams into her Knight, capturing her in a stranglehold as she wraps her arms around the girl, weeping softly something of loss and impossibilities. Guess that’s that, then. Victory. With your entertainment cut short, you go to join the ceremonies, slowly walking to the reunited trio. Observing the Risen girl a little closer as she’s jostled about by the emotional Troll, you notice a few things different about the dear Knight. Namely, Goldilocks no longer has her golden locks, the blonde of her hair dyed a Platinum Silver. Secondly, you notice a gnarly scar running across her cheekbones, crossing the bridge of her nose, like the upper half of her head’s been divided along her kill-lines. How peculiar… Stopping a respectable distance, you watch as your pupil takes a single step towards the Knight, looking like he wants to speak, though struggling to find the words.

“……Leah, I… I-I-.“ He begins, only to stop again as a watery cough rings out behind him. Well would you look at that, the Thief is still alive. It’s a Miracle. The uncertain expression your student bears soon darkens, as he sees his work incomplete. And with his sword by his side, he walks over to where the girl crawls in the ashen dust, struggling to keep her insides in as she tries to escape.

“Ah, d-don’t mind me. Please, go on with your reunion. I’d hate to interr-” She tries to talk her way out of her bind, silenced only when Ryder brings the tip of his sword level with her eyes.

“Quiet.” He commands. Seeing her little injured-doe routine isn’t gonna fly, the Thief drops the act, chuckling quietly to herself as her smile returns to her face, the six holes punched into her bleeding tunic not even seeming to bother her anymore.

“You truly are something else, Little Lamb…” She laughs as blood pours out from over her lips, her face half hidden behind her frizzled hair. A pause comes, one so quiet you could hear a pin drop, as the two gaze at one another, a seeming respect established amidst the silence. Then, when action can be put off no longer, the girl moves to speak, and what she says, she says barely above a whisper. “……I forfeit.”

A gust of wind blows through, as if to take her words away with it. Ryder doesn’t react. His face doesn’t even budge. All he does is study her, impassionately scrutinizing her smirking visage for even the slightest tells of deceit. After a moment of contemplation, the boy comes to a conclusion, removing his blade from her face before flicking the sword out to stow it away in the sheath at his hip, taking care to ensure it’s properly put away. A real samurai, that kid.

“Get out of my sight.” Ryder orders, facing away from the girl, but making sure he can see her in his peripherals while he keeps his hand upon the handle of his weapon. He’s waiting for her to make a move, practically begging her to. Yet he seems to know she’s genuine in her surrender. And without the motivator of vengeance for his Hope player friend driving him, he seems content to simply let her go.

“Till next we meet, Von Wolfhart.” The Thief states, bidding adieu before vanishing into the breeze along with the dust of the desert. Alright… kinda fucking weird that she just did that, disappearing like a mummy at the end of a movie. Not quite the Ending you’d anticipated, but you aren’t one to argue with the results of another’s battle. Left alone now, Ryder takes a deep breath in before exhaling an exaggerated sigh.

“Uuugh… god damn, my fuckin’ arms are killing me…” He whines, letting his shoulders drop as he slouches down.

“Ryder.” The Knight speaks up for the first time since you’d seen her head blown off, her voice sounding… different, somehow. A little less grizzled than it had been. Your boy looks her way, seeming to hang on her every word, likely feeling a debt having failed her once. He gazes at her like a deer in headlights, twitching and adjusting himself as he’s unable to stay still under her watch, nervously coming apart the longer she stares. Until finally, the dead girl speaks. “…That was a really dumb move, letting her go. Ya know that, right?” She plainly states, seemingly oblivious of the poignant feel of the atmosphere her return had created.

“………Pff!” Ryder suddenly jerks, like he’s choked on a laugh while trying to subdue it in his throat. “Hahaha… Yeah. I know.” He chuckles, finally releasing the grip on his sword with a shake of his head.

“Casper’s right, Runt. Never would’ve expected mercy from a hothead like you.” You passively tease while crossing your arms at the final verdict of the Fight.

“It wasn’t mercy.” He disagrees while standing up straight again. “We both agreed the Strife was only to decide what happened with the Ship. She yielded, the Duel was over. There’s no point in killing someone who’s already admitted defeat.”

“There is if they come back, ya idjit!” The Knight chastises, planting her fists against her hips. “Girls like that don’t respect honor, Rye. They don’t even understand it! You shouldn’t waste your good graces on such sleazy people.”

“It doesn’t matter if she respects it or not.” Ryder retorts, softening the Knight’s stern posture she’s entered to chastise the boy. “Just because there’s shitty people out there doesn’t mean they get to control how I conduct myself. The world doesn’t dictate how I live my life, I do. I’m a man of my word. Doesn’t matter who I’ve given it to. Be them Clergy or Conman, I follow through with what I say I’ll do. If I say I’ll honor a duel, I honor it. Even if it doesn’t end how I want it to.” He glances off in the direction the Thief had blown in, trying to keep a stern look about him as he prints his convictions in the sand. The disappointed look the Knight had put on had all but disappeared, seeing the competent Page her friend now is, and she looks at him with a sense of relief that he’s made it out alright. “…But she’s lucky, y’know?” He adds on, still looking away. “If you had stayed down, it wouldn’t have mattered what she said. She’d have lost her head faster than the words would’ve left her mouth.” Putting on a weak but proud smile, the Knight sighs, likely seeing him for the Man he’s grown into for the first time. “I’m glad, though… Glad it didn’t stick. Death, and all that.” Hearing his final comment, the proud smile on the Knight’s face grows more mischievous, and she suddenly garbs for the boy.

“Oh, are’ya now?” She asks while throwing an arm around Ryder’s neck, bringing him in as she ruffles his hair with her knuckle. “Common then, tell me how much ya missed me! You shed a few tears, didn't ya? For lil old Leah?”

“Alright, you’re pushing your luck, lady!” Ryder bursts, slipping out from the hold.

“Leah…” The Doom Seer speaks up, interrupting the Knight as she shakes off the laughter from man-handling your student. “What exactly… happened to you…? How are you alive?”

“…I’m not sure, really.” The Knight shakes her head. “Last thing I recall, it was me and Rye out in the field when those bruisers showed up. It felt like I’d swallowed a flame, my throat was burnin’ up somethin’ fierce, and after I collapsed, that’s when the Thief snuck up on me. Then everything went dark, but…” She pauses, thinking over her account like it’s the first time she’s remembering the events. “Somethin’ was out there in that dark with me. Felt like I’d stumbled into a dream. I was still lying there on the ground, but the pain was gone. The Thief had snuck up on me all the same, but I found my trigger faster this time. Next thing I know, I’m sittin’ up off the ground, gaspin’ for breath like I’ve just pulled my head from the water. After that, I just ran. Didn’t know towards what til I saw y’all standin' out here, preppin’ for Round Two with that Conwoman.”

“The Death Lore goes crazy.” You mutter to yourself while listening to the girl’s story, recalling that dumbass saying Rich had about the Resurrected.

“You’re welcome for that.” A new voice suddenly jumps into the conversation. Turning your collective attentions in unison to its source, you find the Corpse venturing down from the nearby ridge.

“Well, about time, Haug, where the hell you been, man?” Ryder calls over as the undead reaches the bottom of incline, entering into the small valley you’ve all gathered in.

“Nowhere, really. Just off saving the fucking world, is all.” He grumbles, seeming to direct his happenstancial sour mood towards the Knight in particular.

“Haugrr. You had something to do with this?” She inquires, an unsure skepticism on her face as she picks up on his ire.

“Might’ve.” He shrugs with an annoyed look as he buries his hands within his pockets. “What’s it to you?”

“Well… I’d like to say thank you. Iffin’ you were the one responsible.” She answers, turning to face the undead as he stops short of reuniting with the group, seemingly taken aback by the thanks.

“Yeah, well…” He mumbles, glancing off to the side. “It’s not like I can take all the credit. Esspin was the one who conjured-up that gun you took the Thief down with.” Raising an eyebrow at the statement, the Knight glances down at the revolver in her hand with an unsure look.

“Not that one.” The Corpse sighs, grabbing his face in frustration. “That one.” He points to the blazing edges of the eclipse suspended in the sky.

“God’s Revolver…” The Doom Seer mutters under her breath, the nutcase she is.

“That dream… that was you two?” The Knight asks. The Corpse doesn’t answer, an unsure skepticism of his own staring back at his interrogator. Half a beat passes of the girl waiting for an answer before she steps out, walking over to the undead on the hill, stopping just before him as he stands slightly elevated above her on what little remains of the incline leading down. “Thank you, Haug.” She says, extending a hand out for him to shake. “You saved me.” Hesitantly, like he’s expecting a trap to be sprung on him, the Cold Body accepts the hand, a symbolic bond formed between the two weirdos. “Suppose I’ll need to give my thanks to Ess, as well. Where is that gal?” Hearing your ♦big alien friend♦ mentioned, you realize that she and a sizable portion of your group are still missing from this exchange. You wonder where the lug’s gotten off to.

 

***

 

“Do you think it was really her?” Esspin asks as the two of you tread through the barren wastes, the dust coating the surface of the planet looking almost like fresh snowfall amidst a white-out blizzard.

“Hard to say. She wasn’t exactly talkative before she bolted.” You shrug, not exactly an expert on divine resurrection. Ironically enough, the one you would’ve consulted on the subject was the one who ran as soon as her dome reformed itself. You’re of course talking about Leah, and the peculiar occurrence that transpired right after performing Haugrr’s ritual. You weren’t sure what was going to happen from your tamperings with Fate, but a gargantuan beam of light shooting through the cave roof and toppling the living monolith wasn’t on your bingo card. In the aftermath of it all, though, right before that bright flash fell upon the Land and twisted it into a desolate ball of burnt stone and hell-trenches, you felt Haugrr’s presence forced from Leah’s body as your mental connection was cut. When you looked to see what had happened, you saw Leah’s form was surging with a mysterious aura, like the kind you’d see when a God Tier regenerates from a Death that was neither Heroic nor Just. The temple of her head had been reformed, albeit with a few imperfections, and not a moment later the Flash hit. When you looked to find her after your vision returned to you, she’d already took off, flying like a Bat out of Hell without a word. Without anything to go off of, you and Esspin decided to head in the direction she fled in, figuring you’d find her again if her body gave out.

“I just hope she’s safe…” Ess idly prays to herself, biting at her nails as she anxiously mulls over the possibility of your friend alone out there.

“Has Sara gotten back to you yet?” You ask, figuring to take her mind off the Schrödinger's Cat of her maybe-dead comrade.

“Thankfully, yes.” She sighs, seeming to relax a bit. “She’d woken up in one of the subterranean tunnels thinking she’d fallen through a gateway to another part of the Medium. I think I’ve finally managed to calm her down enough to let her know she wasn’t left behind.” At least there’s some good news today. The past two weeks, it’s seemed like nothing but stalling and stagnating progress on the mission. You’ve contemplated speaking with the Boss on this, but at this point, it seems self-evident. On the bright side, since you’ve been traveling, you’ve at least gotten to experience this new Land of Dust and Fury for all its luxuries. These luxuries mainly consisting of a rock the size of a minivan falling from outer space and nearly leveling the ground you’re standing on, or blindly walking off into a dark abyss full of who knows what when the wind kicks up and it’s impossible to see anything past ten feet in front of with the dust obscuring your way. Needless to say, you aren’t a fan of the new changes around here.

“Wait… did you just say subterranean?” You ask after a moment of thought. Esspin is an alien, her knowing that word doesn’t make sense.

“CROOOW! HEEEY!” Someone shouts from a distance. Turning in the direction you heard it come from, you spot what looks like Boss and Dallra entering into your clearing. “YOU GUYS MADE IT!”

“Did he just call you crow?” Esspin asks in the same tone as the question you’d given to her.

“I think he did…” You nod, turning your trajectory to meet him and D halfway. The two of them pick up their pace to meet as well, but at the end of the day, your rendezvous is still over a field of dust, so it doesn’t really matter where you reunite. “Boss. Good to see you in one piece.” You greet the duo. “I take it the battle went well for you two?”

“As well as you can expect.” He shrugs, seemingly unbothered all things considered. “Why, not so good for you?”

“Their Mage put nails in me.” You state plainly.

“Yee.” He cringes. “What about you, Es?”

“I, too, got nailed.” She states, matter-of-factly.

“Hm.” He grimaces at the comment. “Well, good news, it seems like everyone’s made it out on the other side of this. Apparently even our dear Knight is running around somewhere out in these dust storms.”

“Y’know, we had a sneaking suspicion.” You concur, glancing over your shoulder towards Esspin who’s exhaling a sigh of relief. “Haugrr and us edited in a new action into her fate, and reality revised itself in real time to account for the change we made.”

“And… and she just… came back?” Boss asks, his voice level but shimmering like he’s on the verge of bursting. “She came back… Haugrr actually destroyed Doom…” Growing closer. “Ho- holy shit! Do you know what this means?!” There it is. “Ha-Hah, YES! Oh god, that fucker had me worried he wouldn’t be able to do it!”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Boss. We only revived Leah, she’s still Doomed just like the rest of us.” You try to temper his zeal.

“But it’s a proof of concept!” He declares, untempered. “The precedent that sets, altering history without temporal intervention? Reality having to adjust itself to retroactively prevent contradictive paradox? It’s practically unheard of, Paradox Space abhors having to bend to another’s will. The fact that it acquiesced instead of just outright breaking is insane! It’s conformation of everything we’re trying to do here!” He emphasizes with a swing of his hands. “Come on, you guys, this is big! We gotta go tell everybody!” Not wanting to waste another moment, Boss turns to start heading out again with a gumption. Watching him take a few steps away, you notices something off about him. Something small missing from his idiosyncrasies, something easy to miss if you weren’t observing him under a microscope. He’s speaking just unburdened enough that he seems out of place where you are, even by only a little. It’s like watching something trail behind itself the way a shadow does.

“Boss.” You speak up, following up on a hunch. “What’s my name?”

“What…?” He asks, not because he had misheard what you said, or even that he didn’t understand the question. He understood, but rather, he found the question ridiculous. So he’s unaware of the difference in his mannerisms. Is he concussed? “Quite messing around, Crow, we got shit to do.”

“There it is again.” Esspin whispers to you. “You are the Crow now.” You shoo her away.

"Boss..." You say in the tone one would use when trying to gently break bad news to another.

“Okay, okay, I know your name isn’t literally crow, alright?” Boss puts his hands up. “It’s just a nickname, I remember.”

“What is it.” You press him, seeing he’s trying to dodge the question.

“…Conrad.” He states, as if offering up the name. Even before you can say anything in response, you’ve already picked up on a sense of confusion building in his mind. You raise your chin up at him to silently tell him ‘no’.

“Jason, are you feeling alright?” D asks him as he seems to mentally take a step back to inspect himself.

“How about her?” You point to the Seer consoling him. “What’s her name?”

“Oh come on, of course I know my girlfriend’s name!” He protests, folding his arms at the implication. “Tell him, Dallas.”

“Dallas?” She repeats, tilting her head to the side at him.

“Like the city?” You inquire, unsure of the correlation.

“City? Is that where halloween town is?” D asks so far out of left field, it makes your head spin.

“Ooh! What do you believe my name to be?” Esspin asks while you’re busy processing that last comment, stepping forward with a giddy anticipation.

“Es-… Esmeralda…?” Boss hesitantly says, as if embarrassed to answer her.

“OooOoh, sounds whimsical.” Ess coos in response. “Do you have any other names? Have you thought of one for Ragnaa?”

“You mean Ragdoll?” Boss begins to scratch his head, the schism in his mind likely overstimulating him.

“What about Sara?” The Highblood continues to pester him.

“What about Sara?” Boss asks back, seeming to grow more and more confused the more he’s questioned.

“Huh...” Ess hums at his response, disappointed the Sylph didn't get a name.

“Okay, Boss’s brain is scrambled.” You declare, gathering enough data to deliver a verdict. “What in god’s name happened to you out there, Boss? You were with the team advancing upon the Thief, right? What’d she do to you?”

“Nothing.” He shrugs, dumbfounded. “At least, nothing I can recall.”

“Really? You don’t have any idea what could’ve happened?” You ask again, figuring he’s working through all this one step at a time himself.

“No, I’ve got no clue.” He shakes his head. “…Although…” He starts up again. “I don’t know if it’s related, but I did get exposed to raw multiversal warp force when the Thief was unraveling existence, then I stepped outside the confines of temporal reality for an undisclosed period of time until I heard someone calling for me from the void…”

“……Yeah, that’d do it.” You huff, reminding yourself that the Boss has been through a lot today and isn’t fully there right now.

“So his memories were overridden?” D asks you while looking between you and the Boss.

“It doesn’t seem like it.” You deny with a shake of your head. “He’s still able to recognize us, he’s just had a few details mixed up in his head. Probably has a few fake factoids embedded into his brain, maybe a false or altered memory or two floating around up there.”

“Is there any way to fix him?” Esspin chimes in on the conversation.

“Sleep, probably.” You theorize. “Rem-sleep is how our minds repair themselves, so if he gets a solid eight hours, he should be good to go again.” The response gets a tsk from the Boss.

“No go, then, Crow.” He shoots down. “Not for a while, at least.”

“It’s Creed.” You interject.

“We don’t have time to bunker-down yet. Dal’s been reviewing our path to the Witch, and under light of new information, it appears that… we’re… running behind schedule again.” Boss sighs, seeming to cringe as the information leaves his lips.

“Again? After meandering about half a week, going in circles?” You ask the both of them, still feeling the headaches you got babysitting the triplets in the middle of the tropical storm D piloted you into.

“We have reason to believe the God Hand’s had their sights set on us for longer than we’d realized, since as far back as Lomam even.” Boss updates you, better late than never. “We aren’t sure how they’ve been pulling our strings from so far away, but their power kits are consistent with what we’ve experienced in the past few days. They’ve been switching us from fear to optimism until we waddled directly through their gate.”

“That Mage of theirs had dredged up his ancestral chucklevoodoos.” Esspin brings up, likely making sense to someone in this group. “The Highbloods of Old had long manipulated the populace from the shadows without anyone realizing. It’s possible he’s had a part to play in all this.”

“Makes sense. With a Mage of Rage at the helm, they’d know exactly how to play on our paranoia.” Boss nods along with the idea. “That’s something we’ll have to keep in mind moving forward.”

“Speaking of moving forward, we should go over our next steps on the trail.” D interjects with an uncomfortable look on her face. “We’ll need to planet-hop two more times before we reach Logaw.” The news seems to suck the air from the nonexistent room, leaving an exhausted feel hanging in the space above your heads.

“And what exactly happened to the Witch being basically on the other side of the valley?” You ask your tour guide.

“I don’t know, it just… it felt so much closer when we changed course to Lodaf.” She anxiously hums, grabbing hold of her own shoulder.

“Hope can oftentimes make our trials seem much simpler than they actually are.” Esspin defends her. “It’s possible the sneak-thief directed a tithe Dallra’s way to warp her sense of urgency. Without that, we are left with our head's in the clouds, blind to what's truly going on around us.”

“Whatever the reason, it’s in the past.” Boss tells you all. “We need to focus ahead of us. Dal, what Lands are between us and our Witch?”

“The final Gateway that will take us to Logaw is on the Land of Chess and Foresight, but our fastest route there will have us back-tracking a bit…” She lingers in her report, looking at you in particular. “We’ll be going back to the Land of High-Rise and Connections.” God damn it, you just-… You just Came from There!

“Oh… great.” You sarcastically nod, feeling your headache returning. “Lohrac. Nice.“ You add on an emphatic shrug to the routine. “Y’know, we were just there? Small Medium, right? What a coincidence! Hell, our hideout is probably still secure, it’s only been half a day since Leah did a perimeter check!” You rub your temples with two fingers, trying to quell the migraine.

“For what it’s worth, you were on track to the Witch when I first sent you there.” D tries to console you. “You’d probably be speaking with her right now if the Thief… hadn’t… interfered…” With no way to make you feel any better, the Seer offers up a cringing smile, trying not to make you feel any worse.

“Beautiful.” You say, throwing your head back, to gaze at the eclipsed skies above you, fully and unequivocally exacerbated with the triflings of those of and opposing your group. Yet even still, you keep composed in the face of needless retrogradiation. You keep your composure so well, your Achievement Tracker sees it fit to hop you up another God Tier Rung. So long Loanshark of the Coffer Sea. Hello Corvid’s Trinket; Pushed Pencil Tips. Just… just be someone else.

 

***

 

Filling your mutated lungs with the atmosphere of an alien planet, you savor the final moments of your War. You stand amongst the quagmires of blood and viscera, tall and victorious. An outcome that was never in question, yet savory all the same. It’s been quite some time since you let loose like this. Not since getting roped into your circus of a STUBB session, and certainly not since having anything to do with the ridiculous mess that is this Regional Cohesion of Space. What an absolute disgrace this Medium is, no sense of order in the slightest, its all abstract terrain gaudiness and uncouth architectural design, all over the place. Sloppy work, if anyone were to ask you. But of course they never do… You’d atomize them before they could get within earshot.

Reaching down, you grab the severed hand still clinging to your ankle and rip it from your person, marveling at the trophy. Likely one of countless limbs you’d dismembered in the course of your battle. Ultimately meaningless, at the end of the day. You toss it over your shoulder, leaving it to join the other mounds of biomass you’ve left in your wake. That shall be your trophy. Your mark, carved into the world that no other can ignore when happening upon it.

Taking stock of yourself, you find a few new traces of damage about your armor, clears signs of wear and tear from battle. You yourself have even been battered to a small degree, with your weird alien blood leaking out at the more injured parts of your body. The hoard certainly pulled out all the stops towards the end there, but that’s fine. Nothing you couldn’t handle in the end, and nothing is worse than an opponent that pulls their punches. Gods, you’ve heard horror stories of poor saps who find out their Rival had been going easy on them for their entire engagement. You don’t know how a person goes outside after something like that. How can you show your face without the shame eating you alive?

Putting the subject of flippant warriors and their refusal to fully commit to their lesser halves out of your mind, you step through the gore piles towards the chain you had originally taken to arrive at this musty battlefield, passing the numerous rusty weapons stabbed into these hallowed grounds. As you go, one of the beasts still seems to be squirming, not quite dead but too impaired do anything but scourge around in the bloody mud. You stomp your heel through its skull as you pass, having the decency to put a floundering adversary out of its misery.

Just as you’re about to reach the cliff looking down towards the lower ridge, the Beacon dividing the sky before you suddenly -bursts- with a wave of concussive force that staggers you back. What in Pandemonium’s name kind of weird science is that woman practicing? Continuing on, you perch at the ledge looking down to the operation pool. Below, you see two figures floating within the waters, motionless. Probably not good.

Hopping aboard the oversized irons connecting the two sides of the ravine, you cross over the treacherous waters with the grace of a tightrope walker. You’re only halfway across when you jump off, landing upon the shores of the riverbank, shattering the stone there, and you march over to the brim of the pool, where the scolding brew boils. Both bodies of the humans drift idly through the soup, one rendered unconscious, the other having failed to be roused. Without having to think much over it, you plunge into the ichor as soon as you grasp the situation, bothered more by the presumptuous touch of the nanobots floating within the mix than the heat of the liquid biting at you. Snatching both humies by their napes, you drag them from the depths, beaching the two beside the rim of the bowl. Looking your wards over as you kneel beside them, the Doctor in a far worse condition with burns prevalent upon her forearms and torso, you stall, unable to do anything for either of them. You are a destroyer, after all.

“mmhm…” A nearby groan attracts your concentration. Looking up, you find the dreg has begun to come to, the operation a success. Quickly repositioning to his side, you grab hold of the damp rags he wears.

“Awaken at once, wretch.” You order as you lift him up by his chest. He does not comply. “Damn it, creature, you are needed! You have been given life this day. Rejoice! For you have been called upon so soon after to fulfill your purpose!” You try to speak reason to the mound, though he remains unmoved. You look over to Mary once again, seeing that she has stopped drawing breath, a resource you have come to understand is an imperative necessity for the humans. “Wherefore art thou, Brother? For what purpose were you created? To lie about in your own filth in simple squaller? Or to be of service to those you hold dear?! What binds you, creature? Be you ghost…? Or man…?”

“m-… man…” You hear murmured from the wretch. “I… I am Man.” He says more clearly, his eyes opening, revealing a matching pair of teeming golden irises to look out at the world with. Blinking once, though, the hues of his ocular units return back to his usual Amber and Blue respectfully. “M-… Mr Perses?” He asks, registering your presence before him. “Where are we?”

“The low point, human.” You tell him, looking to the Doctor. He looks with you.

“Mom…? M-Mom!” He suddenly snaps up, seeing the Warlock on her way off the mortal coil. “What happened?!” He turns back to you, a frantic panic tearing his face apart.

“Does it matter?” You propose, knowing the origin of a wound succeeds not the nature of it. “Blood is the House of Connection and Bodily Sanctimony. You are able to offer aid, yes, Apprentice?” He begins to hyperventilate, gasping for breath as his eyes drag from side to side, looking for something.

“…Her… Her bag, w-where is her bag?“ He begins to crawl away. “I can, I-I can-“ You snatch him up once again.

“Only by our own hands are we able to bring about the future we crave.” You tell him, not an inch between you. “Through will, not through tricks.” Initially tensing up from the throttling, the creature soon decompresses when he hears what you are saying to him, understanding his calling. With a nod, he let's you know he is ready to take action, and you set him down. Positioning himself before the Doctor, his hands idle for a moment, figuring out what to do before he acts. Coming to a conclusion in his strategy, the thing equips an artifact from his Friction Arsenal. Landing in his hand is a Ring, simple in design of a black band with a gleam to it. An unusual Aggriever Type. How would one even fight with that thing?

Slipping the ring on, the creature ensures that it is secured around the third finger of his right hand before extending the appendage out over the female. Then, with the pad of his thumb, he spins the surface of the jewelry piece, evoking a slight whirl to whiz from the device, until it suddenly stops with a jolt that causes the creature’s hand to twitch in pain. Following after is a slow trickle of blood that seeps out from around the edges of the ring, new blood, freshly minted in the veins of the creature. The first cut of his new life. The device is bladed? A few drops fall from the face of his palm, but soon the liquid collates itself around the hand, extending out as if he’s evolved webbing between his digits. Extending ever farther, the lifeblood conforms to a cloth-like formation, extending the creature’s fingers into long spindly claws which he slowly lowers, placing them upon the Doctor’s forearm. It spreads out upon contact, like a fungus seeking out nutrients, coursing across the blistered flesh until draped entirely over the afflicted scorch. His concentration trembles as he attempts to maintain the ritual, the cloth coiling around Mary’s limbs and torso as if attempting to establish an unshakable grip upon the Warlock. Hand hovered about the girl, his extended reach continues to roll from his palm, expelled like an unspooling strand of trap-hunter silk, until finally, the flow weakens and peters out, leaving his arm a dripping wound. He waits, watching the Warlock with stalled breath to see if his works had taken root.

“M-… Miss Mary?” He hesitantly asks as the silk channels flow over her damaged parts. There’s a quiet beating emanating from the substance, a rhythmic pulse that pounds at the surrounding areas beside the girl. And then, as if to answer his call, the Doctor takes a breath. As she does, the silks wound taught around her liquify once again, rolling off her form and revealing the replenished flesh below, her burns completely vanished.

“……relay speeds; optimal…vitals stabilized…” She mutters to herself, her eyelids flicking open but the apertures below remaining wound shut. “Repair cycle… completed…?” Suddenly, the mechanical shutters keeping her blind spin open, revealing the blue glow of her synthetic irises. Her attention snaps to her creation near immediately upon regaining her vision, and you see that she studies him as he helps her off the ground, ensuring her protocols hadn’t missed anything when putting him back together. Then, when she’s sure he’s been restored, she grabs hold of the wretch, forcing him into an embrace.

“M-ma’am?!” The creature squeaks, unprepared for the grapple.

“You foolish, foolish boy! Don’t you ever do something like that again!” She chastises the creature, tightening her hold on him. “What would you have done had I not been there?! Who would have put you back together again…?”

“I-I-I don’t… I don’t know…!” He mutters, too stunned to react to the arms around his neck. “I don’t know…”

“You could have died!” She shouts at him, causing him to stiffen up, afraid to make the wrong move. “You would have died… had I not been there...” She adds on, quieter this time, a slight tremble in her voice. "I'm so sorry, my boy..." She whispers, her grip enclosing around him

“Ma’am… please don’t worry about me…You needn’t fret on my behalf…” He says with a voice that has begun to shake as well, his eyes twitching with mist he’s fighting to keep at bay. “Please… p-please, do not shed any tears… I-…I do not deserve them…!” He declares, his teeth gritting behind the skin of his cheek.

“That’s not it, Frankie! You must take care of yourself! Don’t go throwing away your life for the sake of others!” She tells him as his form begins to loosen, knees buckling as he sinks into the grasp as if he were melting. “Take your own feelings into account! You are important too!” The dam breaks on that comment, and tears silently begin to stream down his stunned face.

“Thank you, ma'am, but… some-... someone as amazing as you should not waste kind words on one such as me…” He continues to protest, eyes creasing with a heavy guilt. “I am the lowest of the low… I am unworthy of them... unworthy of your care…” The Doctor shakes her head at the assertion.

“Life is a precious gift, child. Why do you think I sought to create one of my own…?” She regales to him. “It is the greatest treasure we ever find, Life. Yours has as much value as any others. Do not forget it!” The creature opens his mouth to say something, to protest this kindness once more, but his teeth clutch upon the words, jaw trembling as he tries to keep tempered. Though she feels the restlessness all the same. “I care… because I was the one to give you this life.” Her words give the creature pause, as if the notion were a new one to him. “I crafted it with my own two hands… Ensured every little detail was perfect. I held such hope for what you would do when you found your footing. I dreamt of the heights you would reach when you reached your stride. I am sorry… Franklin Victoria. I have been awful to you. I have cast you out when you so desperately needed a home, so desperately needed someone to look after you, and for that… I could never ask for your forgiveness… Yet even still!" She forces him back, clutching the thing by his shoulders as she gazed into his eyes. "It was I who brought you into this world! I who sparked the fire within your chest! You are my pride! My greatest achievement! Take care for your life, for it is precious to me! Swear to me that you will cherish it as I do!”

“O-…o-o-okay…!” He shakily agrees through sniffles, clutching his teeth into a grimace as he tries to stop the tears from falling. “I will, Ma’am! I swear!” With that, she pulls him close again, wrapping him in another embrace. You watch the two humans as the Warlock reunites with her Apprentice in their weepy affair, feeling a kind of heaviness in your heart. A kind of jealous wanting, knowing your own mother had never shown you such gentleness. Looking to your comms device to take your mind off it, you send the message through to your leader. The child has been recovered. It’s a boy.

“Hm?” You hum, feeling a hand firmly take you by the wrist. Looking down, you see that Mary has grabbed hold of your arm, and not a moment later, you are yanked down with a surprising strength to her level, and an arm is cast around your own neck, thoroughly ensnaring you into her hold. At first, you think to resist, to pull away and distance yourself from these xeno curs, cleanse yourself in the river while you still have your dignity, but… but that feeling in your chest persuades you act otherwise. You allow it to spread, to envelop you. The Tenderness… A taboo that would leave you ostracized from house and kin, but a taboo you could never resist when all was said and done. Your heart simply could not be filled with battle alone. Conceding, you gently rest your arm around them as well, partaking in the shameful act of the Hug.

 

Perses, enjoy your Little Sins.

Chapter 82: > A Painful Scar

Giving in to your base debaucherous impulses, you allow this hug to enthrall you for a scandalous six more seconds before you compose yourself again. With a dutiful dignity, you clear your throat, politely but firmly pulling yourself out from the embrace. You stand back up again, straightening out your armor to ensure you are properly besuited. The Doctor glances up at you as her attendee helps her up off the ground.

“We shan’t speak of this again.” You swear to her, vowing a pact to secrecy under threat of mutually assured destruction to your reputations.

“You’re a strange one, Perses.” She tells you with a modest delight. “You purr. Did you know that?”

“These are lies.” You deny, knowing nothing of her ridiculous assertion.

“Pulling away so suddenly after a few pets." She tsks, pursing her lips to the side of her face. “You’re very much like a cat.”

“I don’t know what this ‘cat’ is, but it must be a remarkable beast if you’ve drawn enough comparison to our shared characteristics to see fit to liken it to me.” You concur with her assessment. She has a keen eye, after all.

“I miss Mr Fluffles…” The Wretch hums, glancing down at the floor as he drys his face of tears. You look at him strange, wary of the comment.

“Tell me, Perses, from the state of things, it looks like my operation went off-track at some point.” Mary states the obvious while inspecting the obvious, her eyes studying the still-boiling pond of mechanical concoction. “Judging by the layer of film on your suit, I take it you were the one to drag me from the waters?”

“Indeed. However, that was the extent of which I helped.” You report, pushing the wretch forward for example. “Your simulacrum was responsible for the restoral of your bodily temperament.” The wretch bears a modest smile at your testimony, appearing bashful of his proactive measures.

“So he was…” She hums, her eyes studying the restored flesh of her forearm. Seeing all she needs, the human turns to her creature, placing a hand upon his head. “Good boy, Frankie.”

“Ma’am.” He acknowledges the Warlock.

“While we’re on the subject of bodily temperament, what’s happen of you, Perses?” Mary asks, turning her attention to the injuries you’ve garnered in your battle, the most obvious of which being the steady trickle of blue blood dripping down your forehead. “You look like you’ve been through the ringer.” Reaching up to try and taper the blood flow, you accidentally knock against the misshapen horns crudely grafted to your skull, causing you to twitch at the foreign sensation that jolts down your spine. Blast these unruly bastards.

“I’m fine.” You assure her. “I just went for a walk.”

“A walk…” The Warlock repeats.

“A very productive walk.” You clarify.

“Want I should fix you too, Mr Perses?” The wretch asks, already reaching a hand out for your bloodied temple.

“Do not touch me.” You firmly order, leaning away from the creature. Before you can be harassed any further, there come a buzz from your Captivity Deck, alerting you to a new message on the comm device.

 

PESTERLOG:

-- starsideAcolyte [SA] began gnawing titansCorpse [TC] at 12:37 --

SA: Adju2t c0ur2e 20uthwe2t, y0u’ll find a m0untain range that l00k2 like the head 0f an axe ab0ut 2ixteen kil0meter2 fr0m where y0u are.
SA: 0nce there, f0ll0w the dip in the valley an0ther f0ur kil0meter2, y0u’ll 2ee the temple t0 the Land 0f High-Ri2e and C0nnecti0n2 t0 the We2t fr0m the trail.
SA: Th0ugh be wary, there’2 20mething heading d0wn fr0m the n0rth y0ur way that’2 me22ing with my vi2i0n.
SA: Update2 might be a bit 2p0tty, 20 I advi2e y0u g0 quickly.
TC: WhΘ is this?
TC: HΘw did yΘu get this handle?
SA: Per2e2, I’m giving y0u live update2 ab0ut y0ur 2urr0unding2.
SA: Wh0 d0 y0u think thi2 i2?
TC: Reveal yΘurself!

-- starsideAcolyte [SA] ceased gnawing titansCorpse [TC] at 12:38 --

 

“Who’s that?” The creature asks, peaking over your shoulder.

“Telemarketers…” You growl as you stare at your screen, infuriated by the indignity of being identified as one dumb enough to be a target of theirs. While you’re busy brewing up ways on how to strike back at the villains, you hear as a notification is sent to Mary’s device as well, a chime emitting from her eyes, causing her to gaze out in the distance.

“…Good news, we’re going to Lohrac.” She declares to the war-party.

“Well, how fortuitous.” You announce. “I just so happen to have acquired a direct route to a Lohrac Gateway Temple not more than a minute ago.” The Doctor looks at you with bemusement, unable to decipher the very simple information you’ve put forward. Before you can attempt to explain it again, there comes a guttural snarl, echoing out from the ride above you. All three of you look, your attentions drawn to the same place as the world goes quiet in anticipation, the roar of the river seeming to be drowned out in the atmosphere. Watching, ready for what challenges may come, you’re perturbed to see a familiar looking claw reach from over the lip of the ledge, sinking into the rock there as they creep over the edge. It’s another one of those bigger freaks that lead the Hoards. You’ve taken to calling them Chieftains, if for no other reason than it gives you a sense of satisfaction when you rip one’s head off.

“GRUAAAAAH!” It bellows through a guttural throat. As you wonder what the hell it’s trying to prove, making grand-stands like that, an ominous stirring begins to fall over the land, heightening your Senses into overdrive. On your toes now, you search your surroundings for anything of threat, noticing that additional legions have broken into the neighboring ridges, sneaking their way into your flanks. No, they’ve already got you surrounded, traces of their movement only barely visible on the horizon. Pincer maneuvers while biding their time. You don’t like it. Turning back to the Chieftain, you notice that along with this new wave of enemies, the storm clouds you’d seen before have completely overcome your region of the Land, and a steady rain has begun to fall. And as the droplets fall upon the gargantuan beast, you watch as its gnarled and paper-like skin is stained, bleached flesh disappearing into a vantablack void, and where the xeno once stood is now a Living Shadow. Looking out at the surrounding hoard, you watch as the pale armies vanish along with their Chieftain, each and every one of them transforming into a legion of warped ghouls. You’ve no idea what it is they’re doing, but you have no intention of falling prey to any tricks today. With Mary’s operation completed and nothing forcing you to hold your ground on this dunghill, you take a step forward.

“Place your hands on my shoulder.” You instruct the other two while they play catch-up realizing you’ve been surrounded.

“What are you planning?” Mary asks as she finishes collecting her medical trinkets.

“Just do it.” You insist, a surging channel of energy building up within your fist. Dubious but desperate, your human companions lay hands upon your form, entering within your AT Field and shielding themselves from the blast. With the go-ahead ready, you reel your fist back. “Sonic Boom; Stepping Cannon.” You speak into existence. Then, once you’ve gathered enough energy, you swing, surging forward. “Five Mile Jump!” While the maneuver gets you out of your bind with a quickness, it’s in the midst of your lightspeed spring that you lose track of the POV.

 

***

 

You’ve been staring out the window down at the magenta swamps for some time now when a sensation comes over you, forcing you to be aware after letting your thoughts drift for what must've been hours. Suddenly reminded of yourself, you become more attentive, feeling as though you’ve just woken up from a long slumber. And who is this ‘You’ you’ve woken up to? What a dumb question. Your name is Robin Hodei, the Rogue of Life, and you have too much to think about to be playing silly games.

At this current moment, you’re cooped up at an auxiliary base on the Land of Progeny and Tree Houses, waiting for the morons you’ve surrounded yourself with to do their damn jobs. Needless to say, you’ve been waiting quite a while. You’re expecting an update from your Seer, Auratt, on the next movement of your Quarry, but low and behold, she’s late on getting back to you. You’re particularly perturbed because, in spite of the magnitude of her latest failures, you’ve been forced to trust her with a remarkably important asset. She’s the only one on your roster who can track targets long-range, and being able to bolster that ability will streamline your team’s maneuverability speed, something you’ve been lacking in your previous engagements. The progress you’d make if you weren’t always one step behind these pricks, not having to strategize while playing catch-up, it’s worth granting an air-headed dimwit undue trust for the time being. Though, had anyone else been able to perform the job you require of the Seer, you would’ve never given her such influence. Had anyone else been able to perform the job, you would’ve ditched the useless girl faster than last week’s garbage. But alas, she proves herself useful, if for no other reason than she lacks a competitor.

And so you simmer. Waiting impatiently for when your prey is going to pop his head up once again. Last she’d updated, Auratt had narrowed their intended path down to two possible destinations, the first being the Land of Gold and Worship, and the second being the very Land you stand upon. She was unsure as to what part of LOGAW the Page was aiming for, but for some reason, she seemed certain that someone from the Page’s team would end up on LOPATH, down to the exact providence they’d arrive at. Taking a Troll with a shaky track-record at her word, however begrudgingly, you deployed a splinter team to the Land, where you and Anshal procured an Estate within the Treetops, hidden from the prying eyes of the Page’s pet scry. You were a tad rushed in your work establishing the parameters of your satellite station, meaning it ended up being not nearly as large as your home base’s territory, which had the benefit of being concealed under the psychic influence of the horrors there. As a result, you’ve been left quite limited in how far you can stray from base without risking being spotted by the Jade Seer, but you make do with it regardless.

With a heavy sigh, you glance back into the hidden safety of your treehouse, a strange nostalgia clawing at your throat, reminding you of what you’ve left behind. You used to have a treehouse back on Earth, before it… y’know… It looked nothing like the one you’re in, but there’s something about the smell that you find familiar. Nostalgic, even. Hard to place your finger on why it makes you feel the way you do. You don’t like it. In fact, you outright hate it. Enough so that you’ve contemplated sapping the very life from the tree holding this godforsaken shack in the sky, and letting it crumple upon the twisted root until it crashes into the swamp. You don’t, however. Your team needs a base, and you’re sure that every other house in this forest would make you feel the exact same way.

So you sit there, growing more and more agitated the longer you have to wait for your team to get their shit together, festering within this stench that so thoroughly reminds you of home. But it was never really home, was it? You never belonged there. How could you have? What did you do to deserve it? Perhaps that’s why you spent so much time in your tree-hut, away from the ill-earned comforts and luxuries your family had stumbled into. So you wouldn’t be reminded every moment of every day how pathetic it was for you to play pretend with all the real Nobility in your neighborhood. Mimic the fancy decorum that came natural to their kind as you try to blend in within their ranks. What a pitiful joke. As if they couldn’t tell at a glance. Couldn’t see you for who you truly were by the very way you carried yourself. You hate it. You hate it so much, it makes you sick. You ball your fists up, trying to keep the memories at bay, but alas, you are unsuccessful. They come flooding back full force, and you begin to feel an itching agitation just under your gloves, the flesh itself demanding to be seen again. To be acknowledged in some way, big or small. It burns, this refusal to be ignored. It’s there, waiting for you to look again. It’s waiting, and it won’t go away. Why won’t it go away…?

“Ahem.” A voice vies for your attention. Snapping out of your spiral, you look to see Hekter just beside you, standing at attention. “Ma’am, Auratt’s made her conclusion.” He reports once he sees he has your focus. “She’s determined the Page’s group will be finding rest at the corner of Forty First and Second in Hilltower City on Lohrac. She’s unsure of the duration they’ll be staying put, but from there, they’ll be taking the gateway to the Land of Chess and Foresight, and thereupon Logaw.” You take a long breath in, contemplating the information presented to you. Hekter’s a dull one, but he’s obedient. A useful tool among a sea of broken wrenches reamed into your plans.

“And the asset?” You follow up for the full report.

“Still beyond our reach amongst their numbers.” He dutifully answers, a slight frustration behind his stern demeanor.

“Have we determined the group size as of yet?” You continue to look for a complete briefing.

“Intelligence says they’re traveling with their entire party.” Intelligence, ay? Well, we all know how reputable Dylan’s word is, don’t we?

“Understood.” You tell him, formulating a strategy. “Get in contact with LJ, have him send an Agitator their way, whichever one of the mercs he can get a hold of on short notice. And have them make sure to keep the Page moving. We don’t want these bastards getting comfortable for too long.” You begin, aiming to set the engagement on your terms. “Once he’s done that, have LJ mobilize his squad. They’ll be running interception and we only have one shot at this. Make sure he knows that.” You complete the orders to the attentive blueblood. You’d tell your hemophiliac of a boyfriend yourself, but you’re currently not on speaking terms with one another. Apparently it’s his time of the month, based on how much of a pansy he’s been lately.

“Right away.” Hekter nods, accepting the order. “On a related note, Ma’am, Anshal has offered to act as frontrunner for asset acquisition. She believes her position as a Thief would best enable her to steal away the target.”

“Anshal couldn’t steal candy from an anemic baby. No, we’ll be going a different route with acquisitions.” You reject the idea outright before anyone gets any ideas. “Now get gone. And once you’re done with LJ, get ready to leave. We’ll be mobilizing soon ourselves.” You tell him, sending the Troll away. “This will take the entire team to pull off. We need to be flawless.” Hekter only nods before turning, leaving out the door of the bedroom suite you occupy. With him gone, you turn back to face out the window again, trying to keep your mind off where you currently are and where you used to be. But regardless, the thoughts return, as they always do. And that itching tingle returns at your wrist, like a burning signal-fire eating you alive.

Finally unable to take it any longer, you reach down and remove your glove, slipping the earth-brown fabrics from your skin, revealing the scar tissue beneath it. Ugly little stains, burnt into your cells. They stare back at you, laughing at the brave face you try to put on in their presence, knowing the shame that hides beneath your contempt for them. You cover them up again, placing a hand over your wrist to hide them from your sight, but still they remain. Plastered there upon your canvas. Enduring. Undying. You can’t help but trace across the surface of the cicatrices with the pad of your thumb, sightlessly counting the lines one by one. You sit there, counting again and again, row after row, starting over every time you reach the end. Again and again, counting as you wait for this moment to end. Over and over, mindlessly counting… You don’t want to be you anymore…

 

***

 

Setting your cup down, you swallow the bitter liquid that passes for a drink in these parts with a grimace. It leaves an oily film on your palate that you have an overwhelming urge to scrape from your tongue. You had a suspicion when the drink was first served to you that it was made from some kind of bug or grub creature, but upon tasting the flavor, as well as noting the chunkiness of the liquid, you’re almost entirely certain it is. Yep, there goes your appetite.

“Guuhwhat the fuck!” You grunt, trying to keep the substance down. Maybe you should’ve taken Haugrr up on his offer to make you a stiff drink, instead of settling for a virgin bug cocktail. But that Bartender Consort was just so convincing with his sales-pitch, how could you not buy the drink? Shows you, you guess. There’s just no supporting the Working-Lizard these days, everyone is always out for themselves.

Anyway, at the current moment, you’re hanging around in one of countless VIP rooms in one of countless Towers on the Land of High-Rises and Connections, enjoying the creature comforts while you can. And after a day like today, you all need it. The kerfuffle with the God Hand was one thing, but stacking a ten hour hike on top of it all was something else entirely. To stack even more onto that shit-sandwich, you spent the entirety of those ten hours dodging meteor bombardment amidst a non-stop dust storm, all the while fending off the occasional freaky-ass angel invasion as the remnants of the Thief’s Armies spot you out in the open. They’d only come a couple at a time, but it was consistent enough on your path to let you know the entire Land was infested with the fuckers. You didn’t think all of you were going to make it towards the end there, but one way or another, you reached the Gateway Temple and found your way to the other side, arriving at your intended rest-stop, getting in just before your personal deadline, albeit exhausted. And not just any kind of exhausted. It’s that special type of exhausted, where you can hardly lift your arms, leaving you to sink into the couch when you sit down. Tomorrow’s gonna be a bitch, needless to say.

You’re sat on one side of two couches that face one another with a table between you. Across from your couch is Haugrr, quietly staring into that stiff drink you were talking about, a deep contemplation on his gloom-filled face. You can’t quite tell if he’s staring at the drink itself, or the reflection of himself bouncing off its top. You aren’t inclined to ask, either way. In the corner, sat at a small two person table is Ragnaa and Leah, both tampering with their individual trinkets to keep busy. Ryder was around a while ago, but he’s since disappeared somewhere, the Big Hero of the day apparently too busy to come chill with the team. In the den area at the other corner is Mia, Esspin and Sara, chatting with one another about something or other. You haven’t been paying attention really. You’d been talking with Dallra up until recently, trying to get everyone’s names straightened out in your head again, but she stepped away to go find Dr Mary and her two sons, Fritz and Percy, who’ve apparently gotten lost in the city plaza. The irony that your ship’s navigator got herself lost in a relatively small city isn’t lost on you, but you’re mostly trying not to let it worry you about her ability to do her job when the time comes. Seeing as you were only going to be on LOHRAC for a day or two, Gretel had decided to join Dallra on her venture out of the building, interested in seeing the bustling city while there’s still time. So with your Daughter and your Seer busy elsewhere, you’ve been left to your own devices. And damn are those devices boring.

“No, no, Dr Pepper was the Father. Dr Pepper’s Daughter was the Ex-Girlfriend of the Soda Maker’s Boss.” You hear Sara say as you listen in on her conversation from across the room. “It’s a pretty common misconception.”

“And he was a foot doctor?” Mia asks her with an incredulous look.

“Yeah! Makes you wonder about where that signature taste came from.” Sara laughs. “Maybe some of those twenty three flavors the Good Doctor used were toes.”

“And the people of your culture drank this foot-juice?” Esspin leans in with unadulterated intrigue. “Is it anything like Faygo?”

“Hm… Y-… Maybe? I don’t think I’ve ever come across another brand that tasted like D.P. before.” Sara taps her chin.

“Sara, don’t say you’ve tasted D-P.” Mia tells her before turning to Esspin. “Yes, Dr Pepper is like Faygo because it’s a soft drink. No, it’s not like Faygo because Dr Pepper is the most horrifically unique concoction any living creature has ever consumed.”

“Sooo…?“ Esspin hums, hoping she continues to describe the flavor profile of the beverage.

“Closer than what you’re imagining, vastly different than what you’d actually taste.” She quickly explains.

“Ah!” The Troll nods with a learned vigor.

“Dr Pepper was supposed to taste like a drug store.” Leah interjects from her corner while busy cleaning the individual pieces of her gun, not looking up from her low set table to speak. She has her silver hair tied back to keep out of her eyes as she works, letting you see the studious manner in which she handled her utensils.

“What’s that?” Mia glances over to the girl.

“That smell that hits you when you enter a drug store. That’s what Dr Pepper is supposed to taste like.” She elaborates. “That’s why its flavor is so distinct. It’s supposed to remind you of a place.”

“So it’s medicinal?” Esspin asks, looking over as well.

“Eeeh, not really.” Sara shrugs.

“Actually, it was a pretty common practice for Soda to have medicines in them when they were first coming around.” Creed hops into the conversation as soon as he enters the room, arms full of snacks pilfered from the machine in the office cafeteria downstairs. “Pepsi had pepsin, Coke had cocaine, both Seven Up and Dr Pepper had lithium, Mountain Dew was originally a Moonshine mixer. Commercial consumerism on Earth has a long history of profit-oriented neglect in getting the people to buy our products. Throw a few unregulated narcotics into your recipe and you can sell them as a ‘health drink’. Pretty smart marketing, really.”

“Oh, Creed! How about you, you know any little-known fun facts?” Sara turns towards the Heir as he dumps his bounty on the communal table at the center of the room.

“Little known, huh? Hmm… Did you know Corinthian Leather isn’t actually from Corinth?” He offers up the trivia while dusting off his hands, the snack-load delivered.

“Is Corinth a place?” Ragnaa asks, looking up from her rock collection while beside Leah.

“Yeah, it was an ancient city in Greece.” He answers while no-look tossing a packet of honey rolls your way, which you only just catch before it smacks against the side of your head. Huh. How did Creed know you were looking to cleanse your palate…?

“Was… Greece… a place?” Rag follows up, an innocently puzzled look on her face.

“Greece was the place. Second only to maybe Rome.” He tells with a satisfied expression, a clear passion for the subject.

“I don’t like your alien geography, human.” Haugrr blurts out from the other couch across from you.

“Where does Corinthian Leather come from if it isn’t from Greece.” Mia interjects before the conversation can derail any further.

“Newark, New Jersey.” He promptly states.

“Get outta here.” Sara says, gobsmacked. Newark, huh? No shit. How long has it been since you’ve visited? Not long enough, if you’re being honest. That whole city smells like a gym bag someone dropped in the gutter.

“Yep. Nowadays, it’s used as a general term for leather in a fancy car, but the salesmen who first coined the term used it as a marketing ploy to make potential consumers think it was an ultra-rare material from overseas. It’s supposed to be attention grabbing, make you think the automobile is worth more because it has valuable cushioning inside.” He quickly explains while tearing open a pack of pretzels. “On some level, you’ve got to respect the cleverness of it all.”

“But if it’s just from New Jersey, doesn’t that kinda make it less valuable?” Sara asks, doing the math on why a salesman would want you to think something is more expensive than it is.

“Yes.” Mia firmly answers her without missing a beat. You can’t help but notice she looks straight at you when she says it, leaving you feeling faintly called out by the directness. Seeing the direction Mia had looked in, Sara takes note of you on your couch, quietly munching on your pack of honey rolls.

“Jason!” She calls, turning to you. “Any weird bits of info you’ve got stored away?” Taking a moment to consider the question, only one thing really comes to mind.

“…Haagen-Dazs was a made up name.” You tell them all, getting you a puzzled silence in return while they unpack what you’d said.

“What?!” Sara bursts first. “No way, haagen dazs is like… German for ice cream or something!” She bargains, not wanting to accept the truth. 

“Nope. Completely made up.” You shake your head. “It’s just supposed to sound foreign to the buyer.”

“The more foreign something sounds, the more money you can try to sell it for.” Creed adds on to your point. ”A friend of mine would say a customer's perception was ninety percent of a business’s profits.” Completing her cleansing ritual, Leah finalizes the reconstruct of her weapon with a slap that throws her barrel back in place, her firearm in one piece once again.

“Goin’ on patrol. Be back later.” She announces while spinning the gun on her finger, slipping it into her holster as she heads towards the double doors at the front of the room.

“Oh, hang on, I’ll come with you for a bit.” Ragnaa quickly follows after, captchaloguing her rock stuff before hurrying to the Knight’s side. “I’ll walk until we get to the respiteblocks. After that, you’re on your own.” She laughs, walking with a small bit of swing in her step and a flicker in her wings.

“Ha. Glad to have the company, even if only for a short while.” She nods as the pair leave for the halls of the Tower.

“What about Troll Planet?” Sara turns to Esspin, continuing on with the conversation. “Are there any strange facts or secrets you know about your culture?”

“Hmm… that’s a tricky one, actually.” Ess reports while tapping her chin with the knuckle of her finger. “Competitive marketing hasn’t been a practicable concept on Alternia for a very long time. Every form of brand or product was owned or sold by the Empire itself in some manner or another. On top of that, all commercial profits on Alternia was funneled straight to the pockets of Her Imperious Condescension directly, so underhanded marketing tactics weren’t all that common. You either bought the item from the Empire or you simply didn’t have it.”

“You didn’t have any bootleggers?” Mia asks as she wanders over to the snack-hoard to pilfer her take in the form of gummy candies.

“Counterfeiting was a cullable offense.” Haugrr answers this time. “No business took place on that hellhole unless the Imperial Coffers were getting their slice of The Pie. Underground shops rarely operated for more than a few nights before some scum-fuck fed a tip to the local snitchbox. Drone Raids weren’t long to follow once that happened.”

“In addition to our unified governmental systems, ironically enough, Troll culture was oftentimes quite atomized, with much of the planet segmented into sects of subcultures to keep cohesion between the people at a minimum. The only widespread unifying factor across every culture on Alternia to my knowledge was the Following of the Great Miracle, of which every Highblood was a part of. Even then, the Following was known by different callings across the planet. Some places, they were known as the Believers of the Vast Honk, others it was the Order of the Subjugglators. Regardless, there wasn’t much solidarity between the masses. In fact, many Trolls were rather reclusive by nature, asocial and living several kilometers away from their nearest neighbor, only ever interacting with a small social circle and sometimes only connecting with others over the internet. As such, we didn’t have many cultural phenomenons that weren’t remarkably novel to our specific location on the planet, or were so carefully curated by the Empire that they bordered on being perfectly generic. If you’d like, I have a few anecdotes about the local Oblong Meat Product vendor who sold his wares at the corner nearest my Hive. Apopyo was quite the card, I must say.”

“Why all the separation?” Sara asks with a quizzical look as she steals some of Mia’s candies.

“To stop rebellions from forming too easily.” Haugrr answers again, taking a sip from his amber drink. “If you keep people divided enough, they’ll have no way of gauging how their neighbors feel. It’s possible they might be just as angry about the Boot the Empire has on your windshaft as you, and maybe they’d be willing to join you if you were going to start going against the powers that be, but… what if they weren’t? What if they swallowed their propaganda wholeheartedly and with a smile on their ignoranceshaft? They’d report you without even blinking. Risk and Ignorance are what keep the little man small.”

“That.” Esspin agrees with the response, pointing to the Prince with a nod.

“So everyone just fell in line on your world?” Mia asks with a raised eyebrow, compliance a long-forgotten concept to her.

“Oh no, there were constant rebellions and terrorist attacks on Alternia, it’s just that there would’ve been a lot more if the culture was unified.” Esspin says, correcting the assumption.

“Hard to call it ‘terror’ if it’s justified.” Haugrr grumbles into his cup.

“In fact, the Adults were exiled from our hive world for that exact reason.” Esspin continues, either not hearing or ignoring the Prince’s comment. “I suppose Adults are a lot harder to keep control over, so it was decided that once a Troll had reached maturity, we’d be shipped off for our ordeals off-world, never to return again. I suppose Sgrub wasn’t that different in that regard, seeing as we were bound to leave our planet eventually. So saying goodbye to Alternia wasn’t that painful in the end, really…” There’s a somberness beneath the cheerful tone the Mage is attempting to push forward, cluing you in on how the girl truly feels on the matter. Can’t say you blame her. You miss home as well…

“Wait, adult Trolls get kicked off the planet?” Mia pipes up, not noticing the sadness in her friend’s heart. “So it was just kids on Troll World? Lord of the Flies style? Why the hell didn’t you mention that sooner? That’s a hell of a strange culture fact!”

“I’ve mentioned it to you on several occasions, Mia!” The Mage protests, a faint offense in her voice at the forgotten factoid. While the conversation continues on at the other side of the room, you hear a distinct creaking -groan- out from the floor above you, drawing your attention to the ceiling of the room. Sounds like Leah’s patrol took her to the level above the one you’re on. Makes sense. You’re only a few floors down from the top, so she’s likely clearing the few above you before she heads down. You don’t pay it much mind.

“I’m just saying, that’s a pretty big cultural unifier.” Mia defends her forgetfulness on the subject. “You’re all like that kid who gets thrown outta the house by their shitty parents as soon as they turn eighteen!”

“I only understand a few of the things you just said, I’ll have you know!” Esspin matches Mia’s elevated tone, sounding flustered by the statement. Tuning out from the frantic chattering between friends, your attention is drawn elsewhere when your Sylladex alerts you to a new message on your phone. Delving into your inventory, you breeze through the maze puzzle to retrieve the Telephonic Device. Straight, Left, Straight, Right, Right, Left, Right, Left. Boom!

 

PESTERLOG:

-- starsideAcolyte [SA] began pestering senileMinor [SM] at 23:47 --

SA: Y0!
SA: 0n 0ur way back a2 we 2peak.
SA: Ju2t checked 0n every0ne in the Hive 2tem, th0ugh.
SA: Ryder’2 2ulking al0ne up 0n the R00f.
SA: Y0u wanna check in 0n that f0r me?
SM: ?
SM: Why?
SA: Cuz y0u’re cl02er, duh.
SM: No, like,
SM: Why go talk to him at all?
SM: Ryder doesn’t seem like the type to take being 'checked on' very well
SA: Because it l00k2 like he’2 in deep c0ntemplati0n right n0w.
SA: Ryder d0e2n’t c0ntemplate deeply.
SA: He yell2 and 2leep2 and 2h0ut2 pr0fanitie2.
SA: 20mething 2eem2 up.
SM: And you somehow think that
SM: I
SM: Am the best person to handle that situation?
SA: Well…
SA: N0t really.
SA: But he’2 been weird ar0und Leah 2ince 2he’2 returned fr0m bey0nd the bey0nd.
SA: I didn't want t0 a2k her t0 in2tigate.
SM: What about Ragnaa?
SA: With Leah.
SM: Man
SA: C0mm0n, 0h brave Leader!
SA: Y0u’re a Page, aren’t y0u?
SA: Talk Page 2tuff with him!
SM: Alright
SM: But keep Mia on speed dial
SM: She’s the only one capable of stopping him if he goes apeshit
SA: Aye, aye, kap-e-tan!

-- starsideAcolyte [SA] ceased pestering senileMinor [SM] at 23:51 --

 

With a task bestowed upon you by the Oracle of the Universe, you rise up from the rut in your couch, the soreness that had set in on your limbs just about begging you to stay put as you limp along. You wonder if you can speed up your recovery process with a little chronological hijinks… Not now, though. Your temporal reserves are still pretty much tapped since you bottomed out earlier today, only regaining a fraction of your total capacity. A tad worrying, seeing as your batteries usually recharge in the span of a couple minutes to an hour. You have been pushing it a lot lately. Hopefully you haven’t sprung a leak or something…

“Where you headed, head-case?” Haugrr asks, watching you sideways-walk out from between the couch and table.

“Getting some air. That’s not an invitation to join.” You promptly tell him, heading for the door yourself.

“And yet I feel so welcomed.” He sarcastically snips back, going back to staring at his drink.

Stepping out into the hallway, the chatter of the VIP room gets more and more distant in your mind the further away from it you get, a slow mull to your stride as you struggle to stay on your feet. Reaching the elevator doors, you hit the call button, but much to your dismay, you’re left standing there, waiting for a cab that will never arrive. Cool. Looks like the elevator’s out of order, you guess… No, wait. It’s just stuck up on the floor above your own. Okay, simple enough. Lumbering a few more feet across the polished floors of the fancy corporate building foyer, you venture into the small side passage leading to the next level, the heavy doors closing shut behind you as you’re locked in with your mortal enemy. Stairs.

Staring the steps down, it dawns on you that you’re in no condition to be taking on an incline as intense as this one, regardless of how it zigs and zags. You’ve been warned one too many times to fall for something like this! You dive into your sylladex and retrieve your Rocket Shoes + Glo-… shit. Okay, #1 item on your agenda after speaking with crab-cakes on the roof; get Dr Mary to fix your flight gear. She can do that, right? Whatever, just get up these stairs in one piece already.

One foot at a time, you ascend the steps, a shaky wobble in your path. It’s touch and go at certain points, but you eventually bring it home, reaching the top of the flight, ascending to the next level. One level is all you need, however. Now, to find out what’s keeping the elevator on this floor. Exiting out into the near identical hallway as the one you left behind, you venture out into the foyer, noticing that the lights are dimmed on this level for some reason. Guess the fluorescent bulbs need to be changed out. Maybe there’s a janitor somewhere you can request a work order with.

As you’re walking through the gloomy corridor, you end up passing by an open door in the hallway, and from the corner of your eye, you see someone standing there in the middle of the room, nearly launching your heart into your throat in an instance. Practically tripping over yourself, you swing back, your head snaps towards whoever it was you’d seen. You’re relieved to find, however, that the person in the room there was only a Consort, one of the Lizards with those flappy necks. You breathe a sigh of relief, fearing your perimeter was breached without anyone realizing. However, this relief soon turns to a slight disconcertment when you see the Consort just… standing there, staring out at the open door into the hall.

They’re slightly bigger than the normal Consorts, like that Gecko you’d seen in the hotel on LOHAN, but there’s something more about the creature. Something off. It has an uncanny aura to it, like you’re looking at a poorly made statue of the Land’s inhabitants. Is it… sick? Or maybe deformed? Whatever’s wrong with it, you can see why the other Lizards exiled it to be alone on the Eighty-Third Floor. Thing freaks you the fuck out.

Cautiously backing away from the strange creature as it heavily breathes through its mouth, you advance on towards the open elevator doors you see down the way, the light of the cabin casting out into the dark hall. You can see a briefcase or something of the like in the way of the doors, keeping them from closing. That’d be what’s keeping it from going down then. With the solution in sight, you suddenly feel a creeping sensation crawl across your back as a presence appears behind you. Glancing back, you see the shadow of the Consort growing larger and larger at the edge of the threshold, its nails clacking against the floor with each step. Okay, yeah, no it’s following you now, peeking out at you from the entrance of its room. Hurrying your pace, you get to the elevator, flinging the case out of the way from the doors without even checking what the hell is in it. Hopping in, you press for the roof, followed by the force-close button about a million times afterward.

Closing with a -ding-, the elevator doors shut and you’re jutted upward as the metal tethers draw you to the top floor. Fully alert now after whatever the hell horror game shit that just was, you try to take your mind off things by brainstorming what you’ll say to your Rage counterpart when you find him. You aren’t even sure what’s wrong with him in the first place. So what if he’s sulking, the kid’s like 90% sulk. How do you ever approach someone like that? God, you should’ve just gotten Creed to do this…

Another -ding- alerts you to the fact that you’ve reached your destination, the stainless steel doors peeling back, revealing the outside world to you. Ah, LOHRAC. The City of Business. Or… City-World of Business, you guess it’d be. Whatever you might call it, it’s a beautiful Land with an enormous city skyline before you, lights of the skyscrapers looking like fireflies in the night, sky bridges and gondolas connecting into the various other buildings like you’re in Andrew Ryan’s wet dream. You’re in a lower district in the city, the upper banks across from your own where most other High-Rises hang higher than the one you stand on sits divided by a sizable canal of deep blue waters. It’s forever evening on this side of the planet, similar to the Land of Savanna and Dusk, though with the sun having just completely gone down, leading to an active night-life on the world. Apparently it’s daytime in the eastern hemisphere of the planet, but most of its skies are heavily shrouded in grey cloud coverage, with heavy rain storms being a common occurrence. Interesting planet, you gotta say. It sort of reminds you of what you thought your own planet, LORAH, would’ve looked like, had it not been covered in sand.

Checking the rooftop, you find your task-at-hand quick enough, spotting the Page of Rage sat by the edge of the building, gazing out at the roaring city before him. Checking your notes one more time, you realize you’ve thought of nothing to say to the kid, having spent the entire elevator ride up here still freaked out about that weird lizard you saw. Okay, no it’s fine. You can just wing it, yeah? Dallra’s right, he’s a Page, just like you. You’re practically cousins! Alright, here we go…

“Heey, Ryan, how’s it going?” You begin, starting off strong as you walk out to greet him. The Rage Page glances back with an equally confused and perturbed expression. Shit, his name wasn’t Ryan, was it. Fuck! What did Dallra say it was again? Robert…? Rhydin…? R-…Reki…?

“…” He doesn’t respond to your greetings, simply turning back to gaze out at the city, likely trying to ignore you. You glance around the roof again, searching for anything that might miraculously help you in this conversation. Behind you, the elevator has already been called to a lower level, meaning you can’t back out now. Damn… But hey, come on! Sure you stumbled a bit, but it was an okay start, right? He doesn’t seem overly pissed-off, and that’s a pretty big win with Rage Players.

“Sooo…” You drag on, swinging your arms as you stumble the rest of the way towards your fellow Page. “Still processing, huh?” You ask, taking a seat next to him on the ledge, feeling a kind of sinking feeling in your stomach when you actually look down and see how high up you are. The feeling doubles when you remember your rocket gear is still busted, leading you to grip the edge a little more firmly.

“…” Ryan remains silent all the same. Hmm… Seems he really is in some kind of funk. Putting the thought of you slipping off the roof and falling to a grizzly and gruesome death out of your mind, you let yourself relax a bit, trying not to stress the vibe with your unreasonably reasonable fears.

“Yeah, I know the feeling.” You say with a huff, trying to relate with the young man. “It was rough for me when mine first showed up, too.”

“…What?” He asks, peering at you like your head is screwed on wrong.

“Whaddaya mean ‘what’? When I first met my Thief, of course!” You clarify, thinking it would’ve been obvious after the day you’ve all had. “Yeah, I remember it well.” You sigh nostalgically, glancing out at the city with him. “Back when the team only had four members, myself included. She stumbled upon me in the middle of our very first mission. Her slave nearly cleaved my arm off, and then she kicked the shit out of me and my friends… and then she kissed me… and then I blew up a mountain with her on it.”

“Uh…?” Ryan murmurs, narrowing his eyes at you with confused concern.

“Look, what I’m trying to say is that today was a big day for you, bud. I mean, you found your Thief! Your other half.” You get back on track, doing your best to help your cousin work through this milestone. “Every Page gets one, you know. And now she’ll harbor unhealthy obsessions over you in a myriad of different ways, from grand shows of loving affection to actually trying to murder you. And you’ll never escape her… Just as nature intended!”

“Do you think I’ll ever find my Thief, Jason?” Fritz asks from Ryan’s other side, catching the Rage player by surprise as his attention snaps onto his Blood counterpart, alarmed at his presence there. “Mom says that I’m not ready for a Thief, but… maybe that’s just because I won’t ever find one, even if I were to look…”

“Oh, don’t say that.” You console the boy, reaching over to place a hand on his shoulder. As you do, Ryan turns back to face you, a stupefied expression plastered across his visage. “Both your mother and I know you’ll make a Fine Page for some lucky young Thief out there to torment.”

“You really think so?” He perks up at the encouragement.

“One day, kid. One day. I’m sure of it.” You assure him.

“…What the fuck are the two of you talking about?” Ryan asks, bouncing looks between you and Fritz.

“Who knows. I think I experienced, like, six different realities in the fight today. I might’ve seen the future, I don’t know. I’m having trouble keeping track of what’s real and what isn’t.” You explain as your mind feels like it’s about to explode from pressure alone.

“Is your brain… okay?” Ryan brings up, seemingly finding enough wrong with this conversation that he thought it appropriate to ask.

“Not in the slightest, no.” You shake your head. “…Anyway, if you’re not stuck in your feels about that Thief, what’s got you so broody up here all by your lonesome?”

“None of your fuckin’ business, that’s what.” He brushes you off with a sneer.

“C’mon, we’re Page-Talking right now, Ry! Open up with your Page Bros!” You raise your arms out, not inviting a hug, but open enough that he could initiate one it if he saw fit.

“Yeah, like we're a couple of Elves having a Super Secret Meeting where they can share all their feelings!” Fritz excitedly exclaims.

“…You do realize that what little desire I had to share was just eradicated by what he just said, right?” The Rage player asks you with a straight face.

“Y-yeah, I got an inkling of that…” You nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek at the notion. Rolling back, the young man in Bear-Skins tumbles from the ledge of the building onto the roof floor, seamlessly transitioning from a backwards somersault into a stride towards the elevator doors.

“Cool. Vibe’s ruined now, the roof is yours.” He bids adieu while not looking back, only giving a motionless wave as he raises his hand.

“Hey, I know about other things, too.” You say, nearly tripping over yourself as you scurry to get back onto solid ground again to follow after the other Page. “Not just the stuff about Thieves. If you need advice… who better to take a page from than another Page?”

“…” Glancing back with creased eyes and a tilted head, like he can’t quite figure out what to make of you, the Ragebound eventually addresses your presence. “…Your shtick is clocks, the hell would you know about what I’m handling?”

“I might not, but… it can’t hurt to ask, right?” You suggest with a shrug. Hearing this, the young man faces forward again, unmoving where he stands.

“……How long did it take until you figured out your powers?” He asks after a moment of contemplation, still faced towards the doors of the elevator down. “When I was out there today, it felt… so natural to do what I did. I was in the zone. It was like nothing could stop me, but now… it doesn’t feel like I’m any different from when I woke up this morning. I keep trying to call upon that same power I had in the moment, but nothing’s coming. I’m square-one all over again!”

“Well… you’re still pretty new to your powers, right?” You ask, trying to remind him of the path he’s just started on. “Pages can sometimes get the short end of the stick in that regard. I couldn’t conjure up even the shortest of Temporal Snares for the longest time, and that was with a version of me who’d mastered the technique teaching me. Try not to stress about getting the hang of your abilities, they’ll come in due Time.”

“Due Time can fuck itself! I need this growth now!” He suddenly shouts, throwing his hands about in a tantrum. “You brought me and the girls onto this team to be your bodyguards. Isn’t that right? That means the only purpose for me in this group is to fight. I can’t fix a spaceship, I can’t rewrite our fates.  All I can do is fight. But if there are people like Dragomir out there, psycho-bitches that can bend the world however they feel like it, then fighting won’t cut it. I have to be at the top of my game. I have to be able to call on this power at a moment’s notice, not just have it show up whenever it feels like it!”

“You tapped into your potential when it came down to it, didn’t you? Why are you so worried about mastering it immediately?” You reason with him, knowing how easily a Page’s progress can diverge when they try to rush things.

“Because it didn’t come until someone I cared about had their brains splattered against the fucking sidewalk!” He shouts, turning off to the east of the building, his chest rising and falling like crazy as he works himself up. “She was fucking dead, man…! Christ, I wasn’t even the one who brought her back! If it wasn’t for everyone else, she’d still be dead because I couldn’t deliver on my word! Goddamn it, what use is insane powers if they only come when you don’t need them anymore!? What the hell was the point of training if I wasn’t going to be the one who protected us!? Wha-… what if it’s already over?”

“Over?” Your Blood Brother asks this time, reminding you he’s still on the roof with you both as he walks up beside you. “What would be over?” The Ragebound turns around fully to stare at the youngest Page, an unsure look on his face as he observes him in suspicious misgivings.

“…What if I never reach that level again?” He clarifies after a moment of pause. “I’m only one week into being worth a fuck in a fight and I’ve already peaked. It’s bullshit! One go of it all and I’m on my ass?!” At his sides, the young man’s hands ball into fists. “My Father died in his Prime. Same for his Father, and his Father’s Father. None of the Men in the Wolfhart Name have outlived their potential, outlived their use. But if I… I used everything I had up… what fucking good am I…?” In his sorrow, the clenched fists of the young man loosen, and his shoulders sink ever so slightly from their usual prideful heights. You contemplate the grievances your fellow Page has had with his journey, sympathizing with the struggle he’s found along the way. Before you can think of what to say that might aid him in his plight, your Blood Brother beats you to the punch.

“I don’t think you’ve outlived your potential.” He plainly states, oblivious to the young man’s woes. “Perhaps today was just a glimpse of the Man your potential will one day transform you into, but just because you can't get another glimpse yet, doesn't mean there's nothing left to still see.” A quiet falls upon the rooftop upon the Bloodbound's decree, with the distant sounds of traffic echoing up from the streets below. Until finally, the young man in Bear Skins lets loose a few quiet chuckles from a dry throat.

“Haha… Sorry… I don’t know what I’m yelling for. I didn’t expect either of you to get it to begin with.” He mutters to himself. “You aren’t Rageborn. You don’t bear the Burden of the Thorn. You don’t know what it’s like to hurt those closest to you.” He explains while turning back to the elevator once again. While not malicious in his tone, the boy’s comment strikes a chord in you, like a literal heartstring was plucked at in your chest. Those Closest To You… “The longer I don’t have control over my powers, the more I risk hurting those around me with them. That’s not something I can allow. Thanks for trying to help, but this is just something I'll have to figure alone…” With that, the young man walks away, leaving you behind on the roof of your conquered tower. But… but you wish to say something more…

“Too long to matter.” You call out to him, pausing the Ragebound once more.

“…Huh?” He turns back, glancing over his shoulder at you.

“You asked me how long it took for me to figure out my powers. Well… it took too long for any of it to matter.” You elaborate as you’ve captured the boy’s attention again. “The Path of the Page is a long one. Doubly so for a Timebound with no sense of urgency. I was lazy on my quest. Cowardly, even. I relied on my allies to do the heavy lifting when I was too afraid to leave my house. Once their help could no longer cut it, iterations of me started showing up to pick up my slack. Future version of Me coming back to my Era in Time, Doomed Jasons returning to the Alpha to fulfill a single purpose before they died. All in all, there were probably more than a Thousand versions of Me, buried in the Sands of my Land. Lost and forgotten in the Drifting Desert. All because I wouldn’t get off my ass and start taking my session seriously. By the time I had gotten a hold of Time, my friends no longer needed someone like me. The role I was supposed to perform that they had first struggled to replace, they could now fulfill with a bit of ingenuity and planning. Offense, defense, diplomacy, espionage, leadership, ensuring we were happy, ensuring we would survive… They had no use for me… I ensured that I was no use to anyone… That way… they wouldn’t be so disappointed when I couldn’t keep up with them. I chose that. Me. I was afraid to fail, so I never tried. I… I kept telling myself ‘there’s no rush’, ‘if it’s destined to happen, it’ll happen’, but… but I never really tried. Not unless another Me was dragging me along for the ride, kicking and screaming as I forced myself to get my journey underway. I thought I had all the time in the world… but as it turns out, the world didn’t have all that much time to begin with…” Your eyes drift away from the figure before you, not even sure if he’s listening anymore. You don’t even know who it is you’re really talking to right now, but the words keep coming regardless, no end in sight as you vent what feels like eons of repressed memories you’ve built up over time, the past too painful to recall. Yet in this moment, you’ve opened up somehow, and there is no closing this flood gate. “Derse was ramping up their war plans. I was on my way back home from an expedition into my Land, looking for my-… looking for something important I had lost, when I happened upon a scouting party for the Derse Army. An Archagent with a mean streak, and an even meaner knife-hand. He had two others with him, one was this short little runt of an Agent and the other was a walking fridge, looked like he could’ve hit you into next week. And there I was, alone and under-leveled. I don’t remember much of how it went, but I do know what happened couldn’t even really be called a Strife. They killed me, literally.” Before you, as your gaze lingers upon the cement of the roof floor, you feel as if you see it again, the soft sands of LORAH beneath your feet, watching mindlessly as blood drips off your form. You are back there again, in the final moments before you find your End. “Probably would’ve been Game Over if it weren’t for the fact that I was in the middle of a conversation with a friend when it happened. She came looking not long after I went radio silent… apparently she found me out in the desert, a trail of my blood scraping across the dunes until it led her straight to my mangled corpse, face down in the sand. There wasn’t any signs of the Derse Agents by then, so she was able to awaken my Dream Self and revive me, but… things were never the same after that. She wouldn’t talk about that day very often, but when she did, you could tell it stuck with her. Like it was always at the back of her mind, gnawing at her……… My friends… they all kept close to me after that. Buddy system and all that shit. It was nice, at first. I mean, it was just like we were hanging out while adventuring, but… after a while, it became pretty clear that they weren’t tagging along because they worried about me. They just didn’t trust me enough not to get myself killed again…” Recounting all this, putting these feelings into words for the first time, you can’t help but feel your heartbeat begin to rise, a disgusting slurry of emotions running wild in your chest, too complicated to decipher with any aptitude. All it is is a frantic beating, wild and aimless in who it hurts. “It was like they were all breathing down my neck at all times. I couldn’t leave the house without being bombarded with messages, asking where I was going, telling me to wait so someone could come join me. It was like they were treating me like a fucking kid! Being chaperoned… that doesn’t fly with a Page’s Quest. Any progress I had actually begun making out on my own ground to a halt after my First Death. Every step I tried to make, they’d make me take two steps back. Something had to change… They were holding me back…! They were…” Hearing what it is you are saying, you snap out of your little tangent, clearing your throat as you try to forget what you had just said. “Ahem… so… so I started sneaking out on my own. Exploring my Land and buckling down on learning how to be a Page when no one else was with me. It was slow at first, but I eventually got the hang of it. My powers kept growing, I figured out how to use my abilities smarter. I had finally figured out how to stand on my own as a Time Player, and I was ready to start being involved with the session. But… but like I said… it was all too late. I had gained my powers, but everything was already too broken to fix. I thought I could fix things, make them right again, but they were already gone…” Realizing you’ve been rambling too long, you recall what it was you were trying to tell Ryder with this spiel. “N-… Never mind all that, though. My problems are my own, and the only reason they started was because I wasn’t putting the effort in. So for you, Ryder, you shouldn’t have anything to worry about with your powers growing. You’re actually putting in the work to try and… and… Ryder?” Looking around the rooftop, you realize that your fellow Page had disappeared from sight, vanishing without a trace.

“Okay, haha, real funny. Frank, when did he… Frank?” When you turn back to ask your Blood Brother when it was that Ryder had snuck away during your speech, you find that just like the first Page, the second had gone missing as well, leaving you alone on your island in space. “H-… Hello?” You call, looking around the barren platform, thinking you’ll somehow find what it is you’re looking for if you search thoroughly over it enough. You find nothing. No, you find less than nothing. The city surrounding your tower has vanished along with your friends, the only tangible factor left from the world being the dark sky that peers down at you and the distant sounds of traffic emanating from the streets below. Speeding over, you hurry to the edge of the roof, peering past into the chasm as you search for the last remnants of the reality you’d just been standing in, only to find nothing once more. A void hangs below you, the length of your tower vanishing into the dark the further down it goes. Yet even still, the calls of the streets and its nightlife still ring from its depths, a fake ambiance rising into the sky like smoke from a fire. Where… w-where the hell are you?

“Jason…” A voice suddenly calls from below, piercing through the simulated sounds leaking from the void. The instant flash of horror that courses through your bones sends you falling back from the ledge, landing you on the roof before you continuing to crawl away from the cusp of infinity, terrified of what might come climbing over. “They’re looking for you, Jason…” The voice echoes up as the sounds of traffic and nightlife are drowned out. That’s… that’s not possible… “They’re hunting for you…” She’s dead, that’s not possible!

Rising up around you, the void boils past the brim of the roof, eating into the nighttime sky and staining it with a nothingness that surrounds you completely, swelling to the zenith of the sky until completely encapsulating your tower. In this darkness, a haze begins to descend from above, bits of living static that blur the world around them, impossible to see without contrast behind their unearthly shapes. Drifting down from the sky as though they were flakes of snow, you feel a chill cast over you, and your mind swells with indomitable pressure, your skull pressing on the Primal Fear Centers of your brain and invoking an animal terror in you as you feel the eyes of predators watching you from beyond the veil. Always there, always watching, just beyond sight, waiting for you to leave your throat unguarded. Waiting for the perfect place to tear into. You look around for the doors to the elevator, panicking as you realize you can see nothing beyond just a few feet in front of you. You are lost in the dark, desperate for some kind of light. But the light never comes. The light never comes, but the voices… Oooh, the voices… they find you, out in that dark. They find you because they never left.

 

“What’s wrong, Jason?” They ask from all around you, every angle, nowhere to hide.

 

“They were holding you back, weren’t they?” They mock. Incessant and biting. Stop it. This isn’t funny.

 

“It’s like you said, something had to change.” This Isn’t Funny! It wasn’t you! It wasn’t!

 

“Something had to be done.” You didn’t want to! It wasn’t you, god damn it!

 

“And you sure did something, didn’t you, Jason?” No… No, No! No! NO!

 

“What did you do, Jason?” They’re gone, damn it… They’re Gone! Stop speaking with their Voices! Stop Using Their Words!

 

“What did you do?” You aren’t real… You were never real! You’re just a voice! A voice inside a pit, a hole within the earth!

 

“What Did You Do?!” You can’t hurt me! You can’t hurt anyone anymore! Stay in your hole! Stay there and Never come Out!

 

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

 

 

 

You sit on the floor of your room, disheartedly slumped against the wall.

Tick

Today is not your birthday.

Tock

In fact,

Tick

Today just so happens do be the furthest day from your birthday

Tock

A day could possibly be.

Tick

Today is the day

Tock

That your life as you know it

Tick

Will End.

Tock

Tick

What is your decision, Mr Greene?

Tock

Do you accept these conditions?

Tick

Or will you continue to pretend,

Tock

Pretend that you do not see it?

Tick

 

***

 

Your lungs gasp for air as you sit up, a cold sweat chilling the collar of your shirt. In the moments it takes you to remember who you are, you panic, your eyes frantically searching the dark room you’ve awoken to. But like always, you eventually calm again, collecting yourself as your quick and deep breaths slow, and the terror settles from your brain. You’re Jason Greene, the Page of Time. Good. You still remember who you are. As for the where…

Looking around the room with a more level head now, you find yourself in the one of the sleeping quarters your team had commandeered for your stay at the Tower. A slight weight in your lap draws your attention downward, where you find Gretel curled up by your legs, somehow having slept through your thrashings. When did you…? Oh, that’s right… You’d gone to talk with Ryder on the Roof, but… it didn’t seem like you were able to help him much. He left before you were able to really say anything to him. After that, you returned to the VIP room to find Dallra had returned having collected Mary and Perses from the labyrinth of the city. Mary really laid into Frank about running ahead and getting separated from them, but all in all, it was a big fiasco, with the group getting back together again after all you’ve been through. You didn’t have nearly enough energy to be kicking around any longer today, though, and you’d decided to retire for the night a little earlier than the others. You did hand off your busted Rocket Gear to Mary for her to tinker with before going, however. She’s told you you’ll discuss the price for fixing them at a later date, which you weren’t exactly the biggest fan of, but who ever said personal jet engine usage was a cheap luxury? You offered her an amount of Build Grist equal to what it took for you to craft the items, but as it turns out, Diamonds and Caulk aren’t nearly as valuable a resource without an Alchemiter to process the raw materials with, so you’re currently on the hook for the Full Bill of whatever the hell Victoria might want in exchange for her services. You’d say her Salvation is a pretty good form of payment, but who the hell are you? Someone who can fix a rocket glove? No? Then shut the hell up.

Regardless of Debts and the Blank Checks you’ve promised to pay them with, you’re rather surprised that you’re awake right now. Checking your phone’s clock, it looks like you’ve only been asleep for around two hours. You figured you would’ve been dead asleep for another twelve or so after the day you’ve had. And what was with that dream just now? You were back on the Land of Rust and Hourglasses, or… you were just talking about it…? And Jess was there or something…? Something about… God, your head hurts… and you’re thirsty, and you’re still exhausted from today! Right now sucks… You can already tell falling back asleep is gonna be a chore. Maybe you should walk around a bit, see if you can’t wear yourself out, maybe get a drink while you’re up. Judging by the fact that you’ve sweat through your entire damn shirt, you wouldn’t be surprised if you were dehydrated. Better take care of that before too late. Though for some reason you can’t explain, you feel like you’re really in the mood for Vanilla Milkshakes… Maybe one of the bar-jockeys in the VIP Lounge could make you one.

“Hm?” You hum as you’re about to stand up, feeling a slight resistance on your arm as you lean forward. Glancing down to the side, you find Dallra sleeping soundly beside you as well, her arm around your elbow as she lies curled up besid- Wha- D-Dallra?! “Ha-!” You yelp in surprise, having to physically cover your mouth to keep from waking the entire room up. What the hell is she doing here?! You went to bed alone, didn’t you? You guess… maybe she was too tired to find her own place when she brought Gretel to your room…? She usually sleeps in her pod, doesn’t she? Must’ve been really tired then…

Slowly getting up from your spot, careful not to rouse the two from their sleep, you gently remove Dallra’s arm from around you and place Gretel beside her on the bed before creeping away towards the door leading to the hall. As you cross the room, you go by the strange eight-person meeting table that was in this hotel suite for some reason. At least, you think this room was a hotel suite. It’s possible it could just be a Board Room with a bed in it. In fact, it’s more than possible, considering there’s a considerable amount of office supplies, filing closet, wheely chairs, and, as previously mentions, a big fuck-off table you’d expect a Board of Businessmen to meet at in order to discuss how they can better rip off their customer base. There’s also the fact that this is an office building, so a hotel room would be the thing out of place and not the other way around. Which raises the question of why there’s a bed here in the first place, and why is it on display in a meeting room…? You aren’t really sure what kind of business this Tower is used for, but it’s suspect as hell.

Stepping out into the hallway, you feel a particular chill run over you, your god tiers still damp from the intense dreaming you were just doing. You tuck into your cape a bit more than usual, using it as a makeshift blanket as you roam the corridors. Let’s see… there was a service lounge around here somewhere, wasn’t there? Haugrr had wanted to ensure there was an open bar on the level your group was using as a base while you were stopping for the night. On a related note, you should probably address the rate at which your friend is emptying bottles as of late. Can a corpse even get drunk? Is the body he’s in even still maintaining a proper digestive system, or is it purely esthetic? Who the hell are you kidding, you don’t really care one way or another. But if your base level understanding of emotional stability is anything to go off of, it’s probably not a good thing he’s slamming the whiskey sours back like a jobless day-drinking dad.

“I mean it, Pinny, I owe you big time.” You hear echo out into the hall from the room a few doors down from where you are. “You lot really pulled me out the fire there, so I don’t wanna hear no jabber ‘bout you not needin’ recompense from me, y'hear?.”

“While I appreciate the offer, Sister, truly your return to us is all the payment I’d ever ask.” You hear responded. Sounds like Leah and Esspin speaking. What are those two doing up this late?

“Shucks, y’all makin’ me blush now.” Leah muses as you round the corner to look into the room. It appears you’ve found the speakeasy you were looking for, with the two Hope Players sat at the bar itself. Strangely enough, Creed is present as well, sat at a small two person table by the window, his attention focused on the pages of a small book he holds within his hand. “There’s gotta be somethin’ I can do for ya, though, right? It just… it don’t feel right, owin’ a debt as big as this one without at least tryin’ to repay it somehow.”

“I appreciate your sense of virtue, my friend, but your debt was never the intended goal of my efforts.” Esspin assures the girl, holding both palms towards the Knight as if to physically ease her. “I’ve never abandoned a friend in battle before. Even if one were to fall, that’s no reason to start.” Never abandoned, huh… That seems familiar. She’s said that to you before, hasn’t she?

“Well… anywho, the least I can do is buy you a drink for your troubles.” Leah suggests, gesturing to the Lizard behind the bar, another one of those Tall Consorts, a Confidant, you believe Gretel called them. This one doesn’t have an unusual aura like that other on the abandoned level a few floors up. You made sure to lock your doors after seeing that weird little bugger slinking around.

“No need. I deeply appreciate the gesture, but I’m… doing my best to keep a sober streak going.” Esspin politely refuses, gently waving away the offer. “It’s best to not start down the path of a vice once you’ve already escaped its addiction, even if you believe you’ve mastered yourself enough to handle its influence this time.” The Knight gives a sideways look at the Mage, unsure what her scripture alludes to. “A friend’s advice.” Esspin clarified, seeing the confused look.

“Friend, huh? Is that that gal you were tellin’ me about before?” Leah asks, taking a sip from what looks to be a beer of some kind.

“Kesnik? No, no, I haven’t seen Kes in quite some time now.” Esspin sighs, a sad sort of reminiscent on her face at the mention of the individual. “Not since we-“ Before she can continue, your presence in the room seems to be picked up on, with Leah turning to face you first, followed by Esspin, who follows her sudden change in gaze, and Creed who picks up on the dip in the conversation.

“Boss.” Creed greets you first, glancing up from his book. “I thought you retired for the evening.”

“Uh… Bad dreams.” You awkwardly say back as you fully enter the room, not expecting the entirety of the lounge’s attention to suddenly fall onto you.

“Oh! I’m so sorry.” Esspin apologizes, turning around to face you completely. “I’ve been trying to keep those at bay lately. I guess I’ve slacked off with all the merriment tonight.” You aren’t really sure how to respond to that. She’s been messing with your dreams? Has she told you that before…? She has, hasn’t she. Damn you piss poor memory!

“Don’t sweat it, I-I guess.” You decide, unsure if that was an important task she was supposed to be looking after. “So, uh… what are you guys still doing up?” You ask while sitting down at the bar beside Leah.

“I was only stoppin’ in for a few minutes between patrols.” The Knightly girl explains while between sips of her drink which you are quickly realizing is some kind of Consort brew, a picture of a glowing blue mushroom on the side. “These two vagabonds, on the other hand, were still celebrating the day.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it celebrating.” Creed defends himself. “More like decompressing at the near total collapse of the mission.”

“No need to bring down the mood, Credence.” She says back before going in for a swig. All things considered, Leah’s taken everything that's happened to her today considerably well, seeing as she was literally dead not a full day ago. Although… you're all Godtiers in this room. One way or another, you’ve all had to die to get to this point, you yourself having died twice on your journey. Maybe dying doesn’t hold the same weight as it did when you were mortals. Not the same cruel tragedy you were all fated to befall once you reached the end of your time in the land of the living, rather it’s just another stage of life you all go through when this one comes to an end… Whoa… where the hell did that thought come from?

“S’what I do, Luchra.” Creed answers back, glancing down at his book once more.

“On a related note, actually, I should be getting to my chambers about now.” Esspin politely excuses herself, standing up from the bar. “I’ve stayed up much longer than intended, and Sara’s likely wondering where I’ve been.”

“Never keep a lady waiting.” Leah accepts her goodbye, nodding as she tips the neck of her bottle the Mage’s way.

“Till tomorrow, my friends.” The Tall Troll waves to you all as she lumbers across the room, the sounds of her footfalls echoing heavily through the corridor.

“How bout you, Jace. What’s your poison?” Leah turns to you, her non-drinking drinking buddy now gone for the night.

“Well…” You look to the Bartender, who looks back with expecting disinterest, very obviously perturbed to have patrons in his bar this late. “You think you could make a vanilla milkshake?” You ask the lizard. He only gives a nod in return before getting to the order. “A-ah, no bugs, please.” You tack on, recalling your last drink you received from the establishment. Hearing your request, the Confidant places back a jar of beetles he’d already begun to bring out from under the table.

“Milkshakes, huh?” Leah asks, a small yet unabsent judgment in her voice. “At least throw in a splash of whiskey or baileys maybe. Put some hair on yer chest, why don’t cha?”

“Still seventeen, everybody.” You announce, refusing to fall prey to peer-pressure, regardless of how cool the peer pressuring you is. If there was anyone to get you to take a swig, though, it’s probably be the fucking Cowboy-Angel-Knight with the six-shooter on her hip. “Earth might be gone, but I still acknowledge the laws they had against minors drinking.”

“There were laws against drinkin'?” Leah inquires, scratching her temple with the side of her index finger.

“…?” You aren’t sure how to respond to that. “Y-… Yes?” It might just be you, but the drinking age seemed like a pretty universally known law growing up. Does Leah really not know that? Maybe she’s from reeeal Down South…

“That actually doesn’t sound half bad right now.” Creed says while sitting down next to you on the open stool, having crossed to room to join you. “Make it two milkshakes.” He tells the Bartender. The request invokes a slight shimmer in the frills of the Confidant’s neck-skin, and with a grimace, he scrounges through his cabinets for the extra materials.

“I’ll take another one of these, as well, when you’ve got the time, sir.” Leah says, shaking her empty bottle in the air for him to see.

“So…” Creed says as the three of you wait for your drinks to be served. “I think it should probably be verbalized in some capacity. Today was a bit of a shit-show.”

“A bit might be underselling it.” You sigh, still feeling your temporal reserves not any closer to filling up as when you first laid down to sleep.

“We made it through it, didn’t we?” Leah argues, a nonchalant shrug expressing just how unbothered by all this she really is. Her spirit is something else, isn’t it.

“On a technical sense, yeah.” Creed concedes, raising his eyebrows for emphasis. “That certainly shouldn’t be the norm with all our operations. The only reason we made it out alright was because we had the numbers advantage. A few more people on their side and we’d have been in a lot more trouble than we could’ve handled.” He says while grabbing hold of a bandage he’s got tied around his forearm. Looking at him closer now, you see he’s actually got a few bandages up and down his body. Neatly wrapped, looks like Mary’s work. Those wounds… they’re where the God Hand’s Mage had driven in his nails. You wonder if he put some curse on Creed that’s keeping his regeneration from healing him properly. Seems like a drag.

“The deck has always been stacked, we knew that coming into this.” Leah continues to look on the brighter side, oddly enough. While still gruff in her tone, the Knight seems a lot more upbeat than she’s been since you’ve known the girl, leading you to believe her resurrection might’ve knocked a few things into place with her. Maybe she’s finally removed that Knightly Mask her class is infamous for. “We’ve always managed to keep the Gambit in our favor, haven’t we?

“You better hope it stays that way, then.” Creed warns, a level tone to his voice. “Because as soon as our luck shifts even a little, we’re gonna get our fingers slammed in the door.”

"I don't need hope, I’ve got bullets.” The Knight assures, tapping the weapon that sits at her side.

“I distinctly recall those failing rather recently.” The Heir derides, unconvinced of the girl’s bravado.

“Really? Cause I’m the one still standing, and our enemy has six new holes she can whistle from.” She counters without missing a beat. “Don’t get me wrong, Credence, I whole-heartedly agree with the ‘Hope for the best, prepare for the Worst’ philosophy. Planning is fine and dandy, but there’s no reason to be so sour about it. No matter how hard it was, any day that leads to tomorrow is a good day. Doesn’t matter the scars you get along the way, so long as you’re still breathin’, it’s a win.”

“Scars, huh…” Creed hums as the Bartender sets down the two shakes in front of you before cracking open another beer for the Knight. “I guess we’ve got more than a few of those going around now.”

“Oh yeah, look at that. All three of us got shiny new trophies to show off, don’t we.” Leah agrees with him.

“Hm?” You look from side to side at the two as you sip your drink, unsure what they’re talking about.

“Scars, Boss.” Creed clarifies, having to spell it out for you before you understand, physically tracing a finger across his left eye in the shape of your Medeas-Scar.

“Y’all two are lucky. Yours didn’t give you an entire makeover when you got 'em.” Leah sighs while running a hand through her Silvered Hair, the White Magics that resurrected her leaving its mark on the places it put back together, the extent of its changes ending at the scar dividing her face.

“Yeah, lucky us.” Creed grumbles while idly scratching at the side of his neck, the collar of his hood pushing down just enough to show off a few of the deep scars around his throat. Huh… Guess you’ve all been pretty banged up lately. Thinking back to your own blemish that lies over your eye, what little you can actually remember of the night, you recall the Forge mission being an absolute circus. The entire opposing team was just Medeas and the Prince of Time, and they were more than able to kick each and every one of your asses. The embarrassment looking back on it now is almost comical. Honestly, the only reason you survived was because… because a voice appeared in your head, telling you what to do… “Hm? What’s up, Boss?” Creed asks, seeing a realization flash across your face. That’s right! Right before Frank was struck by that arrow, you were going to attempt to mimic Finlus’s Ritual to reach back in time! With Frank back, you’re free to actually give it a go! How the hell could you forget your own plans like that?!

“Nothing… just… Don’t stay up too much longer.” You say while getting up from the bar, lingering a moment as you pour over the factors involved in the ritual you’ll be attempting. “Tomorrow might be a big day.”

“Um? Sure thing.” He nods, watching you back away from the two of them, exchanging looks with Leah over your behavior. “No problem, Boss.”

Stepping away, you leave the room at a quicker than intended pace, too occupied with the logistics of it all. You don’t really remember the messages Creed conveyed to you then, but you guess if you give your Heir the gist of what was said, temporal causality will align his words for him. Then there’s the matter of when in the past to connect to. You remember the big ones, on the Forge, then the bottom of the Pyramids, when you were on the Thief of Hope’s head. Those are the ones that stick out most obviously in your memory, but he’s contacted you more than that, hasn’t he? You’ll have to trace your steps back to be sure. What about sending messages to the future? No, wait… that’s pointless, you could just write those down if you needed to. Maybe you could try reaching out to the future for more info? Although, you’re already disregarding the Gridlock Time has placed on its Flow, maybe you don’t tempt fate with trying to get a peek behind the curtains. Augh! There’s just too much to consider! Not only that, but how will Frank’s involvement mesh with Creed’s cognitive influence? 3x Fraymotif can get messy with even experienced players, but Frank is still a novice. You doubt he’s ever used his powers beyond his small vitality heals, let alone a Motif. He could be a Wildcard factor in all this, and- where the hell are you?

Snapping out of your mental tangent, you realize you’ve been walking this entire time, finding yourself at a completely unfamiliar part of the Tower than you started in. Getting your bearings, you hope to backtrack, but soon realize that you’re at a 4-point crossroads in the hallway, leaving you unsure which corridor you’d first come down. Well… This isn’t good.

With the only other option being to stand around in this junction all night, you inevitably decide to simply pick a direction and stick with it, settling on the way you were facing when you realized you were lost. You travel the dim halls of the Tower as swiftly but quietly as you can manage, an eerily similar vibe to the floor you’d seen the weird mutant consort on earlier. God, you really hope you don’t run into that thing again. Which, by the looks of those shiny elevator doors at the end of the hall, you won’t have to! Score! Hurrying to the hall’s end, you arrive at the pearly gates and immediately start spamming the call button, impatiently waiting for the cabin to arrive. Yet, wait all you wish, you still remain standing there in the dark hallway, no elevator in sight. Another busted lift… Fuck. Is this entire damn tower an enormous game of Corporate Chutes and Ladders?! Is there no way to ascend unless you find the proper entry to take you higher?! Ugh. Whatever, at least now you can figure out where the hell you wandered while lost in thought. Looks like this is Floor- Haa? Floor Forty Seven?! You’re like thirtysomething levels down from your room! Oh Heeell no, you aren’t walking up all those stairs! You gotta find whatever the hell’s keeping the elevator from opening.

Venturing elsewhere, you quicken your pace as you speed-walk down the various corridors on the floor you’ve mysteriously found yourself on, traversing these motherfucking hallways like they’re your Prized Pony at the County Fair. Beginning to stress just the fairest bit at the unchanging similarity each hall bears to the last, you eventually come across a break in the uniformity, finding an open foyer with a great big shining chandelier that leads down into an entry lobby of some kind. Strange, though. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear this was the lobby at the ground floor, same entry doors at the front of the room and everything. What’s a room like this doing nearly fifty floors up?

“Greene?” You hear your name called as you begin to step down the right side grand staircase leading into the lobby. Turning to face the caller, you spot the Maid of Rage behind you, up on the balcony that overlooks the foyer, a floor above the one you’re on. Oh shoot, you probably would’ve walked straight past her had she not spoken up.

“Amelia.” You greet her back, looking up at the girl.

“The fuck you just call me?” She crinkles her nose at the name, making you realize you’d gotten it wrong again.

“Ah-, s-sorry, names are still a little jumbled up here.” You apologize, gesturing to the space around your head. “Mia. I know your name.”

“I’d fucking hope so.” She crosses her arms at the slight before getting a strange look on her face. “The hell are you doing down here?”

“…Evening walk?” You shrug, not having a proper explanation for what you’re doing in this place.

“What?” She blinks, stupefied by your answer.

“F-forget it.” You awkwardly move the conversation along. “What about you? What are you doing up in the middle of the night?”

“What, you think you’ve got a monopoly on bad dreams?” She asks with a sneer, leaning over the guardrail on her lookout. Shit, maybe Esspin really should be keeping an eye on your nighttime rests.

“You had a bad dream and your first inclination is to walk thirty five floors down from home base?” You question her motives with a skeptical squint.

“You’re here too, asshole! What’s your excuse?” She scowls down at you.

“I already said, evening walks!” You protest, evoking a groan of disgust from the Maid.

“There’s a garden on this level, numb-nuts. That’s why I came down.” She reveals, sounding annoyed to have to explain herself.

“Garden?”

“Yeah, it connects us to the neighboring building.” She points forward, towards the doors of the lobby area and the enormous glass windows above them. “You didn’t see it from outside when we were coming in?” You guess you did notice a bridge on the side of the building when you first arrived at the Tower, but you didn’t think much of it at the time. She seriously spotted the flowers from all the way down there?

“Since when the hell do you care about plant life?” You ask her, turning back to face the girl as she lurks on her Capulet Balcony. Even if she did like plants, why would that ever be a reason to walk 30+ flights to a place.

“My mother kept a garden, you jackass.” She barks at you from her perch. “It reminds me of home.”

“Well that’s-… understandable, I guess…” You awkwardly pull back from the insult you had lined up, seeing a genuineness in Mia you hadn’t expected. She looks at you funny, unsure what to make of your sudden withdrawal from the verbal bout.

“Haaaa.” She exhales with exacerbated emphasis. “…You wanna check it out with me?”

“…Is this a trap?” You instinctually assume. “You gonna throw me off the side of the skybridge or something?”

“If I was going to throw you off anything, it’d be a lot higher than forty seven floors.” She assures you, inspiring no confidence as she leaps from her gallery, landing on the steps next to you with the grace and silence of a cat. God damn, her shoes barely even made a -clacking- sound when she touched down. “Now come on. It’s actually looks pretty nice out there.” Officially partying up with you, you’re joined by… Mia, of all people, and the two of you begin to descend the steps towards the Tower’s exit. Who’d have thought? Certainly not you, that’s for sure. A stretch of awkward silence shows up as you make your ways down, but the quiet is broken when the Maid eventually speaks up again. “So I saw a new entry of Death Lore today.” She says, evoking an unexpected chuckle out of you.

“Death Lore?” You laugh, glancing over at the girl. “That thing Rich always said about being revived?”

“Yep.” She nods with a smile, pleased with the memory herself.

“Damn, what was it exactly that he’d say?” You ask yourself, trying to recall his phrase. “Wasn’t it something like; ‘You never truly get Resurrect,“ You begin.

“Your Death Lore just gets a little more interesting.” Mia finished for you.

“Hahaha, yeah! That’s right! He started saying that after I first died, that jerk!” You laugh, remembering fully now all the ways Rich would try to break the ice with your friends after you were revived from your First Death.

“The jackass never did have a sense of tact.” Mia agrees with a smile.

“Oh maan, I haven’t thought about that in ages…” You sigh, a light feeling in your chest. “What other phrases did he used to say?” You ask for more, a giggly kind of aura hanging in the air.

“'What would Jay do?’ ” She says without missing a beat, a dopey tone in her voice as she parrots the saying.

“Whaaat?” You tilt your head at her, having never heard those words leave anyones lips, much less Rich’s. “He never said that.” You wave the answer away.

“He said it all the time.” She emphasizes with a roll of her eyes. “Everyone in the group did, it was like an inside joke.”

“……W-…Why?” You pause, stopping as you reach the final step at the bottom of the staircase.

“Because you said it all the time.” She claims like it was obvious, confusing you further.

“Wh-… Why would I say that?” You ask, the lighthearted atmosphere beginning to be interrupted by whatever it is she’s saying.

“How the hell should I know? You do dumb shit all the time.” She derides, turning back to face you while you hang on the stairs. 

“That doesn’t even makes any sense!” You refuse whatever mind-games she’s trying to play at, sick of her always messing with you like this. “Why would I ask myself what I would do?”

“Jay wasn’t you, genius, you said he was the imaginary friend you had growing up.” She sneers at you with an annoyed scowl. “Any time you had a problem tougher than two-plus-two, there you’d be, muttering in the corner; ‘What would Jay do’, ‘What would Jay say’, ‘Jay wouldn’t wear a red speedo, he’s too cool!’ By the way, what kind of loser names their own imaginary friend after themselves? What, did you have your mid-life crisis at seven years old?”

“Imaginary…? Mia, I-… I didn’t have an imaginary friend growing up.” You tell her, unsure what she’s trying to accomplish by making up a story like this.

“Of course you did, dumbass. You used to draw pictures of him when we were little.” She reaffirms without a second thought. “You’re telling me you seriously don’t remember that?”

“I don’t… I-I-I…” You begin to stammer, your head feeling like it’s about ready to split open as a migraine sets in. “What do you-“

“Wait.” Mia puts a hand up, shushing your question before you can ask it. “…Something’s not right.” She declares, looking around the lobby, seemingly picking up on something you’d missed. Then suddenly, a noise comes from the entrance, and as the both of your attention is drawn to the source, you witness as an animated vine creeps along the floor, entering in through the rotating door at the front of the room. You and Mia stand there, a mix of alertness and confusion as you watch the creeper grow still, settling in a single spot on the lobby floor, before suddenly, a sprout buds from the vine. And at a super-accelerated speed, a fully grown Pumpkin suddenly springs to life from the leafy tendril. You look to Mia, who looks at you back, both absolutely stunned by the vegetable's sudden debut.

 

Jason, Investigate this Pumpkin.

Chapter 83: > Familiar Faces

Pumpkin? What Pumpkin? The only thing even resembling a Pumpkin is the mush of orange pulp slinking down the nearby tapestries that Mia just fucking booted into the wall, kicking the oblong bastard like she was shooting for a hat trick in the final seconds of the game.

“The fuck was that?!” You hollar out of shock, a mild horror at how quickly she dispatched of the seemingly harmless festive vegetable.

“Precaution.” Mia mutters, keeping her eyes on the splattered guts as they slink to the floor. “Weaponized produce isn’t outside the realm of possibilities with some of the nut-jobs that are running around out there.” In the midst of her mean-mugging the splattered gourd with her hackles raised, the Maid seems to notice something in the peripherals of her vision, causing her to calm, the tension in her form relaxing once again. “But… I’ve got a feeling I already know what’s going on here…” She grumbles while turning her attention fully to the door the living vine first came crawling in from. Turning to look yourself, you see a sudden build-up of condensation on the front windows of the lobby that wasn’t there before, hiding the garden from your view. Along with that, all sorts of greenery and vines have begun pouring out from underneath the doors there, like they’re overflowing from outside.

“Wha-aa, what? You know what this is?” You ask, a chill of fear rolling up your spine as you recall that one monster movie about the Mist. Y’know, The Mist? Seeing that veil covering up the outside world, you can’t help but let your imagination run wild of what could be out there. “What the hell is going on?”

“Let’s just say it makes sense why it was so easy to be nice to you.” She sighs while strolling towards the door, an unusually easygoing posture in her walk. “Follow me. I think I can probably hunt her down fast enough.”

“Her…?” You repeat, hoping Mia might elaborate. She doesn’t.

Stepping up and grabbing hold of the revolving door at the lobby’s entrance, Mia forcibly flings the barrier into a spin, mincing the vines and overgrowth that’s gummed up the rotating mechanisms at its bottom. With your passage cleared, the Maid catches the enormous blender blades, forcing it to stop before exiting through the door, disappearing beyond the misty veil. Hesitantly, you follow after, lingering before the cyclonious threshold until you convince yourself that there’s nothing to worry about on the other side. Taking the leap, you step through the portal to find… you… you aren’t really sure what you find.

Upon exiting your tower, you first note the sudden shift in the atmosphere, like you’ve stepped into a world with a lower gravity, leaving you feeling lighter on your feet than you were just a moment ago. Immediately hit by the cool breeze of the LOHRAC air, you feel a chill as you come face to face with… a… Fall Festival? Across the wide-berth skybridge, countless concession stands and rides and gaming attractions are set up, awkwardly placed about the open areas between a sleek and brutalist style garden, barn lights are strung over the entire bridge, giving a rustic and homely feel to the crossing, and there’s a thin layer of crisp, freshly-fallen leaves coating the concrete grounds, despite there being no actual trees for them to fall from. Small pyramid stacks of hay bale bricks are scattered from place to place, of which several Moose Consorts play upon, and the distinct smell of fried foods and sound of country music dance about the air hanging over the crowds. Between the chaos, vibrant flowers and lush plant life form through the cracks within the Festival, bleeding through the visage of the fall holiday with blooming enthusiasm, clashing and mixing its lively greens into the orange and browns of the fair with an unusual swirl of color. Taking all of it in all at once, you’re left overwhelmed by the sight of what you’ve found, watching as the two themes overlap one another, giving the environment of the bridge a manic feel to it, like a painting with no direction, the landscapes simple splattered onto one canvas with no regard for color composition or geometric consideration. And the Pumpkins. Dear God, there are so many Pumpkins, an entire patch lying over the length of the bridge, their vines running rampant across just about everywhere the eye can see. A mess, in every sense of the word.

Venturing out into this mess, you look all around yourself, amazed and amused by what it is you’re seeing, a kind of magic in the air as you walk through the festivities. Where did all this come from? It’s amazing! You should get everyone else down here as well, just think of the fun you could all have! Without realizing, too enamored with the smells of what you can only assume to be fried butter, you’ve walked into what seems to be a small concert, with one of the Moose Consorts up on a stool strumming a guitar as a few watch and enjoy the music. As you gaze up to the small stage, and the performer completes their song, thanking the audience for being so kind, you accidentally stumble into one of the Consorts, turning their attention onto you.

“Oh, good!” She says upon turning to see you, nearly goring you with their unruly rack. “A volunteer.” She continues, grabbing hold of your hand and leading you up the side of the crowd to the mic.

“W-w-wha?” You mutter as you’re suddenly tugged along, turning up to face the open stool that you’re being guided to. “N-no, I didn’t-“ You try to clarify, only to be cut off.

“If ya forgot your strings, no worries. We’ve got plenty on standby.” Your escort assures you, as she leads you to a rack of various guitars and basses. “Hurry on up, though. We ain’t got anyone scheduled to go on till nine.”

“Uhh…” You anxiously hum, looking from the rack to the crowd to the rack again, unsure what to do. Until finally, you spot it there, standing tall between the ranks of instruments. A Banjo, coyly placed between its brother-strings, practically begging to be chosen. Gently, you remove the instrument and test it out, plucking at its chords and evoking that bittersweet familiarity of a sound to ring out. Throwing the strap around your shoulder as if you’ve done it a thousand times before, you step up onto the low stage as though it were second nature and gaze out at the crowd who all wait expectantly, antlers up and long snouts a-chirp as they chatter in anticipation for you to start. “Uh… This song… is about a woman… w-who lost her husband to the war, and now has to face life with her daughter alone… Thank you.” Taking a deep breath, you look down to make sure your hands are on the right chords. You don’t have any fingerpicks on you, and so you play with your fingers themselves, giving your strings a strum.

 

DBDBG BBDBD

DBDBG BBDBC B

D B

B C C

B BBG

B BBG BCB G CG

BCDG BCDGG

 

Finishing up the easygoing tunes of the song’s soft intro, just when you’re about to transition into the meat of the ballad, you’re snatched by the ear and pulled off stage. While yelping in surprise at the sudden pain, you turn to see it’s Mia, having reappeared since last you saw her at the fairground entrance.

“The hell do you think you’re doing, Greene? Now’s not the time to be dragging our feet.” She chastises while pulling you from the stage.

“Agh! Mia!” You yell, brushing her hand away. “God damnit! Do you know how long I practiced for that show?”

“Stop fraternizing with the Megafauna.” She ignores your question as she places both fists against her hips to glare at you.

“Mega-fauna?” You repeat, about 90% sure she just made those words up. “What the hell is a mega-fauna?”

“What does it sound like, dumbass. Really big animals.” She rolls her eyes as you readjust the banjo around your shoulders to hang from your back.

“But they’re so small…” You mutter under your breath while glancing back to the concert to observe the pint-sized consorts, noticing your crowd has already found another performer to fill in for you. Man…

“Come on, move it.” Mia disregards your point, pushing you forward until you walk for yourself. “She’s gotta be around here somewhere…”

“Hey, that’s the second time you’ve mentioned this illusive ‘she’ person.” You point out as you’re trolleyed along. “Is this someone I should know about?”

“We’re going to meet her, aren’t we?” The Maid asks back as you navigate through the ruckus of the festival, passing trailers and food trucks carelessly positioned onto the bridge as Moose run from place to place all around you, some messing about the hay, some kicking and gnawing on the pumpkins scattered all about.

“Does this person have a name?” You inquire as you continue to gaze at your surroundings, an unusual sensation beginning to float to the front of your mind. Why is there a festival on a bridge of all places? Where… did all this come from? In the midst of your sight seeing, you accidentally bump into a Moose walking in the opposite direction, evoking a ‘Beg Pardon’ thick with a country accent from the fellow, his voice unexpectedly deep for a Consort his size. Come to think of it, the consorts of this Land are lizards, aren’t they? So why are there mega-fauna here? “What the…” You mutter under your breath as you watch the Moose continue on in the opposite direction after your collision, stopping to hug a pumpkin that he runs directly into afterwords. Something isn’t right about all this…

“I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.” Mia explains, drawing your attention forward. “All you need to know is she’s probably here for a reason. Fair warning, she’s a weird one.” Before the words can even fully leave the Maid’s lips, you hear as someone begins to speak aloud, their voice projecting as though reading to an audience.

“The clock had just struck Midnight. And as the third satellite of Epsilon-Five creeped yonder peak, sprinkling down radiant rays of moonlight like beams from a vintage orbital space-laser, the glistening glow bounced from the pecks of Salazar’s bountiful chest, his scales twinkling with open splendor. Young Galahad watched with bated breath from the edge of the woods that were his territory, enamored by the mysterious stranger that had set down upon the mountainside, flying in like some kind of hot-bod angel. Countless questions ran rampant in the Omega’s supple mind; Who was this Dragon Dude? For what business did he have on the Forbidden Mountains? Why was his pose so alluring, lain back across the rugged stone? Why was his shirt unbuttoned? Was it a threat? An invitation? If Galahad had asked him out to a cup of coffee, would he have agreed?” Alarmed at first by the sudden voice barking words at your party, you quickly searched your surroundings, scouring for the source of whoever it was nearby. However, your brief moment of panic is cooled the longer this person continued with their rant, leaving you more confused than anything else. “Something compelled Galahad to the Dragon Dude. A primal longing in his softy, furry regions, hotly welling up in his lower core. Yet, the Werewolf held himself back! The Pact was on the prowl, and would be along with him in only a matter of moments. He still had, like, thirty rabbits to hunt down and capture, not to mention he was still behind on yestermonth’s rabbit demand. Any more behind on his rabbit tasks, and he’d risk being kicked out from his Den’s Embrace. No amount of sweaty scales and rippling dragon muscles would be worth losing that feeling he’d get while in the strong arms of his Brothers. Wrestle night was his favorite.” Finally able to identify where it is the voice is speaking from after a long enough monologue, you and Mia seem to locate whoever it is reading pornography aloud in public at roughly the same interval, turning around to find a four-pile high stack of hay bales behind you. Atop said bales, you find a ghostly looking creature, pale white skin and snow white hair, with eyes darker than the night sky. At first glance, you think the Sylph from the God Hand has tracked you down somehow, but these worries soon quell when you notice an extra set of arms sprouting from the back of the alien’s sides, a feature you hadn’t seen on the Sylph. Another of her species, then? Like Ginnun. Dwarves, right? Around the girl’s neck is a long pink and purple scarf which drapes down beside her on the hay bales, and in her hand is a paperback book, crudely held together by a few brass fasteners through its binding. That appears to be the source from which she’s reading from, as her attention remains fully upon the pages. “However, temptation has a way of rooting itself into one’s thoughts. And the thoughts of a furry wolf guy were no exception. Salazar had caught the attention of the Omega in his careless galavantings upon the border of the Pack’s Enclave. Surely, a Dragon Dude of such esteem knows the consequences that might come if he were to cross that boundary into the Alpha’s turf? If he were to step into… forbidden territories… Of course he knew! That cocky smile, the arrogant posture in which he lied sexily upon the rocks! He was a rebel. And Galahad liked that. For throughout all his years, Galahad had proven to be a good pup in theory, but in practice, it would seem, he has proven otherwise. He could not take his wandering eyes off the sultry spirit and his powerful arms, snout twitching restlessly as he waits like a good boy to see those mighty wings take Salazar into flight once more.” Seemingly coming to an end, the pale alien girl on the pyramid above you concludes her reading of the erotica, allowing a silent pause to fall over the scene, with you and Mia looking up at her as she continues to stare at the open pages of her book. Mia in particular seems notably unamused by the alien’s antics, a stare of tired disbelief aimed at her as the sounds of the festivities continue on in the background. “So! Whadid’ja think?” The uncanny creature asks, suddenly turning to look down at you and the Maid.

“W-… wha?” Is all you can manage to say as the alien looks down at you with those endless voids where their eyes should be, two single pink dots where her irises should be.

“My book! Whadid’ja think?” She explains with a quaint tilt of her head, clapping the pages of her paperback shut as she waits for your answer. “It’s only the intro to the fourth chapter, but any notes? I’m really looking for feedback on this one, so whatever you’ve got, I’m all ears!” As if to emphasize the request, the alien physically presents her sharp, pointed elf-ear to you, holding one of her hands behind the back of it to show it off.

“Uhh… is it supposed to be… so graphic?” You ask, feeling unqualified to critique a piece of fiction, no matter how raunchy.

“It is actually!” The alien girl exclaims while nodding her head vigorously. “That’s the whole gimmick of the series. The narrative revolves around two lovers from opposing factions, the Werewolves and the Dragon Dudes, Mortal Enemies for as far back as history has recorded the Ethanalzgul Highlands. See?” She explains, holding up the cover of her book for you to inspect, the front of the novel covered in crudely illustrated drawings done in pink ink depicting an imminent conflict between a multitude of figures upon a mountain stage, the focus revolving mainly around two individuals in particular, a barrel-chested werewolf with cartoonishly long claws and a bipedal dragon-man in torn jorts. “The first entire book will be full of scandalous interactions and sizzly fan-service to lull the reader into believing the narrative is a simple smutty storyline, y’know, really sauce it up, but then, at the end of chapter three of book two, the Dragon Dudes, using the peace established at ending of the first novel, will launch a preemptive attack on the Werewolves’ capital city, plunging the plot into a political intrigue thriller where the two main characters of the first book have to navigate their love through an ever expanding war that threatens to consume the entire Highlands! And yeah, there’ll be a whole lot more smut along the way, but that’s more just to string the more barbaric readers along for the ride.”

“I-… I’m compelled to ask why?” You hesitantly inquire, unsure what’s even being said to you right now.

“It’s supposed to be a satirization of those sleazy monster-fucker books you see on the back shelves of the adult sections in book stores.” She elaborates on the smut. “You know the ones where they have the protagonist bangin’ some undwarven creature in an appeal to the basest, most debaucherous form of man-versus-nature. Just when you think you’re enthralled in a shallow, junk food beach-read, then boom, you’re caught in the middle of a complex military drama when all you came looking for was oiled-up lizard chests.”

“Yeah, that-that’s… a decision…?” You nod along with the girl, your attention falling upon a pink tufted tail as it sweeps out in front of her from behind the bales.

“Werewolves?” Mia peers at the alien, disgustingly intrigued with her story.

“And Dragon Dudes!” The girl cheerfully adds. “I found a book in my mother’s stash this one time with a really buff werewolf on the front, and I thought, oh cool, some kind of dark, action fantasy novel, but… i-it wasn’t that at all…… but it was also written really badly, which, like, where’s the fun in that? Even if the entire genre is cheesy and kinda gross if taken seriously, there’s so much more you could do with that! Keep the saucy scenes, even, but you’ve gotta know how to work em, y’know? A time and place for all things, even those things.”

“Eh. I’ve probably found worse things in my mother’s stuff.” Mia mutters with a shrug. “So, no martini this time, huh?”

“Nope! Told ya, chica, I’ve been sobes for a whyle now.” The Dwarf proudly declares while adjusting her posture to be more prim and proper, gently placing the back of her fingers against the bottom of her chin.

“I-I’m sorry, am I missing something here?” You interject, unsure what’s even happening right now, your mind feeling like its swimming in a fog. “What the hell is going on?” With a sigh, Mia looks up to the alien again.

“Why are you here, Roxirainius?” She forcibly moves the conversation on, addressing the living enigma.

“So you do know her name!” You point at the Maid.

“Of course I know her name, at what point did it seem like this was new for me?” She glares her eyes at you, tilting her head to peer your way.

“Then why didn’t you just tell me?” You beseech all that is reasonable and common sensed.

“Because I didn’t think she was real five minutes ago.” Mia exacerbatedly explains as if that isn’t insane. “Look, Roxi, whaddya want?”

“To bring gifts in this time of giving, obvy.” The alien explains while sliding off her bale tower, landing down in front of you both. “Wish I had a big bushy beard and red coat or some shit to drive home the point.”

“Is the gift nonsense?” Mia asks without missing a beat. “I feel like the gift might be nonsense.”

“No, no, trust me, you’re gonna want this one.” The Roxi girl assures, her multiple arms searching through a variety of pockets stitched about her outfit. Looking at her more clearly now, you notice something odd about what she wears.

“You’re… the Rogue of Void…” You say, taking note of her cowl and the eye-mask she has kept down around her neck, just behind her scarf. “I’m dreaming…” You mumble to yourself, realizing what’s been going on. Why you feel so fluttery in the head right now, why there are those strange consorts having some kind of carnival on the bridge between buildings. Why someone who’s been dead for weeks is standing before you right now. This isn’t real…

“Yes, but actually no.” Roxi says while reaching over with a hand from her lower set of arms, pitching you firmly in your chest.

“D-AHH!” You yelp, quickly pulling away from the assault.

“You’re not dreaming, but we are in a dream.” She clarifies as you nurse the purple nurple she’d just given you. “Mental projection from a champion of hope, long story, already been explained. Point is, this is all happening, to some extent, from a certain point of view, also I’m a Scout, not a Rogue, please respect my culture.”

“What?” Nothing has been explained. Nothing has been explained, and you fear that it won’t be any time soon.

“But, good news for you, this is all real enough for me to return this!” She says, finally able to retrieve what she’d been looking for in her pockets. And presented to you, daintily held between two fingers, careful not to damage its fragile frame, is the tiny Dersite Exile Ship you found within the Collective. You stare at the artifact a moment as your brain tries to comprehend what it is you’re looking at. That’s not possible, the Ship is…

“Where…” You mutter before launching into your Sylladex, scouring your inventory listing for the hope you’ve been banking on to get you all out of this mess. It’s gone. This isn’t a trick, she’s somehow gotten into your Captchalogue Deck. “How the fuck did you-?!”

“Easy, Tiger.” She suddenly says, extending the stolen artifact out towards you, no resistance in her stance. “Returning it, remember?” Thrown off-kilter by the gesture, you pause. Without a doubt, the most valuable item in this entire psych ward of a universe, and she’s just… giving it back? Does she not know what it is? “Well? It ain’t gonna bite, scaredy-cat.” She insists, wagging the ship in front of you. Before the damn thing can break in her hands, you reach forward, quickly but gently accepting her offer.

“…How long?” You mumble to her, a fair amount of embarrassment having your anger so swiftly cut off by the girl.

“Half a day, maybe.” She shrugs, catching you by surprise. Half a day? That can’t be…

“Who?” You ask, unable to comprehend how this has happened.

“That Brigand in Hope duds.” Roxi reveals, crossing her lower set of arms.

“The Thief?” You put together for yourself, looking down at the item as it rests in the palm of your hand, the only hope you have of getting out of this place alive. “T-that’s not possible. The ship never left my inventory!”

“Typical rules of engagement don’t really factor all that much when the culprit is cracked out their flippin’ gourd with power.” Roxi explains the series of events that separated you from your salvation. “That scruffy purple guy you sicced on her, while hilarious, was feeding the dame hella majyyks the entire War. Remarkably scandalous, but overall irresponsible considering how powerful he made her. From the looks of it, cheeky gal plucked the boat straight outta your captivity deck, like taking sweets from a babe. She pretty much had reality by the balls at that point, so there wasn’t much she couldn’t do so long as she thought it was possible. Snatchin’ inventory artifacts doesn’t seem all that unreasonable with the whole picture considered.”

“Is that what happened?” You ask while looking to Mia for confirmation. You didn’t know there was an actual reason for why Graziella went all Queen of the Monsters on LODAF, you thought she just kinda did that.

“That still doesn’t explain how the Ship ended up in your hands.” The Maid notes, turning to the Dwarf.

“I swiped it back from the Brigand not long after she lifted it off of you. I’m, like… a pretty awesome Burglar, if you hadn’t realize.” The ghostly apparition humbly brags. “And considerin’ both you and the Brigand’s group have been keeping info on this sucker locked up like fort friggin’ knox, there was just enough secrecy around the thing that made it the perfect target for me to get my pretty little phalanges on. And from my grubby mitts, I so graciously return it to you all.”

“Why?” You ask the girl. Her left ear twitches at the question, flicking down to the side before returning upright again, almost like a physical indication that she didn’t understand what it is you asked. “Why return it? Something this valuable… why not keep it for yourself?”

“Because something strange is happening out in the dark of the Arena.” She explains with a sudden serious tone. “Powerful forces working their tendrils into the core of the Medium, biding their time as they wait for Prophecies to come about in the Lands here. Setting things irreversibly in motion while trying to bring about something Unthinkable. Unknowable, even.”

“You’re speaking of the Horrorterrors?” You assume given how she’s talking.

“Horrorterrors?” She repeats with a subdued laugh. “There hasn’t been so much as a peep from the Dark Pantheon since we’ve been here. Those softies don’t even know this place exists. Nah, whatever’s causing this stir is Homegrown Arena Goods. Packed, Shipped and Manufactured all in this very incipisphere. So I figure having a guy working towards an escape from this place doesn’t seem half bad of an idea.”

“…” Taking all that the Void player’s had to say into consideration, you stare at the miniature vessel in your hand a moment longer before captchaloguing it once again, ensuring its safety from the world. “Thank you. It’s good to know we have supporters out in the Wilds of the Arena.”

“No prob, really. But in my professional opinion, I advise not pulling any more stunts like what happened on Lodaf anytime in the near or far future. It’s hard to say for sure how close you got to the point of no return, but another incident could tear the Medium a new asshole. So, y’know… not ideal.” The Void alien advises.

“We’ll be sure to keep that in mind the next time a God-Complex Reality Bender has a bone to pick with us about our desire to continue living.” Mia sarcastically assures the… Scout? The hell kind of class is that…?

“Hey, don’t go thinking your hands are squeaky clean in all this ether, Smithy.” Roxi turns to the Maid. “Sawing off the War-God’s legs to immobilize her was pretty savvy, but tying that purple thing’s fate to the Doom of Lodaf was cereal risky. D’you know how close that entire planet came to falling apart? ‘Bee’s Dick’ would not be an unreasonable description, lady!” Blinking a few times, it takes a moment for you to process the information being said.

“You tied the Fate of Lodaf… to Ryder?!” You shout, gobsmacked. “How the fuck did you make that happen?!”

“A spell I got from some witch I killed, and it worked, didn’t it?” Mia says, waving away the accountability.

“I see where you were going with the idea. If your Doom is bound to a planet, you’d reasonably believe your ass is covered until the Land itself Ends. It might’ve been a clever plan, if not for the fact that you weren’t able to make your buddy immortal with your trickery.” Roxi begins, explaining the ramifications of her actions to the Maid. “The Abjuration didn’t so much protect him any more than he would’ve already been on his own, it just kinda ended up putting the entire planet on a fast track towards its destruction. Bad Luck, if you ask me, I really liked the program you wrote for that Hex. Your coding’s really come a long way, but Immortal Software is tougher to get right on the first try than other scripts. A-for-Affort, though.”

“Ugh. This is why I don’t use magic…” Mia mumbles to herself. “God damn Monkey’s Paw Clauses…”

“Okay, what the hell, we’re not sweeping past the World-Ending-Spell you can apparently cast.” You steer the conversation back to the main subject of resting the very ground you stood upon on god damn Ryder’s shoulders. “What the hell were you thinking?!”

“Calm down, asshole, it was supposed to be Insurance while Ryder was still finding his legs.” She rolls her eyes. “Taking on that psycho-bitch was proof of concept that the kid’s ready to play in the big leagues, and that’s not just proof for you or me or even him, but every cheap-shit loser that keeps taking potshots at us when they think they’ve got the upper hand. It’s a message; We aren’t Afraid to let things get Out of Hand.”

“Do you know how psychotic you sound right now?” You genuinely can’t tell if Mia has finally gone off the deep end or if she’s never been swimming in the shallows to begin with.

“Hey, none of this would’ve ever happened if you had just nutted-up and killed the bitch when you first went against her.” She chastises you like you were the one who almost blew up the fucking planet you were on. “Ryder would have never even stepped foot out there if you knew how to handle your shit.”

“Well excuse fucking me for not being able to take a life on a whim!” You sarcastically apologize. “Not everyone likes killing like you do, Mia!”

“I don’t like killing, you fucking freak.” She sneers, looking at you like you’ve just kicked a puppy. “What, because I learned how to defend myself, I’m some crazed lunatic? I didn’t have a fucking choice in that decision, you ignorant fucking moron! I was all alone on my planet! The only one looking out for me was Me. It was ether grow a backbone or get torn apart by monsters, not that you would know anything about that, everyone waiting on you hand and god damn foot. You think it wasn’t scary for me? You think I wasn’t terrified the first time I picked up my polearm? You think I wasn’t fucking Shaking when I put my saber through an imp’s chest for the first time?! I kill when I have to. When it’s either me or the other guy. You kill when it suits you, which apparently is only when you know it won’t be a fight.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mea-“ Before you can finish your question, your vision is suddenly and painfully forced to the right, as Mia slaps you across the face at a blinding speed, evoking an echoing -clap- from your skull. Stunned for a full beat as your face pulses in stinging soreness, you eventually find yourself enough to look back to the one who’d delivered the blow.

“Don’t you try and play dumb in all this, don’t you even try it, Jason Greene!” She yells with a clenched fist pointing a single finger at your chest. “You don't get to parade around like you’re some kind of fucking victim after what you did! You twisted fuck! I like killing, is that what you think? If I like killing, the you fucking Love it!” As you’re still stupefied by the slap that still bites at your cheek, the Maid turns on her heels, stomping away in a march that threatens to take the entire bridge down. The world warps around her as she goes, the festivities of the Fairgrounds shimmering as she walks through physical barriers as if they don’t even exist, dispelling pumpkin and consort alike as if they were all made of mist. The remnants of the fantasy drift away from the inflamed girl, the dream now thoroughly disrupted by her ire. You place a hand against the pulsing side of your face, the shock of the hit dwarfed by the shock of Mia’s outburst. What… was that all about…?

“Hmph.” Roxi clears her throat next to you, reminding you that she’s still here. “Not to criticize how you two air your dirty laundry, but public spaces usually aren’t the best stages to hang up a wire.”

“I feel like I’m missing a lot of context…” You mutter to yourself as you watch Mia disappear into the haze of this dream.

“You and me both, slim.” The Dwarf sighs, sounding the way one would when presented with an unsolvable conundrum.

“Sorry to show you something so… personal.” You apologize to the girl as you turn back from the long-gone Maid. “We’re usually a lot more put together as a team than that.”

“Aww, Jaybirb.” Roxi coos like you’d said something pathetically heartfelt or sad. “We both know that’s not true.” Jaybird… Hearing the name come from someone other than family evokes a strange feeling in your gut.

“D-… don’t call me that, please…” You request, looking down to the side. An awkward beat passes before a thought occurs to you and you turn to the Dwarf once more. “So are you actually real or are you just a hallucination?” She shrugs both sets of arms at the question, seeming unsure of the answer herself. “You remember the guy who killed you?”

“Seems like something you’d be hard pressed to forget.” She notes, not… really answering the question.

“Any idea where he might be?” You take a shot in the dark, figuring the Prince of Life is still probably someone you should be concerned about.

“If you’ve got the hotz for hunting Barons, you’d probs have better luck with one other than that one in particular.” She advises with an unusually jovial tone for one of the dude’s murder victims.

“I take that means ‘no’?” You fill in for yourself, figuring you should be happy with the gifts the Dwarf has given you already. However when you ask, the girl pauses, thinking to herself a moment before delving into her book, scribbling something along one of its pages the long way, inscribing a strange series of shapes and patterns into the parchment. When she’s done, she grabs the top of the page before ripping a strip of paper from the dirty novel, offering you the length once freed from her book. “Wh-what is this?” You ask her while looking over the designs, noting the unusual runic nature of the pink-inked scribbles.

“It’s the Shape of his Death.” She nonchalantly informs, catching you off-guard.

“…What?” You narrow your eyes at the comment, not sure what to make of it. “What does that even mean?”

“Means the thing that’ll kill him looks like that.” She explains, pointing to the note, causing you to reexamine the parchment. It just looks like a bunch of lines and shapes! “It’s a Curse, you idiot.” You look back up at the sudden insult. “Sorry, movie reference.” She waves away your taken aback look.

“H-how do you even know how to make something like this, aren’t you just a Void player?” You look over the paper a third time with a little more context now, trying to figure out how the hell something like this would even work.

“I killed a Champion of Doom when I was alive and their Boon opened my awareness to a lot of things about the Land of the Dead. It’z partly why iz so easy for me to return from the grave like this. Well, that, plus things got weird after the Regicide Shot.” She explains while gesturing to the surrounding Fairgrounds. Pointed out to you now, you realize just how widespread this Festival actually is, seeing signs of the carnival widespread across most of the city, food trucks and concession stands on every roof and bridge, rollercoasters and ferris wheels sprouting from buildings like mushrooms. Roxi said this was all just a mental projection from a Hope player, but… who the hell is powerful enough to make all this?

“Huh…” You hum while taking the unusual scene in, turning back when you realize the first thing Roxi had said. “Doom Champion?” You divert the conversation to her first point. “Which one?” You haven’t checked the Roster in a little while, but you figured most Doom players had blown themselves up by now.

“Warlock.” She promptly explains.

“Those are Mages, right?” She shrugs again. “How’d you do it?”

“Zip Bomb.” She plainly answers once more. Zip bomb? Like the code thing?

“How does that work?” You dig for a little more info on the situation.

“He was a Golem, this mechanical species of walkin’ robots.” She goes on, nodding along to her own story. “Uploaded the file to his brain-drive and sort of, kinda, maybe... exploded his head.”

“Hardcore.” You comment, unsure if that’s something worthy of praise.

“It wasn’t intentional.” She quickly corrects any assumption you had on the matter. “Just a friendly competition to see who had the sickest hax, but shiz got real, fast. Poor automaton didn’t know what hit him. Rest in pieces, sweet Sunlight Catcher…”

“Kaaay… well...... this is still awkward.” You declare, looking for a way to exit the conversation, still feeling it being overshadowed by Mia slapping the dog piss out of you.

“Painfully so.” Roxi agrees, not arguing against your decision to end the meeting.

“I’m… I’m gonna go.” You say, halfway turned back towards your tower. “Good luck with the whole… being dead thing.”

“Aw, tysm!” She exclaims, too fast for you to discern what she said. A-… Autism? You start walking.

Walking through the disintegrating mirage as the hole Mia bore through the Fairgrounds continues to eat out at the rest of the dream, you’re given a straight shot through the chaos back to your building’s entrance. You have a lot of things to consider after all that’s been happening tonight, but the only thing taking up space in your mind at the moment is the stinging pain still lingering on your face. Of all the things Mia has done to you, a slap? She’s given you concussions, bloody noses, shoved your head through a wall, nearly cut your stomach open, hell she choked you half to death, but a slap? Why a slap? Sure it hurt, but not nearly as bad as some of the stuff she’s done to you before. And that look in her eyes, it was like she couldn’t decide between hatred or sadness. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say she looked to be on the verge of tears. That’s not possible, though. You’re 90% sure she had her tear ducts surgically removed after her first week in SBURB. Gah, damn it. Why the hell does everything have to be so complicated? Nothing makes sense anymore…

Glancing down at the scrap of paper still in your hand, you observe the brightly colored inscriptions with suspicious intrigue. How the hell is something like this supposed to kill that tripoded freak-show? Dude was like a fucking Slasher Movie villain the last time you faced off, non-stop going for the kill regardless of what happened to him. Who knows. You captchalogue it regardless, safely nestling it into Catalog #98 of your Inventory. Huh, says here in your Listing it’s something called a Royal Ofuda. Wonder what that’s supposed to mean. While you’re at it, you captchalogue the banjo you’ve still got across your back as well. Don’t want to lose that after practicing so long for the concert with it.

Turning your attention forward, you find that you’ve reached the Tower entrance once again. Entering inside, it feels as if your mind is stepping out of a fog, your thoughts clearing up as you fully leave the dream that’d taken over the world outside your domain. With a clear head now, you notice how an eerie atmosphere has been cast over the building’s lobby. The light’s have been turned out, leaving the entire floor in darkness. Between that and the slowly fading carnival music from behind you outside, you start heading back to the safety of your group as quickly as your speed-walk can take you. You’re up the steps and down the hallway before you can blink, trying to recall where it was you’d first seen the elevators in this maze. Come on, it was around here somewhere, wasn’t it? God damn you, procedurally generated generic hallways, you all look the fucking same! Ha! There it is! The Holy Gates of Elevation, and they’ve been opened as well, leaving its golden light to spill out into the darkness. With a quick step, you rush to get on board before anything else can happen tonight. Yet just as you’re about to step foot onto Salvation's Dumbwaiter, a hand grasps at you from out of the night, taking you firmly by the shoulder.

“Hey-“

“GAAAAH!” You shriek before your pursuer can say anything more. Tearing around, you’re halfway dipped into your Strife Deck to summon Bane of All Mountains when you find the culprit responsible for grabbing you. It’s Creed.

“Sorry! Sorry…!” He apologizes, his hands immediately shooting back in anxious response to your totally manly yell, holding them up to prove innocence as he looks just as startled as you by your response.

“Oh… Christ, Creed, don’t sneak up on me like that…!” You say through excited breaths, your heart beating into your throat from the scare.

“S-sorry, my bad.” He apologizes again, taking a step back to give you space.

“What the hell are you doing down here? I thought I told you to get some sleep.” You remind him of tomorrow's plans you yourself had forsaken. Not like you didn’t have a reason, of course. You’d gotten lost as you were heading to bed and… traveled down thirty flights of stairs without realizing. Seems kind of ridiculous when you think about it. Although… that Rogue did want to meet with you to return the Ship, didn’t she? Maybe she warped you like the Sylph did when you weren’t paying attention. Makes more sense than you walking here without realizing. Guess that means Creed got caught up in the teleport as well?

“Ah, r-right, sleep!” He nods along like he’d just remembered and is trying to save face. “Actually, I was hoping to talk to you about something before we all get our recharge in.” He goes on, gesturing his hands in circles like he’s having trouble finding the words. “Can we talk somewhere more private?” Somewhat confused by the question, you glance around the abandoned foyer floor, not a soul besides you and him on this level. How much more private can you get? “M-more comfortable, I mean.” He clarifies, seeing your perplexed expression. “Not here. There’s somewhere nearby that’d be better to chat.”

“Uuh… sure, I guess?” You agree to whatever it is your Heir is requesting of you. “Lead the way.” With a sudden bright smile, Creed nods before stepping past you, into the elevator cabin. Following after, you step in alongside him and watch as he reaches over to the button panel, pressing for the 5th Floor. The hell? Why so far down? Can’t you just talk in the speakeasy like before? You glance over at the Heir, wondering what it is he’s up to, noticing that he’s still got that smile on his lips, looking like he’s about to start humming.

“You feeling alright, Creed?” You ask the guy, unsure what the hell’s gotten into him.

“Huh?!” He flinches, as if he’d forgotten you were still in the elevator with him. “O-oh, yeah, yeah I’m good! I’m just… still thinking about our big win today!”

“Really? I thought you said today was a shit show?” You remind him, surprised by his sudden change of heart on the matter. Leah must have really had a big effect on him, you suppose. Inspirational, and all that.

“Well, y-yeah, obviously. Total shit show, but, it’s just like… life, right? So crazy…” He awkwardly peters out while gently facing away from you.

“…Alright.” You mumble, slightly turning away yourself. The hell’s going on with him? He break into the sauce or something? Awkwardly standing beside one another as you wait for the elevator to reach its intended floor, you’re jostled from side to side by the uneven bumps of your descent. Although it feels like an eternity, you thankfully reach your intended floor soon enough, the cabin emitting a chiming -ding- as the doors open before you, revealing some kind of cellar level. Stepping out into the dank room, you examine your surroundings with a confused scrutiny. From the looks of it, this place is used for storing barrels of whiskey or some other alcohol, with rows of large racks holding the oak casks in place lining the lengths of the halls here. A strange musky scent permeates around the room that you can’t quite put your finger on aside from stagnating air on a stuffy floor. This is the more comfortable place he had in mind? “Is… this the place?” You look back to Creed as he lingers on the elevator platform.

“U-uh, yeah, yeah, this is good enough.” He nods while seemingly still occupied with the button panel within the elevator’s cabin, his eyes peering at the interface with a mild annoyance.

“Creed?” You call for him, unsure what’s keeping the guy. Yet he doesn’t respond, electing to continue messing with the buttons on the lift. “Creed?” You repeat a little more firmly to get his attention. His focus snaps to you this time, looking like a kid who’d just got caught with their hand caught in the cookie jar. “…Well?” You gesture around you, inviting him to join you on this expedition he insisted upon. God, you’re too tired for all this.

“Right, right…” He nods, finally following you out. Okay, something has to be up with the guy, right? Usually Creed is the easiest dude to talk to, but now it’s like trying to socialize with a clinically anxious fish. The dude's even lost his glasses, it looks like. You've never seen him without them, yet there he is, busted spectacles nowhere to be found. Maybe your mind is still stuck in a fog from before, the last of the warm and fuzzy feeling from the Fairgrounds still messing with your sense of perception. Whatever it is, it's a nuisance. Waiting for your Heir to finally join you, you watch as the elevator doors close shut behind him, and you can hear as the cabin is lowered to one of the few floors below you. Guess a consort called it to them. This is a busy office building, after all.

“Alright, so what was it you wanted to talk about?” You finally ask Creed as the two of you linger about between the endless halls of barrels.

“Okay, so… I had an idea that I wanted to float by you… it might sound a little crazy, but try and keep an open mind about it.” He begins to approach the topic with cautious hesitation, like one wrong word might set you off. You don’t know why. Creed’s probably the one you trust most on this team. It’s not like you’ll bite his head off, even if he’s proposing something out of pocket.

“Look, Creed, I appreciate… whatever this is… I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered, but I just started to get things right with Dallra, and I really don’t want to screw that up.” You try to let him down gently.

“What? N-n-no!” He suddenly blushes deeply, holding his hands out to try and ease you away. Damn. You were just kidding with him, joking around like that, but you guess your comment hit a little closer to home than you intended? Consider you surprised, you didn’t even know he swung that way. Ha, baseball joke. “It’s about the ship!” He quickly corrects what it is he’s trying to court.

“The Ship?” You repeat, a nonplus feeling in your chest at your item being brought up a second time this night. Especially after finding out you had lost track of it in the fray, you can’t help but feel a hesitant unease at its mention. “What about it?”

“I think… well, I think it’d be in everyone’s best interest if… we… started to change who holds on to it every so often.” He floats the idea like a bashful schoolgirl asking out her crush.

“Wh-whu-… why would we do that?” You ask him as you blink through the question, feeling as though his suggestion came from left field. Ha, second baseball joke. But seriously, what the fuck is he saying?

“Don’t you think after what happened today, we should be more proactive in protecting our valuables?” He shrugs his shoulders up, holding them there in anticipation for your answer. “I mean, t-that Thief… bitch… she got pretty close to stealing it for herself, right? What would’ve happened if she actually got away with it?! W-we’d be stuck here, wouldn’t we? What then, we just go back to fighting with each other? Shouldn’t we do something about that?”

“We did do something about that. We fought them off.” You point out to him, not seeing the reasoning behind this idea. “There’s no point in getting worked up over what could’ve happened, what matters is that the Ship is still safe and sound with us.”

“But what if things didn’t go as well as they did?” He says again, still seeming a lot more positive about the day's events than you last left him. “You challenged her, didn’t you? If she had gotten you to forfeit before anyone was able to intervene on your behalf, Graziella would’ve had the ship and been a thousand miles away before you could’ve blinked! And now she knows that you specifically are the one with whom the artifact lodges. What if she returns? Returns and forces the ship from your clutches? Do you not see the flaw in keeping it with but one of us? Surely you see the merit in this plan!” There’s a frantic urgency in Creed’s voice that takes you by surprise. Usually he isn’t this animated. Although, when he does get worked up on the rare occasion, usually his Boston accent starts to be more pronounced in his tone, yet you can’t seem to hear it now…

“Alright, alright, fine.” You concede before he can drive you up a paranoid tree. “Say we do still have things to worry about with the Ship’s safety. Passing around the Ship is supposed to what, exactly?”

“If we swap the artifact between members of our faction, those trying to take it for themselves will not know who the true ship-bearer is!” He excitedly explains, attempting to entice you with the idea. You aren’t really sure if you’re comfortable with that, however. If it’s just you with the Ship, the target’s only on your back, but if anyone could have it, wouldn’t that mean the entire group would be at risk?

“I dunno… If the Thief comes back looking for the Ship again, and she realizes I don’t have it, that could put everyone else in danger, not just me.” You reason with him, figuring he’ll understand your concerns.

“But then we would face the challenge together, wouldn’t we? It would be safer this way.” He tries to persuade you regardless. “On top of that, the risk of our item being simply snatched away by some hidden rouge would be gone, we… wouldn’t have to worry about it… possibly… going missing? Or-or being taken without our notice, r-right…? How about this, I’ll volunteer to hold it first if you’re so worried about whoever has it in their possession. A test run, yes? To see if it is safe! Then, after a certain period of time, I hand it off to the next person, and from there, it’s in proper hands, perfectly safe!” Still hesitant of the idea, you take a glance at your Sylladex listing, the Ship securely back in your care after you’d lost track of it. Handing it off so soon after getting it back… it just seems like a bad idea.

“…” You remain silent as you stair at the item in your inventory, caught in indecision over what to do

“It’s a good arrangement, isn’t it?” Creed tries assuring you. “The eyes of our enemies wouldn’t be solely on you? Minimal risk, ensuring your safety…?”

“Look, Creed, it’s not like I don’t appreciate the worry for me, but it’s about more than just me feeling safe. Passing around the ship like we’re playing hot potato is just asking for disaster.” You bring up, knowing how vicious Fate can be if you leave your ass unguarded, even for only a moment. “

“C’mon, Jason, you know you can trust me.” He insists with an earnest smile.

“Hmm…” You hum to yourself, feeling like you’re being pulled apart by instinct and intuition all at once. You do trust Creed to guard the Ship, but giving him something this coveted would be a big risk to him, and his role on the team is just as vital as the Ship itself. You suppose you’re thankful that he’s so willing to step in the line of fire for your sake, but you can’t shake this gnawing idea at the back of your mind that something could go wrong. “Well… I guess if you’re fine with the hazards that come with it, it’d be fine if you hang onto it for a little while.” You finally relent, figuring if you can’t trust your right-hand man, then who can you trust? Divining into your Captchalogue Deck, you find the illustrious item in question, not even an hour since it’s last seen the light of fluorescent office-bulb day. Selecting the item, your Fetch Modus, as per usual, produces a Maze for you to solve if you want your prize. You see out of the corner of your eye as Creed seems to breathe a sigh of relief at your decision. Guess the uncertainty of your ship’s fate was really stressing him out after everywhere it’s been today. Funny, you didn’t even tell him that the Thief had stolen the ship straight out of your Deck. You wonder how he figured out something like that could even be a threat to the team. Working through the procedurally generated labyrinth, you find the Extraction Node and are about to retrieve the artifact, however, just as your hand reaches out to complete the puzzle construct, that thought buzzing at the back of your sleep-deprived mind finally finds the words to express itself, and you realize something. “…What did you just call me?” You ask, looking up from your select screen at Creed.

“W-what…?” He asks back, a slightly stressed look at the corner of his eyes.

“Just now, what did you call me?” You repeat, unsure if you imagined it.

“J-… Jason?” He answers, confirming it for you.

“……Why?” You follow up your inquiry, your hand slowly lowering from your Fetch Modus as your focus switches fully to him now.

“W-w-well… it’s your name, isn’t it?” He asks. Like, actually, genuinely asks, as though he hasn’t heard it a thousand times since you’ve known him.

“Yeah. It’s also not a name you’ve ever called me before.” You point out to him, subconsciously angling yourself towards the elevator behind you.

“Is… is that right…?” He sort of half-chuckles, scratching at the side of his head as an anxious shutter trembles his voice. It’s then that the realization hits you; The person standing before you doesn’t know your name. Your eyes widen as a chill falls over you, and you begin to understand what’s going on here. That’s not Creed… “Oh yeah, I guess it isn’t, haha. A-anyway, about the ship-“

“On second thought, Creed… I think I’m gonna hang on to the Ship for now…” You say, backing yourself away towards the elevator doors. “Sorry…”

“H-hey, let’s not go that far, Ja-Jay-, u-ugh, w-well we can still switch who holds it, right?” This person begins to follow after you, waddling forwards just as slowly as you back away. “Cuz, y’see it’s actually a little complicated-… so what it is, was-…” He stammers like a sputtering engine, discarding thoughts just as abruptly as he starts them. “I really think… ugh, how do I put this…? You just gotta understand, okay, you-you just don’t Understand!” You’re at the elevator doors now, pressing the call button over and over again, to a slow response. You can hear the elevator slowly rise up and arrive at your level, but the doors refuse to open. Then suddenly;

 

-SLAM-

 

While you’re busy facing down the stranger wearing your friend’s face, a force rams against the top of the cabin arriving behind you, and your attention snaps to the doors in terrified surprise. In the silence that follows after, you hear the echoing bulge of metal flexing as something walks atop the roof of the cabin. Spinning back around when you realize you still have another threat to worry about, you face the corridor of oak casks and find no one there. The Thing impersonating Creed has vanished, a cold breeze creeping down the abandoned halls towards you as you stand alone where you are.

-thunk- -thunk- -thunk-

But perhaps not as alone as you’d wish.

Finally thinking to arm yourself, you summon Bane of All Mountains to your hands and shakily facing the steel plates dividing you and whatever the fuck is breaking into the elevator. You’d begun to back away from the doors when you realize whoever it is pretending to be Creed is still running around out there in the dark. Damn it, you’re cornered! Okay, okay think… There’s gotta be another elevator on this level. Do you make a break for it before whatever it is in the lift makes its way through? Do you stay and fight?

 

-KREEEEEEEEE-

 

Answering your question, a set of scythe-like blades are suddenly jammed in between the doors of the elevator, two enormous claws which clash and cut against the metal, forcing the panels apart, and behind the veil, a set of blaring eyes peer at you with vein-chilling bloodlust. Run, the answer is definitely run! Without needing any more convincing, you turn tail and book it, tearing down the corridor as fast as your fatigued legs will carry you, Bane trailing in tow as you search for a way out. Just as you’re exiting out into an adjacent row of barrel shelves, you hear an ear-piercing slam as the elevator doors are completely torn from their shaft, letting whatever the hell you saw into the cellar level with you. Was this a trap? That thing that looked like Creed, it lured you here for this thing to find?! And you just let it take you to the bottom of the god damn building! Stupid! Now there’s eighty floors between you and anyone who can help! Exhausted, powerless, isolated. This is too calculated to be a coincidence…! They’ve found you! You don’t know how, but the Rogue of Life has found you! Orchestrated this hit! Her next move on the board!

“KRUUAAGGH!” Behind you, the roar of the creature echoes out through the halls, sending a shuttering cringe across your shoulders when you hear it, the sounds it makes like a can-opener made of undulating flesh. With how close you can tell it’s already gotten, you know you won’t be able to outrun this thing if it gets its sights on you. The shelves on this floor are organized in a grid pattern as well, meaning there’s no place to hide. You’re really up a creek on this one.

“fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” You silently curse to yourself as your run begins to turn into a speedy hobble, the exhausted fatigue in your legs growing too great to ignore. Reaching the end of the rack you’re in, you dip into the intercepting walkway, traveling across the rows of barrels until you’re three down, hurrying back between the corridors to run once more. Even through the barriers between you, the enormous weight of the creature galloping through the halls is audible enough to hear as it clashes and clatters its form against the casks, causing a -slash- as the contents within spill when broken open. Wait… that’s it! The barrels!

“UREEEEH!” The horrid shrieking continues to grow closer, the thing having must’ve caught your scent. Working fast, you take Bane and swing its pick into a barrel on the shelf next to you, and when you pull it out again, an amber liquid comes spilling out, pouring across the floor. Perfect! Repeating the process, you punch holes in an entire row of barrels, covering the ground before you with their contents. With that done, you delve into your inventory and select the last piece of your plan. Your 1x Rocket Boot. Left, right, right, left, straight, left, straight. Bingo! Equipping upon your foot, you hop your way to the end of the corridor you’re in, careful of the engine in your boot with no gloves to control its flame properly. And there you stay, trying to keep your nerve as you listen to the thrashings of your pursuer as it grows near. Closer and closer, you expect every clatter to reveal the monster from beyond the hall, but then… all goes quiet… and all that you hear is the heavy breaths and delirious pounding in your chest. Until, sliding out from the right side of the barrel rack is the claw you’d seen prying open the elevator door, half sawed into the side of the shelf. Beginning to push forward, the blade extends out. More and more, it continues to grow, the fucking thing must be four feet long, gleaming in the dim light of the cellar as if it were made of unearthly metals, alien to the world around you. Brought out by this blade as it slinks further along, you first see the snout of the creature, large and snarled, a heavy breath puffed from it’s nostrils as it begins to lick its teeth-laden maw, the tongue a barbed whip, long and dextile. And then, the eyes, dear god, the eyes, spiraling pools of madness, animalistic and mindless as it’s entire unruly head rears itself from behind the rack, it’s attention falling to you like a lizard spotting a lone bug. Slowly, the creature continues its prowl, emerging from behind the shelves. You see then the unnatural body the creature bears. Its very form drips with a deep red ichor, nearly black as it slinks from its musculature. It bears scales along its face and spine, lizard-like in shape, yet a muck slinks down its skin, as if in the midst of melting off its bones. Powerful legs soon follow after, bipedal and covered in spikes and talons hooking up and down their lengths. Spikes along its spine, hooked tail, two fingerless nubs at the end of its arms, adorned only by the blades growing where a hand or paw should be. Every aspect of this creature’s body is a dagger, a weapon to kill with. It is a walking Reaper. Maybe four or five times your size, it barely fits in the space between barrel racks, yet nimble enough to navigate effortlessly towards you, crawling upon the two scythes that sprout from its hands.

Getting too close for comfort, you see the monster has finally crept over the spilt alcohol, walking right where you want it. If there was ever a time to spring your counter-trap, now would be the time! Stomping down your foot, you engage the rockets in your boot and the floor beneath your sole is superheated by the jet explosion, a sudden flash of flames cascading out from underneath where you stand. And then-! …A-and then-…! What? There’s no fire. Tamping down your heel against the ground again, you evoke another few bursts of jet flame against the alcohol soaked floor, but… but Nothing!

“W-wha…?” You mutter as you continue to stomp your heel, kicking up more and more fire from your rocket boot, yet still not catching the liquid aflame, all while the creature creeps closer, an unrelenting hunger in its pursuit. “Come on…! Come On!” What the hell… what the HELL!? This is alcohol, isn’t it?! HOW COULD ALCOHOL BE SO NONFLAMMABLE!?! “Uh… ahaha…” You nervously laugh as the creature now looms over you, looking back as it closes in. It… it didn’t work…

“CRAAAACCC!” The monster wails, a fold upon its neck suddenly flaring up, expanding out like the frill of LOHRAC’s Consorts. You realize then, in the split second before the thing gets its claws into you, that it has the same sallow eyes as the Leper Consort on the 83rd floor, the same sickly flesh and uncanny aura. They’ve been here all along… disguised under the mask of familiarity. Damn it, Damn It, DAMN IT!

PSHOOOOOOE!

“Can I Not Have ONE DAY Of Relief?!” You shout as your rocket boot kicks up, propelling you into a Youth Roll down the hall, just narrowly avoiding the creature as it attempts to impale you through your heart, its stabbing scythe plunging into the floor you’d just stood upon. “One Day of NO BULLSHIT!” You bark and moan and wail as you tumble on your shoulders, throwing yourself into barrel roll, flying backwards down the hall while spinning sideways. “One Day without you Psychos Trying To RUIN EVERYTHING!” Landing on your feet once more, you’re upright just long enough to duck the next slash the monster takes at you, it’s blade gliding through the wooden barrels above you like they’re made of butter, and out from the gash it carved comes the useless fucking drink, pouring over you like a waterfall as you scamper out from under the enormous mutant lizard. Straightening your back out once again, you’re standing for not even a second before another slash is rocketed towards you, aimed to cleave your head from your body. Raising your guard, the Shaft of Bane catches the enormous claw on its length, barely keeping the blade from your neck. Your celebration is short lived, as the thing's tongue shoots out, slashing you with a surprise attack across the eye. Stunned and blinded as you wince away from the hit, your guard is lowered just enough for the creature's second claw to plunge past your defenses, finding its place stabbing into the side of your stomach. “GAAAAH!” You shriek as the enormous blade is pushed through your cluster of organs, piercing out the other side to your back. “Aaah… ahh…” You wearily gasp before the thing tears its claw free, out through the side of your side. You have no air in your lungs left to scream with, and all you can do is anguish at the sawing of your flesh. Losing strength fast, you feel the weary dizziness of critical blood loss as half your stock is spilt in an instant. With the sparse few seconds you have before blacking out, you manage to gather enough breath to mutter a few meager incantations. “Fate… Cries… Foul…” Upon your decree, the small well of your temporal reservoir is soaked up in an instance, and your personal timestream is adjusted to more Favorable Outcomes. In an instant, you’re warped back in space, just enough so that the creature’s gouging attack had missed your stomach, leaving your body restored, never having been struck at all.

However, with every upside, so too must there be a down. That maneuver, while critical, required more juice than you had in reserves. It feels like your stomach is twisting into a knot as you blow past your limiter, the recoil of your power burrowing deep into your gut, like you’ve been gored all over again. But regardless of the caveats, you’ve reclaimed your strength, and with it, you spin yourself around, throwing the scythe from your guard, and with the momentum of the twirl, you ream Bane of All Mountains across the overgrown lizard’s face, cleaving a chunk from it’s snout in the swing. Already knowing your luck, you don’t bother seeing if your attack did any major damage and just turn to run, trying to get as much distance between you and this thing as possible. Just as predicted, the creature isn’t stunned a solid two seconds before you hear it barreling after you down the hall. Glancing back to gauge how screwed you are, you see that the section of the face you’d cleaved from the lizard monster has incorrectly restored itself, replaced by the muzzle of a tiger or some other big cat, a clashing miss-mash of animal parts merged together and roaring in immaculate fucking rage.

“NUURAAAAAGH!” It gargles upon its own blood amidst its bellowing cries, practically throwing itself after you, its movements suddenly losing their precision, causing the thing to slam and crash against the shelves with its unwieldy body. Just when it’s caught up with you again, you shoot left, escaping into the crossing walkway dividing the shelves as the monster pounces. Its enormous form goes soaring past, unable to pivot in so small of a space while going so fast, and it slides into the next hall of shelves in the corridor you were running down. Thrashing even harder now, the thing struggles to turn back around while in the passage, slamming into the shelves and beginning to forcefully wedge them out of the way. With only a few seconds bought, you continue down the crossway, hoping to find a main wall on the floor that leads outside of the building. It’ll be tricky, but if you can get onto the Tower’s exterior, you might be able to fly up a few levels on your one rocket boot. At least enough to put enough space between you and this thing to call for help.

Before you can get any further, a swinging blade comes swiping out from the row of shelves in front you, the beast somehow managing to cut you off after taking a roundabout around the row you juked it into. Falling to your knees, you duck beneath the swiping claw like a game of limbo, slide across the floor on the fabrics of your beer-soaked god tiers. You feel as its second claw pierces the ground behind you, stabbing for and barely missing your spine. Just when you think you’re in the clear, you feel something yank against your neck, choking you as you’re flopped backwards, flat onto your back. Looking to see, you find the claw of the creature, while missing you, has pinned your cape to the ground, anchoring you in place. A bolt of fear goes shooting through you as you lie there on your back, trapped like a rat as the monster raises it’s first claw again, about to plunge the scythe straight through your skull. With as much muscle as you can muster, you send Bane flinging across your front, clashing against the killing blow and diverting it enough to save your face, the blade slamming down into the ground next to your head, too close for comfort. With its first attack parried, the thing begins it’s followup without missing a beat, its conjoined maw unhinging as it aims to rip into your throat with its jaws. With no time to swing your pickaxe back, you kick your booted foot up, stepping your engine into gear and exploding a flame into the monster’s still open throat!

The squealing sound it makes is stomach-turning, but you’ve no time to give it any mind. You’re still stuck, caught in the clutches of this thing. Scurrying to your feet while the monster is flipping its shit with its face on fire, you reach back to the fabric of your cape, using the still burning jet of your rocket to scorch through the cloak, sawing it in half and freeing you from your binds. You think to capitalize on the situation with the monster distracted with the flames, but with how violently the thing is flailing its scythe-hand, you aren’t getting anywhere close to it. You turn and begin to run again, but soon grow worried when the squeals of pain you leave behind you compose themselves into furious shrieks, and you realize it’s begun to pursue once again. What is this thing made of?! Peering over your shoulder, you find the still flaming face of the monster barreling down the corridor you’ve diverted into, its neck frills completely extended as its maddening eyes pierce through the flames, focused dead-set on you.

“Shit, whathefuck man!” You curse to yourself as the screaming creature inevitably gains on you. Passing row after row, you realize you don’t have many more tricks up your sleeve to throw at this thing. Grasping for straws at this point, you stop and pivot while you still have a lead on the monster at the end of your hall, and with a mighty over-arching swing, you take Bane and send it shattering down into the rack holding up the barrels next to you. Breaking the antique wood holding everything in place, the entire row begins to fall from their shelves, clattering out onto the floor. Their contents might not be flammable, but there’s still hundreds of pounds of weight in those casks! Only midway down the corridor to you, the monster turns to the avalanche of barrels just as they fall, yelping a high pitched screech as it’s trampled where it stands by the oaken battering rams. From beyond the flurry of wooden bludgeoners, you think you see what looks like the creature being rendered into nothing but mush, its form flattened by the weight of the barrels as if it were falling apart. You have no time to contemplate what’s happening there, instead focusing on getting the hell out of here.

With a brain full of adrenaline, you lurch through the halls now, running the best you can with a hobble until you find your way to what you think to be salvation; the glowing lights of an open elevator! Oh thank god! You’re saved, you’re… no… no, No, No! The elevator doors have been ripped off their hinges, and something bore through the roof of the cabin, completely busted… It’s the lift you first came down in! Jesus christ, you went in a giant circle!

“GOAAAAGUHT!!!” The gurgling roars of the monster echo throughout the halls of the cellar, informing you that whatever your barrel trick had done to it, it wasn’t permanent. You can’t outrun this thing… You’ll just have to fight your way out, then! But… but how? You don’t even know what this thing is, let alone how to kill it! Not to mention you blew your reserves on undoing the thing’s killing blow. Without so much as a drop of temporal energy to even charge Bane with, you’re a god damn sitting duck! You could Limit Break, but your body began actually falling apart the last time you tried. Can you scale the elevator shaft? Don’t be stupid, that thing could probably have you cornered in a second if you were to climb.

While your brain tries its darnedest to find a solution to your problems, racking itself like there’s No Tomorrow because there damn well might not be, that’s when you see it. The creature, twelve or so rows down, peering at you from the dark. The sight alone is enough to strike terror in your heart, but it’s the way that is simply watches, patiently waiting from afar, that pierces you with the deepest form of primal fear. The wolf you’ve always known was out there, circling your camp, finally revealing itself. How the hell did it find you so fast?! You’re soaked in beer, but the entire cellar smells like a brewery, your scent should’ve been masked!

Without breaking eye contact with the monster, you begin to creep left across the rows of shelves, attempting to subtly leave its perception without setting off a hunter instinct in it by running. As you walk before the neighboring corridor, you’re disheartened to find the monster has done the same, slowly trailing after you to keep track of your place down the hall. It’s just fucking with you, damn it! With nothing more to lose, you make a break for it again, sprinting aimlessly into the dark in hopes you might find your salvation there. You don’t even have to look to know the creature’s followed suit, barreling through the corridors to close in on you after seeing you run.

Left, straight, left, straight, you shift in and out of the corridors while attempting to place as much of a distance between you and it. But nothing’s working! Only getting glances when you peer off to the side, you can see your efforts are going in vain, the form of the beast lurking upon you as it gets closer and closer to the row you’re sprinting down, weaving in and out faster and better than you can keep up with. You can’t tell for sure, but it looks like the thing’s body is smaller than it was, slimming down just enough to perfectly navigate the narrow halls on this floor without issue the way it had when larger. And slowly but surely, the thing catches back up, galloping in pace with you only a row over from where you are. Running isn’t working, you’re just tiring yourself out. And as soon as your stamina drops, it’ll pounce on you, a pleasant little meal too exhausted to fight back…!

“Guuaah, fuck it!” You cast away all thoughts, your shoes scraping against the floor as you break on a dime, standing your ground. Following in sync, the beast halts as well, and the two of you stare each other down from opposing ends of the corridor. You’re a man, god damn it! You won’t be chased down and die wheezing! Readying Bane by your side, you wait, searching for any break in the monster’s composure. For any tell that it’s about to strike. It gives you none, an insane fixation on you being the only emotion you can gauge from its glowing red eyes. The thing barely even breathes, even after running across the entire level chasing after you…

Ending your little face-off, you make the first move, bursting forward towards the monster, provoking it to charge you as well. You meet at the middle of the barrel racks, both your claws reeled back and ready to strike. With the only leverage you have in this fight, you activate your rocket boot just as you’re about to exchange blows, casting yourself into an arcing jump over the first swipe of the monster's scythe, throwing you a stack above the beast. With your attack already wound up, you slam your pick onto the side of the creature’s neck as you fly over it, dragging an enormous gash into its back as you go by. Landing, you immediately spin, clashing the side of your pickaxe against the incoming swipe of the monster’s claw, parrying it away as the thing easily reorients itself around in the hall with its smaller size. Damn. You cut the fucking thing half-open and it didn’t even flinch. Using the minor advantage you have while you still have it, you slam the head of Bane into the thing’s jaw, propelled upward with a burst from your jet. The whole body uppercut you delivered sends it stumbling back a few paces, but it recovers not a moment later. Before you can followthrough with any other attacks, the tail of the creature suddenly shoots out, a scorpion stinger miraculously manifesting there that jabs you square in the gut, mid-descent. You land on your feet but immediately stumble back, trying to keep yourself from vomiting up the contents of your freshly stabbed stomach. Pouncing for you, the monster gallops into your space, fangs open wide in anticipation, its tongue sliming with excitement for the bite. You go to backhand it away with Bane, but your swing is sent into the floor as it clashes with one of the creature’s claws batting it down. Not having any time to form a proper guard, all you can do is raise your off-hand, attempting to shield as much of yourself as you can. Piercing into you like hot daggers, the countless fangs of the beast tear into your flesh, turning your shoulder into a pincushion. Immediately squirming under the anguish, you flail about in a desperate attempt to shake the thing off, but you’re locked in place. Amidst the struggle, there comes an influx in the already searing pain eating at you, as the creature clamps its jaw down, biting into you even harder, making it clear it’s attempting to take a chunk off. Acting off instinct now, you choke up your grip on Bane, taking hold of it at the base of its head, using it then as a scraper that you take to the Lion-Side of the monster’s face, tearing chunks of its viscus flesh from the misshapen snout, gouging into its eye, doing whatever you can to get this Thing The Fuck OFF Of You! You violently fling your pick into its face, causing more and more of the dark ichor to shed from its mangled crown. It attempts to force you into compliance, slicing into your sides and legs with its claws, but you remain steadfast, completely eviscerating the flesh of its visor and blinding it, an act which seems to cause enough anguish in the creature that it finally releases you. The monster covers its destroyed eyes with the two scythes on its arms, as though trying to grab for the wounds with nonexistent hands.

“VURAAAAAACK!!!” It gurgles while pulling away, its fangs unclasping from you like a springing clamp. The sudden removal of pressure is a relief, but it still feels like you fell into a bear trap as your shoulder pours with blood. Your first instinct is to chase after it, to inflict the pain it’s infected onto you tenfold! Yet your form is too tattered to muster any strength for the offensive. Your regeneration isn’t kicking in as fast as you need it to, and your temporal reservoir still remains dry as a bone. You think to run, but the damage the monster had done to you while you were in its jaws is too great to get anywhere anytime fast. By the way the wounds across the thing’s face are moving, you can tell its injuries have already begun to heal. This… this might be it…

“D-…damn it…” You breathe out, struggling to stand up straight as your life juice is spilt out onto the floor. Seemingly hearing you, the monster focuses on your place in the corridor, slowly removing its scythes to reveal a cluster of eyes taking the place of the two you’d destroyed, dozens of them, like that of a spider. You can do nothing but put up your guard and wait as the infuriated monstrosity decides to make its move. The wait isn’t long, as the creature crouches down like a raptor before bolting forward towards you.

“KRAAAAAASK!!” The thing bellows out a guttural scream as it aims its claws for you. With your pickaxe at your side, you hold for just the right moment, planning to bury your weapon in this monster’s neck before you die.

“RAAAAAH!” You roar back, mustering the last of your strength to ready a swing with Bane. Just as you’re about to plunge the pick in a final show of rebellion, you’re suddenly hit from the side, a powerful force tackling into you without warning and taking you to the ground. “Uff!” You huff upon being hit, wincing as you hit the floor. Above, you see as the shadow of the monster flies by, missing its attack and barreling past into the shelves behind you, running into them with a -slam-. Confused as to what had happened, you look up to find a figure draped above you, protectively hovering over your body, using their form as a barrier to shield you. “P… Perses?” You weakly mutter, seeing the Troll there. He doesn’t answer, his focus fixated on the monster that’s just recovered from its misstep.

“Tktktktktk…” The beast chitters like a predator insect sizing up its prey.

“HKKKK!” Perses snarls at the thing, like a feral cat hissing at a threatening presence in its alley. A small stand-off forms as the two contenders watch each other, but this hesitation soon ends as the monster darts forward, pincers aimed with killing intent. Perses meets it in kind, springing off of you with a blurring force and colliding with it, his knees slamming into the freshly regenerated face of the monster, evoking a hearty -smack- to echo out within the cellar.

The impact of the Troll’s leap overpowers the monster, sending the two of them into the nearby barrel shelf, collapsing half of the entire rack in the impact. Rising off of his opponent Perses immediately jukes back, avoiding a swipe from the creature’s claw. Countering the attack, the Baron sends his boot slamming into his opponent’s face like he’s trying to kick down a door.

“WUUUUUAAAAAH!!!” The beast shrieks in pain, blindly slicing at the space in front of it, of which Perses had already backed away from, leaving the attacks to go wide. Composing itself after the hit, the monster crouches low, looking for an opportunity to strike again. It seems to take the casual stance Perses stands in as just that, as it lurches forward, taking swing after swing for the Troll. He backs away without so much as breaking a sweat, kiting the thing back a few paces until he’s lured it into a corridor. With his opponent where he wants it, Perses waits for when the thing has swung its right claw before suddenly shooting left, leaping out and using the side of the rack to spring himself into the side of his opponent, body slamming it into the opposing shelf. The thing is stunned from the impact, woozily attempting to hold itself up with a stabilizing claw placed on the shattered shelf. While it’s busy trying to figure out which way is down, Perses has claimed a barrel from the shattered rack, handling the several hundred pound cask as though it weighed nothing at all. Hoisting it up over his head, the Baron chucks the enormous weight point-blank at his opponent, the force of which launching it out of the corridor and into another row of shelves. A slurry of beer and ichor mix into a dark sludge beneath the monster as it lies shellshocked against the shelf, heavily bleeding as entire chunks of its muck-like flesh sloshing off from its frame.

At this point, you’ve gathered yourself enough to rise back up to your feet, watching from the sidelines now as the Baron effortlessly handles the creature who’d nearly taken you apart in the blink of an eye. You knew Perses was tough, but holy hell, the dude’s a fucking juggernaut! Marching up to the more-than-likely concussed monster, your savior seems intent on finishing the job. Seeing this, the monster shoots out its scorpion tail once again, stinger aimed for the throat of Perses, yet without flinching, the Troll catches the attack, clutching the hook of the chitinous weaponry and completely destroying it with a clutch of his fist. The screams it evokes from the monstrosity is blood-chilling, enough so that you have an overwhelming impulse to flee from the scene, absconding if for no other reason than to be rid of those noises. Yet Perses remains undaunted in his advance towards the enemy. It tries clawing at him once again. And just as he’d done the first time, the Baron jukes back from the attack. Only this time, he grabs for the scythe while it’s in its followthrough, taking hold of the monster’s appendage and snapping it off over his knee with an audible -shatter- that echoes throughout the entire floor. In an attempt to save itself, the monster tries once again with its second claw. Perses grabs hold of the attack before it can even get halfway through its swipe, and yet again, another -shatter- rings out in the cellar. Disarmed quite literally now, all of the monster’s numerous eyes focus on the greater monster lurking just above its pitiful pile on the floor, a brewing fury radiating off the Troll like a literal aura. Even on its mutilated face, you can see the notions of fear coursing through the creature as Perses reels his fist back, a cackling energy cascading off the entirety of his arm.

“Erupting Conduit…” He announces in a quiet and level voice as the power emanating from him fills the room with a buzzing static. “Killing Blow…” Wide eyed in realization, the monster seems to understand its fate in that moment, and then-

-SPLOOOSH-

Before Perses can throw the final hit, the form of the creature just… liquifies. Like a water balloon popping, causing an enormous spill of blood to suddenly drop to the ground, splashing out and washing over the floor for several feet out. Little waves bounce off the edges of where the barrel shelves sit on the floor, taking the splinters from destroyed racks and casks with it as the liquid travels. It’s all a sickly looking brew, mixing together with the beer and other grime in the walkways.

“Holy fuck…” You mutter while beholding the disarray of it all. You’re at least 90% sure this whole ordeal has done significant trauma to your overall mental state, but at this point, you’re just impressed Perses was able to scare something into literally melting.

“Jason!” Your savior calls, taking you by the shoulders and shaking you lightly while you continue to stare at the pool of blood, strangely transfixed by the crime scene he’s left behind. “Are you okay?” He asks you, a panicked look of concern on his face as he looks you over, taking stock of all the wounds peppering your body. Your shoulder is the most torn up, by far, but the hole in your stomach isn’t exactly a vacation by any means. Not to mention the numerous slashes across your legs and ribs.

“I’m… I’m alright.” You assure him with a nod, using Bane to lean on so you don’t outright fall over. It’s slow, but your regeneration seems to have finally kicked in now that you’ve existed Strife. Maybe adrenaline slows the speed at which you heal or something. Whatever it is, you’re just glad you’re being put back together again. “Thanks for the save. You really dragged my ass out of the fire there, Perses. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you!”

“N-… no problem, of course!” He nods, his face turning a shade blue in embarrassment at the praise. “Cool guys are always looking out for their best bros, right? Haha…”

“Thank god that you were.” You commend again, starting to feel well enough again to stand upright. “How did you know I was in trouble?”

“I’d heard your scuffle from the floor above and came to investigate.” He explains while glancing back at the damage his half of the Strife inflicted on the cellar. “I discovered the cable lift was decommissioned and suspected trouble. After scaling down the open shaft and dropping into the destroyed cabin, I heard the sounds of your scuffle coming deeper from within the dungeon and rushed to aid. I hope my interference was appropriate, I’d thought it apt to intervene before the fiend could do any fatal damage.” The floor above? But home base is eighty floors up… Hearing the unlikely story the Troll is telling you, your mind is immediately drawn back to the Imposter who had lured you to this level in the first place, and you begin to suspect they’ve disguised themselves once again, this time as your team’s Baron. “I assure you, though, my War with that beast was strictly platonic.” But then you realize that’s just how Perses is. Yeah, that’s him alright.

“U-uh, yeah, okay.” You agree with his statement, unsure what to make of the latter part of his retelling. “Wait, so you were really on the sixth floor?” He gives a single, concise nod. “Why?”

“I… wish not to say.” He quickly declares, turning away with an embarrassed blush. “You would be cross with me.”

“Pers, you just saved my life. Nothing you can say will make me cross with you.” You assure the Baron with a tap on his shoulder.

“…I was setting explosives to blow up the tower.” He reveals like a young maiden confessing her feelings.

“Okay, so I’m a little cross.” You quickly go back on your word. “What?!”

“Well not while we still had use of the amenities here, obviously!” He quickly justifies himself, sounding worried of what you would think of him otherwise. “It’s just…” He pauses, a look of sullen shame falling over his face as he turns away from you. “She might still be out there… following after me…… I can’t risk leaving a trail for her to track me down with, even if the group doesn't approve!”

“Who?” You ask in a softer tone, seeing the sudden drop in the Baron's attitude.

“The Beldam of Blood.” He reveals, causing you to straighten out at his answer.

“The one who cursed you?” You recall him mentioning her the first time you and Perses met, and the anger he had when speaking of her. You’d completely forgotten about the situation up until now… He’s still worried about this girl, even with you all by his side? “I get worrying about other players, Pers, but isn’t impromptu demolition a little extreme of a measure? She hasn’t shown up since you first met her, has she? What’s so scary about this one chick?”

“You don’t understand!” Perses cries, his hands balling into fists as the look of shame on his face is compounded by his frustrations. “She infused something into me when she… when she turned me into this. She programmed a weakness into this alien flesh that binds me to her!” Reaching their breaking point, the fingers of his fist spring open, clutching claws revealing his open palms that he looks at in tearful disbelief. “I used to never afraid of anything… I was invincible… but when I think back to when she first pulled me down into those waters… I-I can’t keep my hands from shaking… She terrifies me…! The simple thought of her finding me again fills me with such dread, it’s like I can’t breathe…! I try to move, I try to fight it… but I am helpless…” He explains, his hands starting to tremble like leaves in a storm. After seeing what he just did to that literal monster only a few moments ago, you're have a hard time reconciling the fact that Perses can be afraid of anything, much less some random Blood player. Yet looking at him as he is now, recounting to you his scars, you’d think the Troll has known nothing but pain and turmoil his entire life. The genuine terror in his voice, the fear in his eyes… whatever this Beldam girl did to him, it certainly left a mark… “I just wish I could forget… wish that it never happened at all… I would do anything to go back to the way things were…” You’re given pause upon hearing this. The way things were, huh… The sentiment of turning back the clock is one you can sympathize with, but… is it even possible? If you’ve learned anything on your Quest, it’s that there’s No Negotiating with Time. Once something is set in stone, there’s usually no unwriting it. There’s a reason they say Time Waits for No Man. It’s a march that never stop, it doesn’t even slow. All you can really do is hope you don’t get caught up in its Advance Forward. And yet…

“I want to try something.” You tell Perses, catching his attention once more. The Troll straightens up in surprise as you take a step closer to him.

“Okay…!” He quietly agrees with a nod, the blush returning to his face once more. This might be crazy, but you figure you owe the guy for saving you just now. You’ve recovered maybe 1/40th of your overall temporal reserve since the muck-monster tore your stomach open. Not nearly enough power for most of your abilities, but it’ll have to do. Reaching out, you channel the limited stock of temporal energy you have at your disposal to your arms, coating your left up to your forearm, and your right all the way up to your tattered shoulder. Targeting the Troll before you as the subject of your ability, you engage, activating a Time Restore over your dear friend Perses. Dragging your left hand in a counter-clockwise motion, you begin to rewind the chronology of your target, reversing the flow of time until your find a point before his run-in with this Beldam that's left him so scarred. You only get a few minutes back in his timeline before you run out of juice once more, and you feel the sickening kick as your ability resorts to sapping your bodily health to power your magic as you continue past your limiter. You wince as the ability eats at you, your teeth grit against one another in anguish as the pain burrows deep into your stomach wound, twisting an invisible knife in and up into your lungs. Yet still your soldier-on, doing your best to keep concentrated on the powers. Pushing back more and more time, minutes turn to hours, and hours turn to days. Further and further you continue on, scouring his body’s personal timeline for the point you’re looking for. The pain has grown debilitating now, making it harder to enact the ritual without spasming struggle. Your vision blurs. It feels like your back splits into thirds, like the cuts and gashes all across your body gasp open to draw their first breath. Come on, just a little bit further…! Where are you, you son of a bitch! You’re here somewhere, aren’t you?!

Getting to the point where it feels like your fingers will -snap- underneath their own pressure, you think about calling it quits, but a hope is ignited in you just as you go to release. The Baron’s form has begun to change. Morph, unorienting itself out of place. His horns begin to descent, ungrowing like a mighty tree returning to its seed. He grows paler, his grey skin staining white. And finally, the yellow eyes that look over their changing body in stunned bewilderment vanish into an endless void. You can’t make out the finer details, your vision too blurred from the pain, but it’s once a tail begins to swish back and forth behind his silhouette that you figure that’s far back enough. Releasing the Restore, your knees buckle in an instance, and you collapse to the floor. You take a few breaths in to recompose yourself, but you’re just about to the point of collapse. You think Perses is saying something to you, but your ears are ringing too loudly for your to hear. Mustering enough strength, you tilt your head up, and find someone completely new before you.

 

Jason, greet this New Face.

Notes:

A Merry Late 12th Perigree's Eve to all those who celebrated! And a Happy New Sweep as well!

Chapter 84: > The End of the Beginning, or; No Tomorrow

Your head swings like a pendulum as your neck cranes down, your brain pounding with pressure and your forehead absolutely pissing blood. Blinking a few times, you try to focus your blurring vision as the figure before you stands in hesitating stasis, slowly rotating their arm before them to observe the limb closer, twisting their body to and fro to glance themselves over better.

“Ha… Hahaha! I’m… I’m FREE!” They shout, unbelieving of what they are seeing. Then suddenly, the figure swoops in toward you and your face is claimed by two chilled hands, a forceful sensation placed against your lips as you’re held steady. A kiss? Yeah, no that’s definitely a kiss, evoking a very surprised ‘mh?’ from your pressed muzzle. Okay, so that’s two blue aliens who’ve kissed you without warning now. Removing his lips from yours with an exaggerated ‘mwah!’, you feel as the individual before you then scoops you up off the ground as two fucking pythons wrap themselves around you into a bearhug. “The curse is broken, my comrade…! Broken! You have freed me, haha!” They cry while whipping you around like a rag doll, your legs flopping about, hanging in the air below you as you’ve been fully lifted off of them.

“T-th-a-at’s g-g-re-at, P-ers.” Your words stumble out of your mouth broken and shaky from the inertia of the embrace. “B-ut I t-h-ink yo-u’re c-cru-shi-ng me!”

“Ah, forgive me, forgive me!” He excitedly apologizes, quickly setting you down. Stumbling back, both exhausted and dizzy, you have to reach a hand out to the nearby barrel racks to stabilize yourself. Looking up, you see through your delirium that the Troll who once stood in your presence has transformed into an entirely new creature than before. Pale skin and jagged teeth, pitch black hair and eyes as dark as night. Behind him, a burly tail swishes from side to side, a split at its end separating it into two distinct vectors.

“What the hell…?” You mutter as you finally get a good look at him. This is still Perses… right? When he said that the Beldam had disfigured him, you guess you didn’t quite understand the scope in which he was referring to. He looked like a relatively normal Troll from what you could tell, so you’d just thought he was being dramatic about being stripped of his God Tier wings, or maybe knocked down a rung on the blood hierarchy ladder. You didn’t think he’d been completely disincorporated and reformed into an entirely different species. “You’re a Dwarf?”

“Clan Theta, born and raised.” He proudly declares before his attention is drawn behind him by the swish of his tail. “Hoh! Haha, yes! I can’t believe how much I would miss a tail until after I got one!” He exclaims before following after his rudder the way a dog would, curious of where it could possibly be going. Taking stock of the Baron, you observe a few minor details about him, noticing he’s got a slightly larger build than his Troll form, stockier chest and longer legs. He still has protuberances on his head, not quite like the Large Troll Horns he had, more like the front plate of his skull extends upward at both ends, forming pointed pseudo-horns across his upper forehead from the brow. In the dark voids of his eyes, you notice two piercing blue irises, isolated in the sockets like little visions of earth, a million miles away as they float through space. “H-how did you know you could fix me?” He looks up from his tail as he asks, gazing at you with those two little earths.

“I didn’t know I could for sure. Time can be kind of finicky some…times, but… but I didn’t see the harm in trying…” You explain to him as you notice the stream of blood rolling down your arm, trickling off the ridge of your knuckle. Those lines have opened up again, separating the flesh of your forearms. You try not to give it much mind, if not solely for the fact that the existential dread of slowly coming apart would sent you into a nervous breakdown.

“This is amazing…! It’s… it’s unbelievable!” Perses exclaims, taking a step closer to you in his excitement.

“Alright, alright, don’t go kissing me again.” You jokingly try to calm him down, easing the boy as you see him working himself up again, admiring his returned skin.

“Ah-!” He suddenly stiffens up, his face flushing blue once more. “M-my sincerest apologies, comrade. It just so happens that I was overcome by the moment, is all.” He quickly apologizes while taking back his step forward, scratching at the side of his cheek in embarrassment. “I assure you, I meant nothing by the gesture. I’m often prone to occasional fits of conniption when exhilarated. P-please forgive this transgression, I harbor no Aroha towards you.”

“Y-, yeah. No problem, man.” You awkwardly let him off the hook, put off by how gravely he’s treating his overall harmless… display.

“…We should vacate this dungeon.” He suddenly declares after an awkward silence, turning 180° and speed-walking away in stiff form. “With me.” He invites you after him, already exiting the row of shattered barrel shelves. Just as you’re about to hurry after the Baron, you notice something odd about your surroundings. Amidst the wreckage of shattered casks and spilt ale, something’s missing. The Blood is gone. That’s odd… you don’t see any drains nearby on the floor. You wonder where it all went…?

Before your thoughts can get too occupied trying to comprehend something likely inconsequential like vanishing blood, a nearby shelf finishes collapsing, crashing to the floor with a -slam- and nearly scaring you out of your skin. Okay, time to go. With a quick step, you speed walk just as fast as Perses to catch up with him, feeling like you’ve got god damn rail-spikes nailed into the heels of your feet from how sore they are. Reconvening with the Baron, you meet your teammate at the busted open elevator, peering at the broken doors with a curious peculiarity, seemingly fascinated with the damage inflicted upon it.

“Looks like this route is a no-go.” You state the obvious to the Dwarf, drawing his attention from the wreckage as you arrive. “We’re gonna have to find a different way up.”

“Would we not simply take the other cable lift?” He asks, glancing over his shoulder at your arrival.

“What other cable lift?” You ask back, unsure if he already knows of another elevator on this level.

“The one adjacent to this one.” He says, pointing towards the corner of the block the elevator is built into, only a few feet to the right from where you are. Seeing your confusion, he continues on, walking over to the wall’s flank. “It’s just a ways over on the other side.” Unbelieving of his testimony, you hurriedly walk over to where he is by the wall, venturing past the side of the elevator shaft, around to the other side of the wall where you discover another set of doors, not twenty feet away from the cabin you’d taken down. “They usually build lifts in pairs, so the cabins can share the same shaft space.” Perses adds as you stare in disbelief at the placement. You were nearly murdered… because you didn’t check to see if there was a secondary elevator nearby… God-…! Damnit..

“Let’s just get going…” You sigh, partly deflating as you step up to the intact doors, pressing the call button in defeat. Almost immediately the doors open up, the cabin having already been on this level, adding further salt onto your wounds. It’s all gravy at this point. Getting on, you and your friend take your places in the lift. Perses is kind enough to call for the 82nd Floor for you, and the mechanisms of this infernal box kick into gear, taking you upward. Jostled every so slightly, you feel a distinct weariness set in as the adrenaline finally leaves from the blood still leaking down your arms. It’s a genuine fucking miracle you’ve yet to completely black out at this point, and as you reflect on the final few hours of this day, you can only wish for it to end as soon as possible. While you’re busy attempting to stay upright, you notice from the corner of your eye as something catches Perses’s attention, the boy turning slightly in your direction as he inquisitively sniffs about the air, as though searching for the source of a particular scent. Seeming to finally realize the cause of his intrigue, a furrow forms across the Baron’s brow.

“I smell Dwarf.” He declares after a moment of contemplation. You squint at the notion. “Other Dwarf.” He clarifies.

“Huh. Funny that…” You awkwardly face away, not wanting to mention the other Dwarf you’d just met with, unsure of how common in-fighting is amongst their culture. Ginnun had said ♠fighting♠ was their form of ♥love♥, right? Seems natural for them to be territorial with one another. Or… maybe it’s the opposite…? Probably best you not bring up Roxi to avoid any possible conflicts if that were the case.

“Hmmm…” Perses hums while staring skeptically at you, trying to determine whether you know anything or not. “Indeed it is.” He finally declares, agreeing with your verdict. Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, you let yourself relax, figuring you’re in the clear, but you soon stiffen back up again when you feel something coil around your leg. Attention snapping down, you find that Perses’s tail has wrapped itself around your calf, a gentle but firm grip keeping it in place. You go to say something to the dude, figuring its placement there is simply an involuntary grab response when something gets too close to the appendage, but when you look to him, you see he’s avoiding eye contact, intentionally trying to remain clueless.

Alright, so… this is uncomfortable. This is so uncomfortable, it’s unreal. Yet you manage to be the picture of grace under pressure, remaining composed despite the… contact. It seems your tact and Expert Aplomb in such high-stakes circumstances has earned you another leap up the old God Tiers! Leaving behind your cherished Turning Tails Consecrated Dynamo for the new title of Mortuum Flaggellas. Oh wow, it feels like it’s been forever since you last leveled up. Better hope it comes with a few new perks, because you doubt you’ll be gaining another Tier for a while. And while you pour over your hard-earned plunder to evaluate your stat-boosts, the elevator doors let out a blaring -ding- from its visor display, drawing your attention to the fact that you’re still a few floors down from basecamp. Looking up as the doors slide open, you’re greeted by the sudden flare of a golden cape billowing out before the person who’d called you to this level. It appears the Knight of Hope, of all people, has appeared before you, with Leah now standing in the cabin threshold of the elevator. Attention falling to you first, your eyes meet with hers as soon as the rift of the door splits, and the typical flash of recognition crosses her irises, lightening her expression when she sees you.

“Oh, Jace, didn’t realize you were still up and about. What’re ya doin’ down here with-“ As the Knight greets you on her midnight patrol, her attention slowly turns towards the other passenger in the lift as well. Upon doing so, that lightened expression of hers suddenly jumps into alarm, instantly identifying a foreign entity past her perimeter. “Whut’in the hell is that thang?!” She exclaims, the revolver by her hip drawn faster than lightning as she jukes back from immediate reach in the elevator, preemptively avoiding being grabbed. Responding in kind, Perses readies a stance upon being placed at the business-end of her big iron, fist half-cocked back as though he’d punch the bullet upon it reaching him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey, easy!” You suddenly jump between the two ready-to-kill heavyweights in probably the dumbest move you’ve ever attempted, not even for a moment considering what would happen if they took a swing at one another regardless of if you were there or not. Though it seems Fortune is on your side in this Imprudent Mediator Gambit, as you’re able to hold the two off for half a second long enough to explain what’s going on. “It’s Perses! It’s just Perses…” You tell the Knight as you hold a hand before her to halt her trigger finger.

“Perses…?” She narrows her eyes in sneering disbelief, looking past you to scrutinize the Dwarf with an unsure disposition. “The hell happened to ya, boy?” Leah asks him, her gun-hand starting to ease downward. Taking a step back now that a needless brawl is avoided, you remove yourself from the crossfire, thankful having not been torn apart by accident.

“Broke my curse, is all.” Perses responds, raising his chin up at her to signal he’s standing his ground, unaffected by the threat of Annihilation via Holy Magic. A confused look crosses Leah’s face at his explanation.

“Another player had turned him into a Troll before he joined up with us.” You elaborate for her, explaining the situation more fully. “I managed to reverse the effects with a little tampering to Time.” Glancing back over to the Baron upon hearing your testimony, an understanding finally seems to dawn on the girl as she fully lowers her revolver, holstering it by her side once more. Taking a step forward, Leah continues to scrutinize Perses, not unbelieving that it’s him, rather to fully grasp the difference between the Troll she knew and the Dwarf he is.

“Is that really you under there, Pers?” She asks him, shocked at the drastic manner in which he’s changed.

“This is what was under there, human.” The Baron clarifies to her, a kind of melancholy as he laments the time trapped as a Troll. “This is who I truly am. What always lied beneath the flesh that wasn’t my own.” Taking a moment to come to her verdict, Leah studies the form of the Baron, still unsure of the revelation being presented to her.

“…well chin up then, ya scary bastard.” She eventually orders while stepping into the elevator, knocking her fist against the side of his shoulder. “You’ve got your handsome kisser back, don’cha?” Glancing at the Knight as she steps between you and him, Perses seems hesitant of the camaraderie at first, but eventually settles once more when he sees the sincerity behind it. “Assume you boys are returning to camp?” She looks between you both.

“You weren’t?” You ask her, noticing her pressing for the level above your base.

“I stop the waiters when I see them goin’ up or down to check inside. Make sure no funny business is goin’ on.” She reports. Really wish she’d been a few levels down when that lizard thing found you… “By the way, what’re y’all still doin’ up, then? Thought you said we had an early mornin’ tomorrow.”

“That was the idea. Unfortunately, I’ve been living the god damn Christmas Carol for the past two hours.” You sigh, gritting through your recounting of tonight’s events. “We’re going on lockdown. Lower Levels are breached and we’ve got shapeshifters sneaking around the building.”

“That right?” She settles on the info, eyeing the lower floor buttons on the elevator panel, likely thinking of venturing down to go hunting.

“We’re grouping back up, understood? I want everyone within shouting distance if combatants are danger-close.” You clarify what you’re instructing. “If you’re still going out, tighten your patrol to the level above and below base camp. Everywhere else can be forgotten for now.”

“Whatever ya say, hoss.” She shrugs at your decree. Before you can figure out if she’s being sarcastic or not, the elevator reaches its destination, arriving with a -ding- and opening its doors. You’re met once again with another member of your group, as you find Frank waiting there for the lift to arrive.

“Hi Miss Leah, hi Jason, hi Mr Perses.” He quickly greets you all while stepping on board.

“Frank?” You look at the boy, confused at what he’s doing.

“Step back, ghoul!” Perses quietly hisses at the child when he stands in front of him a little too closely.

“Sorry, but I need to use the elevator now and the other’s broken.” Frank tells you while looking back, waiting for you all to leave the cab.

“What?” You look at him sideways. “Why?”

“Uh.. M-…Miss Marry’s Flask has run a… tad dry this evening.” He awkwardly admits, likely supposed to keep this fact a secret for his mother. “I was dispatched to procure her fresh refreshments.”

“No can do, Frank. We’re locking down.” You inform your Page Brother on what’s been happening. “Mary’s gonna have to endure a dry spell for the time being.”

“Locking down? W-what happened?” He asks with a concerned voice, looking between the three of you.

“Someone was sneaking around impersonating Creed down on the lower floors, and there was a… fuckin’ dragon or something, I don’t know. Point is, it’s too dangerous to be straying from the pack right now.” You explain the latest facility breach in the long list of facility breaches in your team’s history.

“W-… w-was anyone hurt?” Frank frantically inquires, his attention darting from person to person to figure out who needs aid, his face going a bit pale at the update.

“We’re all okay, Frank.” You hold your hands out to ease him down, seeing a genuine worry begin to wrack his shoulders. “Aside from the lizard Pers turned into a puddle, there were no casualties. The impersonator got away before we could figure out what they were doing here.”

“Good! G-good…” He says with a nod, calming at the assurance. In his tentative ease, however, something catches Frank’s attention and he looks back up. “You’re hit, Jason.” He declares, looking by your side. You glance down to where he stairs and find your arms still dripping with ichor, the blood slowly leaking down from the stains on your sleeves…

“A-… it’s nothing.” You wave away his concerns, knowing your injuries will close themselves up eventually. “I’ve already started healing. No need to worry.”

“W-well… if you’re sure of it.” He begrudgingly accepts.

“Come on then, everyone. Tomorrow’s waiting.” You gesture your party off the elevator and into the camp halls. They all follow suit, piling out of the cab at a considerably slow pace. “Pers, could you take Frank back to Mary and tell her the news?” You request of the Dwarf once you’re all out.

“Affirmative.” He sighs, not sounding too pleased with the task. “Follow.” Turning to walk down the hall without another word, Perses heads towards his destination assuming Frank will follow without question, which he inevitably does, hurrying to walk in pace with him.

“Mr Perses, you look different. Did you get a haircut?” Frank pesters the Dwarf as they walk away, having to look up at the even taller height of Perses’s true form.

“Do not speak to me.” He hissingly orders, the glare in his eyes audible. With them gone, you’re left alone with the Knight who’s just about ready to go rogue on this entire building.

“How ‘bout you, Sheriff? You actually going down there?” You inquire with a nod back to the elevators, unsure how to handle someone like Leah if her mind is truly set on something.

“Nah. Figure if we disable the only waiters that leads to this floor and keep an eye on the stairways, our perimeter should remain secure for the rest of our stay.” She breaks down the security detail for you.

“Our stay… damn it. I’d hoped we could’ve been here another day to recover after Lodaf.” You huff, lamenting the sleep you were owed this evening that’s gone unslept. “But if there are Enemy Godtiers picking fights here already, we’re better off skipping town in the morning.” In actuality, you all probably need more than even that to recuperate after that bout with the God Hand. Two days was all you were willing to give to stay on schedule. But another incident this close to your entire group…? Your opponents are getting bolder. Numbers alone aren’t going to keep them away anymore.

“Fine by me. Cities make me anxious anyway.” Leah agrees without much fuss.

“Cities?” You repeat, unsure what she means.

“Cities were always filled with the dead. Never safe to stay long in one.” She explains, leaving you even more confused than you were. The dead? What the hell kind of cities was she living in?

“What is… w-w-what…” As you go to ask what she means, you stammer as a lightheadedness overtakes you, and your legs begin to feel weary. Suddenly, as you converse there in the hall, you begin to tilt backwards, passing out where you stand. The last thing you see is Leah reaching out, unfazed at your sudden collapse, snatching you by the collar of your shirt to halt your descent. Yet even with you caught, your mind continues to fall, plunging deep into your subconscious as you go out like a light. Seems you’ve finally run out of time.

 

***

 

As the last bits of adrenaline keeping Jason conscious disperse from his bloodstream, and he subsequently passes out like it’s Nap Time once again, a stirring comes some several floors below him, a disturbance breaking out within the many alleys upon the Land of High-Rises and Connections, a creeping miasma manifested from the shadows. From the amorphous brew forms a figure, an inconspicuous individual who emerges from the alleyway, walking out and merging into the crowds on the street. Reaching to their side, the figure claims a small telephonic device from their pocket, turning on its screen to place a call.

“Hello…? Yes, it’s me.” They say, their voice still fluctuating in pitch as their throat resettles itself. “Yes… yes, contact was made. Thoroughly agitated, I’d say… No, I suspect they won’t be hanging around in their little fox-hole much longer.” As the individual openly chats upon their phonelines, sauntering down the nighttime plaza without a care, their path weaves in and out of the many Reptoids about the streets, taking them somewhere near the riverside, walking in tandem with the gentle waters that divide the city. “I trust our agreement will be honored?” Stopping suddenly, the figure tenses. “…That wasn’t apart of our agreement. I was instructed to agitate the human into mobilizing, your Mage said nothing of having to kill him.” Holding still, the stranger on the bridge listens intently, processing the information being delivered. “Is that so… Understood then. Should I take that to mean the bounty is still open on the Page?” The figure looks down to the river as they listen, an idea formulating in their head. “…Yes. Yes, I think I will be. I suppose that makes it a race, then.” Turning back, the stranger looks up to the top of the tower from which they’d just escaped, that idea in their head transmogrifying into an plan. “Be seeing you, Hood.” Lowering the comm device from their ear, the individual -snaps- the thing in half, casting the pieces down into the depths below. “…I don’t know why I just did that. I really needed that phone.” The stranger mutters as they stare down at the waters their device disappeared into, a look of nonplus plastered upon their face. “But man, did it look cool.” They add before walking off, disappearing into the crowd.

 

***

 

There’s a stiffness in your neck, and a general soreness all over. You’re awake, you think. You’re breathing unevenly enough to know your body isn’t automatically handling it. Opening your eyes, you find only one regains its sight, the other obscured with your face half-buried in the pillow it rests upon. You’re back in your hotel/board room, blanket lazily draped over half your legs.

Pushing yourself up from the bed, you feel a shaky wobble threaten to give out in your arms, still worn out from the previous day. Even now it feels like you’ll slip back to sleep at the drop of a hat. What the hell even happened? Last you remember, you were talking with Leah about… dead cities? And then you… oh… guess you passed out… Probably not a sign of any deeper health concerns. Anyway, now that you’re freshly rested, your Temporal Reserve is probably topped off and oooOOOOHHhh what the fuck, it’s barely recharged itself at all. You’re currently cruising at maybe 12% of your full capacity! It’s just like on LOFASM… You still haven’t recovered from your limit-break… Damnit! What the hell, are you sick or something? Have a touch of the consumption? Maybe your overuse is really starting to have an effect on your metaphysical fortitude… You might be in deep shit if that’s the case, considering you’re struggling to get by as is in the Arena. If you suddenly can’t compete with the rest of the God Tiers here, you’ll be in over your head, to say the least.

Taking the time to look yourself over, inspecting for any more shortcomings in your repose, you don’t hear as the door to your room is swung open, and without warning, a force suddenly glomps onto you, nearly tackling you to the bed.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re awake!” The attack-hugger peeps while tightening their grip on you.

“Dallra?” You ask as you look down at the girl, wincing as the weight of the Seer presses into your still-sore body.

“How are you feeling? Is everything put back in place again?” The Seer inquires, releasing your torso just to take you by the sides of your jaw, moving your head around to inspect for injury.

“I-I’m fine, I think…!” You assure her, gently taking her hands to guide them from your face, feeling a burning blush pouring over your cheeks at the sudden intimate contact.

“Perses told me what happened.” She informs you, bearing a serious expression.

“H-he did?” You sputter, your blush brightening even more so from the embarrassment as you recall Pers’s overly friendly behavior the previous night.

“About the stalker in the merrimentblock.” She explains, reminding you of your brush with reaper-death that happened before the Dwarf started getting handsy.

“Ah… r-right.” You nod along, settling down a bit.

“I’m sorry, I-I should’ve been keeping a sharper watch yesterday, I don’t know why I didn’t think of periodically searching through the lower levels of the stem.” She begins to apologize, a deep sense of guilt tearing at her just below that smile she’s putting on. “It was stupid of me…”

“N-no, no, it was my fault!” You try putting her at ease, knowing you got yourself in that mess on your own. “I let my guard down without thinking. I should’ve known straying that far from the group without checking in was a bad idea.”

“…Why did you go down there, anyway?” Dal proposes her question while awkwardly sitting across your legs now. “I know why Perses was down there, we spent the better half of the afternoon negotiating for him to disarm his party-favors, but last I checked, you were asleep here. What happened?”

“Something woke me up in the middle of the night…” You mutter to yourself as you try to recall what. Bad Dreams, you guess. “I’d gone to get a drink, but one thing led to another, and… I met someone downstairs. They looked like Creed… I-I thought it was Creed.” You tell her, remembering that sickening chill that washed over you when you realized you’d been tricked. “They lured me away to the lower floors. That’s where that thing was waiting for me.”

“I’m so sorry.” She apologized again, wrapping her arms around your neck as she nuzzles into you.

“It wasn’t your fault…” You quietly mutter, gently wrapping your arms around her back. It's there in the silence that forms amidst your embrace that you notice a dull haze begin to cloud the front of your mind. You feel it at the back of your eyes. It starts small. Near imperceptible, really, but it continue to grow until you're overcome with the sensation. What… what is this feeling...? Not only in your mind, but in your chest as well. A quiet sense of delirious familiarity, coming on all of a sudden... but why? You survived another trial the world tried throwing at you, you’re about to go recruit another crucial piece of your master plan, and you’ve got your girlfriend nestled into you, so why… why do you feel so… sad? Why does your heart ache…? Why does it feel like you've lost something important...? “H-hey, I wasn’t… unconscious for more than a day again, right?” You ask Dallra, trying to move the conversation along to take your mind off this feeling.

“No, just the one night.” She shakes her head, pulling back to look you in the eyes. You don’t know why, but... you really like that. That small gesture, when she takes the little bit of effort to show you she’s watching.

“Good…! Good…” You nod, blushing a bit at her stare. Eyes so deep you could get lost in them. Why did it have to end that way…? “The others are probably waiting for us. We should probably get going.” You declare, softly nudging the Seer forward.

“Well…” She meanders, her mechanical hand clamping upon your shoulder, holding you in place. “They could wait a little longer, couldn’t they…?” She proposes, a sly look in her eyes as she keeps you there on the bed.

“O-oh…!” You catch her drift, realizing her placement over your lap. You should… you should be someone else right now…

 

***

 

Sitting upright in your seat, you glance through your surroundings, sensing a disturbance in the room. Something’s changed, but you can’t tell what. Across from you, Leah sips an espresso or americano or some other caffeine-saturated sludge she can stomach down. While others mill about in the speakeasy, she seems to clock your change in demeanor first.

“Somethin’ wrong, Credence?” She inquires, eyes not moving from the newspaper a consort sold her for a likely absurd amount of boondollars.

“Not sure.” You answer honestly, unable to put a word to what you’re feeling. Your sixth sense is swaying you towards action, but you can’t figure out as to what. Usually, you have a path or direction you can infer from your intuition, yet you’re getting nothing here. No path, no higher thought, no person catching your attention… It’s like it wants you to fold into where you stand. With nowhere to go, you’re left restless, unable to figure out what’s going on inside your head. “Something feels off.”

“Anything more specific than that?” She raises an eyebrow at the comment, still not looking away from her paper.

“……No.” You tell her after a moment of contemplation, the sensation still too vague to decode.

“You’re a regular wellspring, Mr Lederman.” She passively comments, speaking partly into the lid of her cup. Before you can address the sarcasm in which that statement was delivered, your attention is drawn to a figure appearing in the bar entrance, finding the Boss there, a kind of dazed look on his face. Almost instantly, your intuition falls to him like gravity, drawing you towards him like a moth to a flame. You’re on your feet walking over before you can even realize.

“You’re certainly looking worse for wear.” You tell him, noticing the paleness in his cheeks, like he hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep overnight. Jerking a bit when he sees you walking towards him, Boss stiffens up, taking a slight defensive pose to meet you.

“H-hey!” He firmly spouts, inching back into the hall away from you. “W-… what is it you’re always calling me?!” He demands to know with a firm look.

“Boss, you feelin’ alright?” You look at him sideways. In an instant, that defensive pose he’s in loosens, and you can see a visible breath leave his chest in relief.

“Just being cautious.” He sighs, running a hand back through his hair.

“Right…” You tentatively nod along, ignorant to whatever he’s talking about. “Anyway, Boss, you said last night that today was gonna be big?” You remind him, feeling yourself draw closer to that notion your sixth sense wanted you to instigate on.

“A-… r-right, yeah.” Boss hesitantly confirms, scratching at the back of his head like he’s having second thoughts about whatever it is he’s planning, a visible reluctance to commit in his posture. “You remember that tea party we had with Finlus?” He brings up, setting off your intuition like a twelve gauge in an airport x-ray scan. Ah. So that’s what this feeling is.

“I’d say I have an acute recollection of the event, yes.” You tilt your chin up, your throat burning ever so slightly at the mention of that day.

“Think you could do for me what you did for him?” Boss inquires, not quite a confidence in his ask, but a kind of assurance. As though he didn’t have to wait for your answer to know that it’d be a yes.

“I don’t suppose that Joker is popping in for a visit, then?” You recall the Player Requirements for the maneuver your Bardly Benefactor used you for.

“No, but I’ve got a close second.” Boss assures you. “C’mon. Follow me.” He nods to the left, out towards the hall. Following suite, the two of you venture down the corridor, back toward the rooms your group’s been huddled up in for the night. As you walk, you can’t help but notice a limp in Boss’s stride that he’s trying to mask with a wide gate.

“You sure you’re okay to be walking around so soon?” You propose, subtly suggesting he get a little more rest before your team make any more moves.

“No time to rest. Last night’s surprise guest is proof our enemies are ramping up their efforts. Yesterday in general is a sign that we’re running out of good graces with the rest of the Arena’s Contestants.” He explains while trying to grit through the pain causing his limp. “We’re back in crunch week.”

“Great. Just when I’d gotten feeling back in my legs.” You simmer at the thought, recalling the slogging hell back on the Land of Castles and Lightning. At least Boss seems more right of mind this time around. Continuing on, the two of you walk down the office corridors until you notice something unusual out of the corner of your eye “…Is that a bite mark?” You ask aloud, pointing to a slight trail of blood dripping down Boss’s neck. Unexpectedly bringing his hand up to cover his wound faster than you’d expect, he slaps his neck as if swatting a mosquito, his face suddenly turning flush at your comment.

“…” He says nothing, stopping in his tracks as if caught like a thief in the night. You stop beside him, waiting for him to explain but slowly understanding he isn’t gonna budge.

“…So anyway.” You do your best to move past whatever that was. “This close second you mentioned.”

“Right! Ahem, right.” Boss composes himself, meekly gesturing to the door behind you. Turning around, you find yourself at Mary’s room. “Best part about Blood players, a lot of them know the same tricks.” He elaborates, reaching over to knock on the door.

“We’re looking for Frank?” You fill in the rest yourself.

“That we are.” Boss confirms, leaning back from the oak barrier once his knock is delivered. “Hopefully Mary will know where we can find him.”

“But I’m right here!” A voice suddenly pipes up behind you. Seeming to find the same pause as one another in succession, you and Boss exchange looks before turning back to face the disturbance in sync. Standing there between the two of you is just the culprit you were looking for, with Frank gazing at you both with a wide-eyed cluelessness. Wordlessly staring at the young boy, unsure of how he’d found his way so close to your duo without your notice, you and the Boss are almost too stunned to hear the door before you open. Attention drawn forward again, you’re brought face-to-face with the broad chest of a towering and shirtless figure who’s appeared in the threshold. Too close to the set of alabaster pecs, you have to look up to see who it is manifested before you, discovering the visage at the top of this tower is a ghostly looking gentleman, a rather displeased look on his face greeting you at the door. A sudden twinge of self-preservation courses over your mind in a kick instinct upon being confronted with the behemoth without notice, but you contain your base instincts enough to keep composed, noticing from the corner of your eye that Boss, the anxious ball of paranoia he is, has been able to remain usually calm in the face of this individual. This person poses no immediate threat, then?

“Jason?” The stranger immediately identified Boss, confirming your inference.

“H-hey, Pers.” Boss awkwardly greets back. Pers…? Holy hell, that’s Perses?! D said he’d gone through a few changes, but you just thought he molted his weird troll horns or something! The hell happened to him?! Blank eyes darting past you, the strange form of your teammate settles his attention on the Page behind you.

“Wretch. How’d you get out?” He narrows his eyes suspiciously at Frank.

“Window.” He plainly states while walking into the room, causing you to do a mental check on what level floor you’re on. Deciding not too think to hard over the anomalous nature of the kid, you follow after him into the dorm, awkwardly side stepping the uncanny door-guardian to enter. Boss lingers a moment at the threshold, some weird sort of tension going on there, but eventually walks in after you all.

“Oh. Guests.” Mary looks up from a clipboard in her hand while hovering over a series of electrical nodes and equipment she has laid out over a desk you’re 90% sure she stole from one of the offices in this building. “How… unexpected.” She states, not trying very hard to hide her annoyance.

“Sorry for the intrusion, we have some business we need to take care of and Frank…” Boss waves while entering, his greeting slowly petering out as he comes to a halt, an incredulous look crossing his face upon seeing the equipment laid out in the room. “What’s going on in here?” He asks the Mage.

“Torture.” Perses blandly declares for her, dragging up to the desk beside Mary.

“Don’t be dramatic.” She tells him while attaching nodes to the Baron’s chest. “We’ve simply been going through basic lab work to gauge the full extent of Perses’s physical alterations. I’ve been informed the curse that initially incited the transfiguration of his body was incomplete, leaving the exterior layers of skin and musculature altered, but the internal composition of his organ-array unchanged. The discrepancy between Trollian muscle and Dwarven system acting in forced-tandem within his body might’ve caused a few bad habits to form in his physical conduct as a method to cope with the backlash that came with the cohesive struggle.” You see on the Boss’s face that he loses track of what’s being said halfway through Mary’s explanation.

“I have been subject to her twisted experiments all night.” Perses sums it up much simpler for him with a displeased tone in his voice. “It’s cruel and unusual!”

“It’s a physical.” Mary corrects, forcing his arm out straight before him while she places two fingers over his wrist, taking his pulse. “From what I’ve found so far, it seems that Perses is experiencing a motor incoordination along his spinal region. The nerve roots of his body have grown used to communicating with Troll physiology and as such are miscommunicating now that they’ve been reverted back into Dwarf tissue. The spinal nerves are unable to compensate properly and are sending improper signals that trip him up more frequently. Based on muscle responses alone, it’s clear he’s still unfamiliar with the full range of motion his form is capable of, his body having forgotten how to properly utilize the tools at its disposal. I’m currently devising a regimen for physical rehabilitation, but it’s possible this incoordination could also be causing a block on his energy channels to manifest.” Continuing on in her report, Boss remains in the upper atmosphere, oblivious to what’s being said.

“Give it to him straight, Doc.” You beseech the woman, knowing Boss is too lost to follow.

“He might have difficulty channeling magic voovoo because his body broke.” She gives it straighter than was necessary.

“But you can get him back to normal again?” Boss immediately follows up once he fully understands, not seeming to notice the biting tone of her response.

“Generally speaking, yes. Though, one would be hard pressed to consider anything about Perses normal, physically healthy or not.” She sighs, earning her a side-glare from the man in question. Before he can offer up his grumbling response, Mary plucks out a stethoscope from the pieces of equipment on her desk, placing the ear buds in and adjusting the mic against his back. “Breathe in.” She directs.

“Then he’s in good hands.” Boss declares, not seeming to sweat the details on this situation. Maybe he’s just focusing on the current problem in front him before he addresses the next one? Focus on your own plate and what not.

“Not to downplay all this, but weren’t we in the middle of something?” You say, putting a pin in the whole Kafka-Metamorphosis shit going on in this room for the time being.

“Right.” Boss nods, turning back to the task at hand. “Frank, think you can lend a hand?”

“Ooo, what are we doing?” Frank inquires with a wonder only a child can bring.

“Cracking the Time Barrier.” Boss says with a clap, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of the attempt, a slight anxious tremble in the subtext of his movement. You get a strange glance from Mary who’s still listening in on Perses’s bodily caverns, passingly skeptical of the declaration. “We need a Blood player to bypass the Gridlock separating the moments in time. You’ll be acting like a construction crew laying down a road to connect us with the past.”

“Oooh! I get it now!” The Page eagerly nods, seeming excited to get started. Walking with a briskness, he jaunts over to a nearby filing cabinet, opening it up and removing a large pillow before returning to you two. Placing it down before the Boss, he pats the plush a few times, gesturing for him to take his place upon it. “Here, criss-cross applesauce!”

“Uh… okay.” Boss awkwardly complies, folding his legs as he plops down on the pillow. Trotting around his side, Frank circles behind the sitting Page, reading his station with a few flourishes of his fingers. “You… don’t need me to explain anything beyond connect with the past?” Boss looks back at the boy, surprised at his immediate understanding of the situation.

“Nope!” Frank cheerfully confirms.

“Alright…” Boss turns back forward, seeming unfamiliar with not having to explain every step of his plan to the participants. You aren’t entirely sure what to expect yourself, but you figure you can wing it easily enough. This isn’t your first rodeo dipping into Time, after all. “When you’re ready, I-I guess.” Upon his go-ahead, Frank levels his hands parallel with the side of Boss’s head, as if ready to catch him in an embrace if he’d fall. From the skin of his open hands, thin trickles of blood seep through invisible cuts, a gentle pair of waterfalls in his palms oozing red sap like a wellspring tree. The vital liquids pour to the polished floor in staggering amount, encircling the Boss where he sits, making an island of his pillowed throne upon the ground. Looking down to see the red river encroach upon him, the Greater Page shuts his eyes, engaging the augering chronurgy within him and filling the room with a slowing presence, the way the mind slows when anticipation has reached its peak. Gears are spinning, cogs are turning, an augury is soon upon you. A warm presence follows, emanating about the room, its source leading back to the Boss on his drifting territory, heating the surrounding space like a roaring stove. Behind him, Frank’s posture loosens, the young boy entering into a trance, his eyes inking over with rust, as blood trails down his face like tears.

“The wretch is leaking.” You hear commented from across the room. You glance over to see Perses watching the ritual with intent, a sense of distaste as he beholds the blood being spilt upon the floor. You see beside him Mary also watches with begrudging interest, dubious of the merits these incantations hold. Her eyes meet yours after a spell, snapping her from the bewitching intrigue that had first captured her, and she quickly makes herself busy after, selecting a new and terrible device from her arsenal, a utensil you can only guess would be used for extensive probing of some orifice or another.

“Pay us no mind.” She instructs while turning her sights to the Baron.

“Pay us mind. Pay us mind! I command it!” Perse pleads, panic-stricken by her intentions. “Do not leave me alone with her, Wizard!” You take this cue to leave, turning to the Blood Page before you and harnessing yourself into their ritual. Allowing the bioelectrical signals from your brain to surge, you feel the faint trails of static arcing cross your skin, thoughts casting off you like dying cells shed in favor of the new, crackling streaks of lightning forming visors atop your eyes. With your third of the Fraymotif empowered, you extend your Mind’s presence past your own, into the two standing before you. Then, everything goes still. The energy you’d been channeling vanishes, the heat from Boss’s temporal engine burns out, and you are left in a still room, expectant with uneasy anticipation. At first, you think something’s gone terribly wrong. Then the walls start to melt.

All around you, space falls away as though it were heated wax, slopping off in rivers and clumps, the ceiling, the door, the walls, even your allies all begin to disappear, leaving nothing in their wake until you are alone in a void. This is different from the way it was before. Under Finlus’s lead, it was like you’ve been sunk to the bottom of an ocean, but this…

 

 

 

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S

W

I

S

H

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Suddenly above you, an enormous vector tears open with tremendous force, the void carved in two as crimson red strands slink down from the sky like the vines of an enormous tree. It looks different from before, but it seems you were successful in reopening the Window in Time once more. Taking a few idle steps forward, you gaze up at the fissure in time with wondrous bewilderment, contemplating how you’ll broach this conundrum. It was a simple task delivering the messages Finlus had for his younger self because he was helming their arrival, but this is all new terrain. More importantly, you’re doing this because Boss wanted to replicate what that Joker did, but you have no idea what messages he even wants sent back into the Past. What are you-

“Ah.” You lightly yelp as something knocks into the side of your leg. Glancing down, you find what you can only describe as a living constellation has gently collided with you, its glittering stardust body in squat and rotund shape. What you would consider to be the head of the constellation turns up to face you, the form of a long and thin beak swinging up with it as it observes you in curious detail. Inspecting the creature back, your attention is soon drawn away by movement in your peripherals, looking to find an entire room of these starlight creatures, trotting about in some unseen cohesion or schedule. “What in the world…?”

“Creed?” You hear a voice echo throughout the void. Turning in its direction, you find one constellation taller than the rest, and in a human shape to boot.

“That you, Boss?” You deduce, recognizing his outlines.

“One and only.” He confirms, his silhouette leaning to his side. “Seems like everything’s going to plan, but… answer me something, Creed. Are you actually made out of glitter right now, or is my brain melting?”

“Relax, Boss. I’m seeing things too.” You assure him, noticing an anxious shimmer in the stardust comprising where his eyes would be. “It’s probably a mental reflection influencing the negative space of the ritual.”

“Really? What the hell are all these weird chicken things reflecting, then?” Boss asks, his head tracking one of the little constellations as it walks by below him.

“I think they’re Kiwis, actually.” You correct him, recognizing the vague shape of their plump forms, all ten or eleven or so of them walking around you.

“Kiwis?” He repeats, turning back to face you. “Is that what they are…? No wonder I couldn’t think of the name, they’ve been extinct for so long…”

“What?” You utter, thinking you’ve possibly heard him wrong. “Kiwis aren’t extinct, they-, w- they are now, but they weren’t when we were on earth.”

“Are you sure?” He asks you, rather confident in his history. “Cause I’m pretty sure there was a species of bird that went extinct a while ago.”

“You’re thinking of Dodos.” You tell him.

“Naah, I don’t think I am.” He confidently declares.

“You are.” You reaffirm.

“I don’t know…” He hums, dubious of your assurances. “Anyway, what are they doing here?”

“They’re my Consorts.” Another voice chimes in. Turning in unison to the source, you find another tall constellation.

“I take it you made it in without issue as well, Frank?” You address the cluster, who gives a silent but enthusiastic nod.

“You said these are consorts?” Boss asks the mass of stardust while watching the various Spirit Kiwis trot about the dark beneath the crimson glow of time hanging over you. “I thought you said you didn’t have a Land back in your session?”

“They’re special Consorts!” He exclaims with excitement. “Ones who only show up in the Veil!”

“Veil Consorts?” Boss repeats, his silhouette glancing your way to get your reaction. You can’t imagine he’s getting anything out of the glance, seeing as you yourself appear glamorized in stardust at the moment as well. Nevertheless, you do contemplate what it is the boy had said. It’s a ridiculous fairytale fake as shit notion that you’re pretty sure everyone but the Blood Page himself realizes isn’t real. Personally, you chalk it up to an over-active imagination, however… you can’t help but notice there’s a subtextual urgency in the way the boy talks about the constellations. Like he so desperately wants them to be real. Perhaps on some level he realizes that they aren’t? Perhaps he understands that all that glitters isn’t gold, yet his need to conform with others overrides commonsense and allows him to believe that he had consorts just like any other player he’s friends with? Just a passing thought. Best not to go saying that out loud, however. Seems cruel to smash the kid’s dreams for no reason. You… don’t think he has much else.

“Maybe we should focus on the task at hand.” You redirect the conversation from the potentially non-existent consorts and how hypothetically upset Frank’ll get if he figures out their unrealness. “We’re reaching Back in Time, aren’t we? But why? And to where?”

“I told you before that I’ve heard your voice in my head, haven’t I?” Boss asks you, focusing back on the topic at hand before the Fraymotif times out. “You weren’t just giving me advice at those times. You were giving me information that saved my life. Each time, I was on the brink of death when you showed up. When Leah blew the head off the Thief of Hope and cut the damn sky in half, you told me to Time-Capsule myself before I was caught in the blast, and when I was falling afterwards. When I was lying shattered at the bottom of the pyramids where we first met, you reminded me about the new powers in my Ability Index. The first time I ever heard you was up on the Forge. Before we’d ever met, before finding you was even an option for us. Every step of the way, you’ve been there to save my skin. I’ve been trying to figure out how that was possible, but after Finlus roped us into his schemes, I realized that must be what I’d heard! Voices from the Future, reaching back to ensure we make it out alive.”

“The Forge?” You inquire, only knowing a little about how they’d blown it up. Honestly, you never gave it much thought, but they fought another player there, didn’t they? One Thief or another. Was it really that grave of an encounter that they needed temporal interjection? “What was discussed?”

“You told me to open my mini fridge.” He reveals, the thoughts poised upon his glimmering slate of a face. “Medeas and her slave had nearly put me in the grave when I heard you, quiet in the distance, like a thought at the back of my head. I was low on blood and you got me to rehydrate. You told me to drink from my Jar of Universe-Lagoon Water and it was like a fog was lifted from my head.”

“Was there anything else?” You probe, unsure how much information you’ll need in order to comply with Time’s whatever-demands.

“Ugh… sorry, even now, everything about that night is so hazy…” Boss groans, the shape of his hand reaching up to nurse his crown, a near-visible shroud crowding his mind. “I remember… there was just so much… blood…” Summoned by his decree, a sudden and guttural groan moans out above you, as the fissure in timespace slowly begins to mend, the various vines of the great tree contracting into form, like thoughtful tendrils putting themselves back in place.

“Doesn’t seem like we have all too much time to iron out the details right now.” You declare, observing the subdued speed in which your Window closes, figuring you have a few minutes before your ritual runs out of juice. Question is; how do you navigate this medium? It’s similar to thoughtspace in how the geometry generates itself, but you aren’t sure the degree of control you have over the environment here. Though, before you can go testing the water, one of the constellations goes shooting upward at an almost comical pace.

“Wha, Frank! Where are you-?!” Boss exclaims, reaching out to try and stop the boy half a beat too late. “Damn it… The hell is he doing?”

“Taking the lead, I’d say.” You conclude, observing the technique in which he’s flowing through the void, figuring out how to replicate his method for yourself. Peering up a moment longer trying to get an understanding of how to move, you begin to shift the world you reside in, and in the glowing red light of the time stream, you remain still in space as reality shifts downward, the fissure in the sky lowering to meet you. “C’mon! We’re on a schedule, aren’t we?” You call down to the Boss who gazes up at your ascending perch in space. You’re too far to make out what he says back. By the time he does, you’ve already reached the fissure, the heat radiating down on top of you like an engine waking up the world. Reaching just before the slipstream, your ascent suddenly halts, close enough to interact with one of the hanging guts of Time’s Intestines, a branch of pure timeflow. You extend a hand out to make contact, but pull away when you get too close, the vector of existence too hot to touch. No good, huh? Fine then. You can think outside the box.

Energizing the cells of your hand, your forearm morphs into pure lightning, and you feel nothing but the current wading against the tides. Reaching further into the slipstream now, you feel as you are taken hold of, drawn toward the cardinal flow. You do not resist. Energizing your entire form, you disincorporate, your body slipping into a streak of lighting that leaps out into the wellspring of energy, and you are taken away by the rapids. The Forge… You need to get to The Forge!

 

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Rushing past, you feel it. The Abrasive Flow of Time, relentlessly attempting to grind you into dust as you pass through it. Yet something prevents the End from finding you. A sanctity dedicated to preserving your existence in perpetuity. A stalwart bulwark safeguarding all from touching you, built within the very bones of your soul, intertwined and welded there. You travel like this, safe and protected, until finally, the flow ends, and you are spit back out with a shove forward, your presence brought back into reality once more. With a few uneasy breaths adjusting to your new surroundings, you look yourself over to make sure all of you made it through in one piece. And while one piece you might be, your form itself is altered. You are transparent, as if a ghost. Incorporeal in this moment in time. Above you, the fissure in spacetime remains carved open, creating a red rift to hiss silently in the sky. Below you, you stand atop a great cliff, a vast valley of blooming life and jubilation stretching onward as far as the eye can see. The Land of Art Exhibits and…

“Forge…” You mutter, looking down at the string of christmas light explosives decorating the entire length of the mountain, unsynced flashes of primer-lights blinking at random intervals, each and every last one signaling with wanton enthusiasm of their readiness to blow. They really did just strap bombs to every square inch of this place and hoped for the best, huh… Then, if the volcano is already dressed and ready to impress, that means-

“Stand… STILL!” A booming voice shouts, turning you around in an instant to look behind you. There you find two forces locked in combat. Billowing threads of Heart and Breath, the two ebb and flow from defense and offense at blurring speeds, until you finally recognize her. Sara, face muddied with blood and determination as she dashes and flows around a Troll combatant, a Thief in Red who threatens the scene, a burning aura cloaking her from her adversaries.

“Azzeh…” A weary voice comes from just beside you, turning your attention once more, this time to your flank. Facing to see there, you find upon the floor is… holy hell… “you, Amlimb…… Youb… y-… y-you nehd t…t… to helgh her…” Upon the stone cusp of the Forge lies the Boss, floating in a sea of his own blood, every inch of him torn apart like he’d been through an industrial shredder, life-threatening wounds aplenty across the crumpled canvas of the Page. Most gruesomely of which being an ungodly gash in his right shoulder that carves well into his back, nearly separating the half from his body. Startled to see your leader in such a state, you inspect him more closely. A strike like that should’ve killed most anyone. How… how is he still alive…?

“Uh… yeah, buddy. Sure thing.” The one attending him assures the Boss, forcing you to realize another is atop the Forge with you. At first glance, you’re surprised to find Haugrr here as well, yet the lively look in his cheeks tells you this is not the Husk, but the vessel the undead occupies. The one that came before the Prince.

“Gah!” You hear Sara yelp, burnt by the flaming cloak that coats the Thief. Turning to the Boss, you look to see what he’s going to do, but you find him still floundering upon the blood-soaked stone, trapped in a state of half-delirium, barely hanging on the brink of death. Just beyond him and the Seer Troll, in the foreground of the Strife, lie the heaping mass of Esspin and Mia, both bloodied and defeated. So it really was this desperate… Then Boss was right, these moments are for when his situation was most dire. When he was destined to fail on his path. Yet here you are, the streams of fate yours to divert with but a mere suggestion. No time to waste, then. With a leaping bound, you decorporate once more, Youth Rolling into Boss’s cranium and merging into the Thoughts of Days Past. And once situated, you deliver your message.

“Deploy out your Mini Fridge.” You attempt to direct him, finding difficulty moving the cognition of your leader, his mind in this moment feeling as though it’s Set In Stone. Christ on a Bike, his thoughts are scrambling more than an egg in hot oil. Okay… okay, you can work with this. “Hey, deploy your Mini Fridge.” You insist more forcefully, taking hold of the cognitive neural-mesh to try and forcefully forge a line of decisions. Yet still, Boss seems intent on ignoring you, too focused on figuring out how to convey to Sara that they need to abscond. Fine then, time to bust out the big guns. “Hey, Boss! Deploy your Mini Fridge already!” You practically carve upon the surface of his brain. Alright, finally starting to see some neurons ticking here. Seems that did the trick in getting his attention. Loaning him enough mental wherewithal to work his way through his overly-tedious Fetch Modus maze, Boss deploys his lime-green freeze box before him, causing a slight splash in the blood puddle he’s in as it appears. Alright, that’s it then, right? He’s all set with getting his liquids now? No… No, wait… Now he’s contemplating what constitutes the definition of drowning. Okay, looks like you’ll have to intervene a little longer. “Boss!” Okay, good. He’s opening his fridge and… wait, now he’s reaching for a Soda. “No.” You correct him like you’re addressing a cat who’s about to push a vase off a table. His brain sends back an unsure response. “You heard me. No.” You double down. With a timid hesitance now, Boss unsurely diverts to one of the neighboring drinks in his ice box, his hand hovering over a bottle of water now. Jesus, Boss! “No, not water. Come on get your head in the game.” Okay, his thoughts are scattering again and he’s starting to dissociate. Looks like you’re gonna have to pull teeth on this one. “Fuck’s sake, Boss, just pick up the black pond scum already.” You spell it out plain for him, physically moving his eyes to focus on the jar of dark and sparkly liquid.

“Hh?” He idly mumbles, looking up to his forehead for confirmation as he rests his hand upon the black jar.

“Yes!” You emphatically confirm, getting the Page to claim the drink from his fridge. Weakly pulling the barn-chalice to him with his one relatively good arm, Boss clumsily unscrews the top and peers at the dark liquid, dubious of its depths. Oh god damn it, he’s hesitating now. “Quit being a baby and drink it already.” You push him along, getting your leader to finally relent. Placing the glass to his lips, he swallows only half a sip before thinking he’s finished with the drink. You aren’t sure how much he needs, but you figure that’s not nearly enough to get the job done. “Get another swig down.” You instruct, much to the immediate dismay of the mind you’re in. He says he’s not drinking again. “How much blood have you lost already, Boss?” You ask him, trying to bring reason into the clouded mind of the Page. “Because I’m pretty sure that’s way more than five liters on the ground there.” You add, noticing that it isn’t just the Boss’s blood that strains the Forge in vast amounts, but a whole slurry of colors and hues upon the rocks. “You need to replace those liquids.” There’s a moment of begrudging hesitation as the Boss comes to a decision, before he finally concedes, settling on taking a proper drink from his well. The liquid reacts much more violently the second time around, now that it’s in larger amount. Sending a mishmash of signals into his brain, Boss’s entire system shutters, like it’s about to collapse into shock. Best to quit while you’re ahead for now. Hopping free from your Greymatter Foxhole, you land back upon the rim of the Forge, your feet tamping down upon the pools of blood, evoking a -splash- where to land.

Wait… splash? Peering down to your shoes, you find the sides of your soles are stained red, a distinct liquid plastered against the material. Raising your foot and patting it against the ground a few more times, you make sure what you’re seeing is real and not a hallucination of synesthesia after occupying a brain in this moment in time. Each time, you evoke a ripple in the pond which spreads out in waves. Turning your attention outward, you verify that you’re intangible in this moment, finding Haugrr’s vessel oblivious to your presence before him. How is this possible? You aren’t actually here right now, you’re just a mental projection on the timeline…?

While you contemplate the phenomenon transpiring here, you notice down beside the ripples you’ve created in the blood that the Boss has started moving again. Turning your full attention to him now, you’re astonished to find that the cleaving gash carved through the right half of his chest has stitched itself back in place, the two halves of the Page having fused together like he were made of clay, leaving your leader fully healed and ready to rise. Sure, Boss has some crazy regen, but this… he was nearly cut in half. You watch in awe as the Page stands back up and readies himself for Strife, mere seconds after lying one foot in a murky grave. Fully regrouped now, he and Haugrr’s vessel charge forward, fully reinvigorated for the fight. Your head turns, following after them until something beyond the two in your sight catches your attention, snagging it from them like a pocket or belt loop getting caught on a door handle as you walk through its frame. There in the midst of everything transpiring on the Forge is the Page of Blood, crouched down upon his knees with both hands placed flat upon their palms, pressed against the face of the volcanic stone. From him, an enormous cascade of blood billows out from the boy’s point of contact with the ground, like him pressing down upon it invokes a constant stream of the blazing liquid to pour forth from beneath his palms, the very stone itself bleeding under his touch. You notice then, that the blood upon the Forge’s rim has far exceeded that of which seven mortal fighters could produce. The sickening ichor flowing forth in such excess that it’s begun to paint the length of the mountain as it overflows and floods past its cusp. Such a feat as this is... inexplicable. This is Frank's doing? Taking a step forward towards him, you ensure that it is the Page you are seeing and not some trick of the light. Doing so, you see that he is transparent. Unhinged from the others and this moment, just as you are. Along with this, several narrow strands hang down from the rift in time, wiring him into the sky as they merge into his back. His eyes dart towards you, noticing your approach.

“…” He says nothing to you before turning his focus back to his task at hand. He seems different from before. Bearing not the lighthearted disposition he’s always had, rather he looks like a man on a mission, completely focused with a serious look hanging over his face like a glooming shadow.

“Frank.” You greet him while walking up. “What are you doing?”

“Ensuring Jason and the others do not bleed to death during the course of this fight.” He explains while not looking up from the ground, appearing as if his head is bowed in grovel or prayer.

“You’ve been here since the start of the Strife?” You ask him, realizing the excess blood has been a spilling presence since before you’d arrived in this moment.

“Medeas Colchi is a ferocious opponent.” He begins to explain, indirectly addressing your question. “Solo Strife is her specialty, which would have resulted in Jason’s demise if intervention was not made. Providing ample blood reserve safeguards him from succumbing to exsanguination.” He looks up at you this time. “It’s imperative that his message makes it into the air.”

“Well… of course it is.” You agree, somewhat phased by Frank’s sudden and, all things considered, competent appearance at this moment. “But how did you know he’d need your help?” You follow up, glancing over at the enormous yellow sphere corking the volcano. Boss had mentioned his first message to Dallra had been on a big tennis ball… you didn’t realize it was that big.

“I was here to witness this moment as it happened in real time.” He quietly explains, as though not wanting to elaborate, despite that not being all there is to say on the matter. You glance about the brim of the Forge but are unable to find the Frank of this Time amidst the chaos. The Blood Page seems to notice your confusion at his absence despite assuring you he’d been present for all this. ”I thought it pertinent to vacate to a safe distance once Jason began setting explosives upon the mountainside.” He explains, elaborating on his nonattendance to the lighting of the world’s biggest birthday candle. “I watched from an observatory to the southwest.” Hearing this, you turn around, unsure which direction southwest is exactly, but taking a glance, you see a multitude of observatories bearing large telescopes surrounding the valley the Forge resides in. He has to be in one of them, right?

Before you can contemplate the Missing Boy any longer, another Page goes shooting past you, flying horizontal through the air. Startled by the shape of your leader being flung across the top of the volcano, you quickly glance back in the direction he’d come from, seeing the Thief standing there, blazing knuckles trembling with anger as her freshly thrown punch hangs in the air. Looking back in the direction where the Boss had been cast off in, you watch as the Page slams down into the blood mires with a tremendous splash, rocketing towards the edge like he’s downhill on a slip-n’-slide. Oh shit, he’s not stopping.

“Boss!” You call out, reaching for the Page as he luges head-first towards the edge of the Forge. Too far, both in distance and in the future, to stop him at this point, you make use of what remains of your mental link with your leader, sending an impulse across the radio-ways to drag his claws into the stone to slow himself down. With a cringing scrape, he comes to a stop just short of the volcanic ledge, his head falling back just past the edge. Wooh… crisis averted.

“What kind of range do you get on your brain?” Frank asks, that lighthearted disposition returning to the boy as he looks up from his work upon the stone. “Mine only gets five meters on a clear day.”

“What?” You glance back to him, unsure how to answer a question like that. “L-look, you were here for this fight, weren’t you?” You move the conversation along, knowing you’ll gain nothing of value trying to decode the boy’s antics. “How long does this Strife drag on for? The Rift is closing soon, we don’t have time to be milling about memories like this.”

“Ooh, not too much longer, probably.” He estimates, glancing over to the Boss as he shakes off the bell-ring of the century. “You’ll probably know when you’re good to go.” How illuminating…

“By the way, what the hell are those things sticking out of your back?” You nod to the numerous wirings tied to the boy’s spine.

“U-uh… they’re… moments in the past I’m tied to.” He seemingly admits, weirdly cagy about the information. You stare at the Page a moment, trying to decipher his dense attitude as Sara splashes around in the blood with her wind powers behind you both. What, is he embarrassed of them or something?

“You’ve already been to four moments before now?” You inquire further, inspecting the strands merging into the Page’s body with hesitant interest. Ties to the past? Literal ties?

“I’ve been working backwards.” The Blood Page tells you, somewhat taking you off guard at how readily the boy’d taken the initiative in all this. “You’re going from the beginning, it looks like.”

“TaaaAAH!” As you attempt to understand where the boy’s proficiency for navigating the time stream comes from, a yell suddenly rings out, drawing your attention to your flank. There you find the Thief clutching her wrist, attempting to quell the immense amount of blood flowing from the wound Sara stabbed into her.

“GO! NOW!” The Sylph shouts her orders at Haugrr’s vessel, pointing him away to emphasize he leave. Upon her instruction, the Seer loads the unconscious body of Mia and Esspin upon his form like some great beast of burden disguised as a scrawny troll boy.

“Are you… are you supplying blood for everyone in this strife?” You ask the Page as you observe the Thief a moment longer, stupefied by the volume of cobalt blue pouring from her injured hand.

“Under the current circumstances, I’m unable to filter out who’s being affected by the Sanguinarine.” Frank explains to you, looking across the sea of ichor painting the Forge. “Medeas Colchi is too involved with our team to differentiate her from an ally.”

“Mr Jason?!” Another voice calls. Oh hey, Gretel’s here. She’s looking to the Boss, conflicted on what to do. He waves her away, and with a shaky nod, the young consort girl scurries up onto the back of Haugrr’s vessel. All loaded up, the Seer turns to face the ledge of the cliff before hopping off like the bottom isn’t three hundred feet down. Who the hell even was that guy?

“Too involved?” You repeat Frank’s words, unsure what that even means in relation to his specialties.

“Fucking humans.” The Thief in question snarls, her claws cutting into Sara’s throat as she pins the Sylph with a stranglehold. What was that about differentiating this chick from an ally? “You never know when you’re outclassed.” Raising up a blade she’d stolen from Sara’s specibus, the Thief aims her dagger’s point for the soft side of her opponent’s skull. At the same time, you see as Boss attempts to stand back up to intervene, only to stumble back down again, a visible daze occupying his mind as he struggles to get ahold of himself, his nose pouring red after the punch.

“What is he doing…?” You ask aloud as Boss continues to thrash about the blood puddles, unable to mount an offensive. Meanwhile, the Thief finishes choking the fight out of Sara, seemingly enjoying the fleeting few moments before she finishes the job. “Why isn’t he stopping her? He should be more than within range to freeze her in place!”

“He’s out of energy. He can’t summon any more time jinxes.” Frank explains while standing back up, concluding his blood-lending magics.

“T-then why doesn’t he use his time pick, the one that summons the traps for him?” You swiftly ask back, your attention volleying back and forth from Boss’s sorry state and Sara’s quickly fading life-force, a deepening sense of panic setting in the longer no one does anything.

“He has one of those?” Frank looks up at you, focusing on the wrong section of your question.

“You’ve seen it before!” You exasperatedly exclaim at the Page. With not a moment to spare, you turn towards the Boss who’s panicked thoughts you can hear from even here, and you scream at the top of your mind, so loud and powerful that your sentiments rocket through the divide of your mental link, slamming into your leader’s mind to spur him forward. “Boss, I think it’s time to Clock in some Overtime.” With the idea placed, the cogs start turning in his head, and in an instant, the Boss has summoned his time-device and scrambled to his feet. And with a mighty wind-up over his head, the Red Page hurls his pickaxe across the divide, nailing the Thief and locking her in place beneath a glowing red timekeeper. Allowing yourself a breath of relief, you don’t even look at how close Sara came to biting it, knowing it to be too close for forgiveness.

“Nice one!” Frank comments as the Boss messes around with his sylladex, deploying a small remote control to his mitts.

“Is that…” You trail off as Boss waves around the device, it slowly dawning on you that he just whipped out the live detonator for the entire demolition team’s worth of explosives below you all. “He isn’t planning on-“

“Yup!” The Blood Page happily confirms, seeming to find the situation quite entertaining.

“Sara! Get on top of the tennis ball! We’re getting out of here!” He shouts over to the Sylph who seems just as astonished at his plan as you are.

“That’s preposterous.” You declare as you watch Boss scramble about the Forge with a whole bunch of blood-drenched weaponry. “They rode a volcano explosion on the remains of a tennis ball the size of a house?”

“It was pretty incredible, actually.” Frank assures you.

“So I take it this moment is sufficiently dealt with? It’s safe to move on now?” You defer to the Blood Page, figuring he’s the de facto expert on extra-temporal navigation.

“It’s hard to tell sometimes.” He shares with you his clandestine wisdom.

“Alright… well, when does my tie to this moment form?” You rephrase, attempting to get some sort of answer out of him.

“Hm?” He continues to be a steel trap.

“My ties.” You point towards the four strands anchoring him to the Rift. “Do they show up once you travel through time again?”

“O-oh! That!” He nods with an unusual stiffness. “A-about that…! It’s just a Blood thing… Like… a minor manifestation of holding obligations to a moment! M-maybe Mind guys get their own thing? Like you get a bunch of extra neurons for each moment you go through!”

“That’s called a tumor, Frank.” You break it to the boy.

“I’m… sure they’re benign!” He tries remaining optimistic.

“…” You remain silent, allowing the only thing to fill the air be Sara yelling at the Boss as he slips and slides through the blood park.

“Sorry, Mr Creed, I know you were looking forward to getting your own set, but… if you really want a tie, I could maybe try to make you one?” Frank seems to offer you, thinking this was something you had your heart set on.

“I’m good.” You hold a hand up to halt his intentions.

As you converse with your temporally disjuncted companion, attempting to get even the slightest gauge on what the hell is going on here, there comes a sudden and jarring ring-alarm echoing out behind you, ripping your attention from anything else. When you look, your view is met with the enraged Thief of Heart, panting like a rabid beast as smoke from the broken time spell burns into the atmosphere around her.

“You… FILTH!” A howling cry wrought with indignant resent snarls from her lips. Then, in an instant, and you mean an instant, the Thief bursts forward towards Boss, closing the distance and driving her fist deep into the center of the Page’s spine. The inertia and impact of her attack transfer into the Boss in the blink of an eye, and he’s sent rocketing away, flung towards the enormous tennis sphere in a fraction of a second, slamming into the fuzzy material without so much as a bounce. The commotion causes Sara, who’d been perched atop the ball up until now, to fall back, disappearing from view as she fumbles to the other side.

“Oooh!” You cringe at the crash, both surprised and baffled at the unelastic nature of the tennis ball, watching Boss hit it like a fuckin’ brick wall.

“Ha!” The Thief exclaims, shoulder-charging into Boss’s back once again, catching him as he attempts to escape onto the sports sphere. Maybe your job isn’t done here after all…

“I’m gonna… see if he needs any help.” You tell Frank as you begin to trot after the action.

“See you when you finish up!” The boy calls back, bidding you goodbye, his voice growing smaller and smaller, as though lost in the wind. You pay it no mind, focused on getting to the Boss as the Troll girl whispers something to him. The gentle treatment doesn’t last long, however, as not a moment later, the Thief grabs hold of the Boss by the scruff of his hair and slams his head against the side of the giant sphere, evoking a muffled -bong- to echo out as his skull knocks against the shell of the enormous hollow object. Without rest, the Thief begins to bash his head against the ball, again and again, unrelenting in her assault.

“I will rip your screaming soul out of your meager, Frail body.” The Thief roars as she bashes his brains against the felt. Hurrying your pace, you arrive beside the Boss as his head slams against the ball once more, and you quickly try to assess which way is best to help. “I will make you beg to serve me!” You first try to jump into his head to instruct him what to do, but as your form electrifies and you attempt to merge with his thoughts, you find that there isn’t much thought left for you to enter, the repeated hits sending his mind recoiling, stunlocking you out of entry. Damn it! “I…” She slams again. Come on, Boss! Do something! “WILL…” Once more, his skull is rammed into the sphere, causing a sickening -crack- to echo out as his skull likely fractures. “BREAK!” Not letting up, another hit comes, with the Thief doing her damnedest to cave Boss’s head in, and getting results. You’re helpless to watch as the Thief bludgeons the Page, your every attempt to insert yourself into his mind dashed away by her unyielding attack. “YOU!”

“Jason!” Just as it seems most dire, Sara returns atop the tennis ball, batting a Fan and evoking a powerful channel of wind to spring forth like a vengeful spirit, forcing the enraged Thief away from the Boss. Simultaneously, the Sylph tosses the cracked-open Page her other armament, hoping to arm the boy with at least some sort of offensive means. With what little influence you’re able to muster over his fried brain, you force an impulse into Boss’s mind, extending his hand out and snatching the Fan for him, ensuring his fist remains closed in a death-grip regardless of what happens. Her ire now upon the Sylph, the Thief of Heart slashes Sara across the face with her finger whips, knocking the girl back. With the brief distraction, Boss attempts to stab into the Troll with his ally’s knife, only to be quickly caught by her mid-swing, breaking the young man’s wrist with a simple clench of her fist. Your work endures, however, as the impulse you sent to his brain stimulates the muscle fibers of his hand, ensuring his grip remains unbroken.

“You arrogant knucklefiend! You absolute swill-blooded oaf! Dumb wriggle paste spitting, no good fin licking-… GAH!” The Thief chastises Boss, exceedingly frustrated over the strife’s refusal to go her way. “To think you could compete with me? That you could defeat ME? You’re adorable-…” Taking a gasping breath, the Troll girl pulls back ever so slightly, as though she’d said something she’d wished not to and immediately regretted letting it slip. “I-I-It’s ador-, I-I, You… I’m not… Y-you don’t…” The Thief stammers a moment longer until finally going silent, unable to recompose herself before giving up on clarifying what she’d intended. And then, she simply gazes at the Boss, seemingly enamored with the grizzly work she’d done to his now-gnarled face. Yet something deeper lies there, a sense of sheepishness in her weird, misshapen eyes as she beholds the Boss, her frenzied expression softening the longer she watches him. The fuck is happening right now?

Dragging on for but a moment longer, the tension of this scene all culminates in a move you, in all honesty, never would’ve seen coming, as the Thief leans in, planting a kiss against Boss’s battered lips, leaving them there as she passionately interlocks herself with the guy she’s been whaling on not a moment ago. You watch as the Boss’s swollen eyes widen in surprise, seemingly caught off-guard by the act just as you were. Man, she’s… really getting in there…

After an awkward moment bearing witness to this unholy display of fervidly misplaced intimacy, the Thief pulls away, watching the Boss closely for his reaction, unsure of how he’d take it. He looks back, equally unsure of his opponent, before seeming to come to a decision. The Thief doesn’t seem to notice as he buries Sara’s dagger into the tennis ball by his side.

“Sara... hold on!” Boss announces to the Sylph who’s been watching in confusion at the scene from above. At the same time, he presses his thumb against the detonator, sending the damning signal with a quiet -beep- from the device.

 

-boom-

-Boom-

-Boom-

-BOOM-

 

You turn as you hear the sounds of cascading explosions ringing out, growing closer to the top of the Forge as the signal for detonation climbs its way up the volcano. Then, as the approaching explosions reach their apex, the ground beneath you erupts with an insane power that launches you all upward with the might of the ensuing fireball. Thrown into the sky, your intangible form goes spiraling towards the Rift in Time, only to go stopping on a dime once you’re in proximity to the tear in space. Your stomach turns as the momentum is stripped from you in less than a second and all your organs get whiplashed all at once. O-oh god, what the hell!?

“Ugh…” You groan as your ghostly insides reel against the rough treatment. “Okay… think it’s safe to say that’s one moment taken care of.” You huff, glancing down at the sight of the enormous flying tennis ball pinging off the side of what little remains of the Forge, rolling onward and colliding into a few buildings in its path like a wrecking ball. You’re… sure Boss and Sara got off in time… Looking up now towards the Rift, you get a look at the guts of reality’s innards with a better understanding of how to navigate them. There are threads arranged like a web over the tapestries of Time’s channels. Nodes affixed to points, like cities about a roadmap. You think you’ve got a decent idea on how to handle this beast now.

Taking a deep breath, you stretch your knuckles outward as your body begins to electrify, and̸̡̛̛̥̣͚̤͇͕̯͓̦͖͕̺̱̾̏̍͛̎̐̈́̇͊̽͌͝ ̶̢̖͍̠͙͈̳̺̊́̐́͗̀̋̿̿̃̂̎͘y̶̨̩̦͚̭̖̜̯͓͍̫̬̺̪̽̎͗̈́o̵̢͓̞̱͎̖̖̞̯͈͇͂̇̐͂̓͗̃͗̈́̋̀͊͛̄̌͜ṷ̶̀̂̄̇̊̚ͅ ̵͈̜̈́̈͋̏͛̓͐̈́͛s̶̛̪̞̟̱͌͋̉͒́̒̀́̕é̶̡̨̧͚̯̱͈͕͎̗̮̭̯̘̅̄͌̔̇͑̑͑͘͝t̵̡͖̠͙̝͒̎͗̚͝ ̴͖̙̙͖̮̣͔͖͆̄̌̎͊̍͌͆͒̃̿̕ỳ̵̰̼̪̰͚͇͉͎̹͙͇̳̑̈́͆̋̄̆̇͆̄͘̕͜͝͠ͅo̶̧̩̬͇̲̹̠̞̹̲̩͚̝̊̇͂̃͛͝͝ų̴̨͇̪̬̙̘͈̬̝̺̳͎̅͑̕r̵̨̢̜̪͖̖͍̓̑ ̵̮͕̹̰̯̭̎͑ḿ̴̰ȋ̴̝̬̙̜̱̤͍̭̫͍͍̑͑n̸̬̗̰͇̼͙̜͇̭̪̥͒̀͗̇̄̔̒̆̆͛̏̃̚͠͝d̸̢̲̬̠͔̹̪̮͔̤͙͉͈͗͋͛̎ ̶̥͎̹͖̹̯͖͓̜͌́̔͂͛̈́̒͝͠t̴̳̝̣̯̬̦͚̟̣͈̟͈̟̘́́͠ơ̸̖̺͍͈̓̓̈́̋͑̇̾̄-̷̪̬̼̭̬̠̬͎̝̱̭̝̘̈́̃̓͒̀̉̑͂̕͝

 

 

 

 

 

[ERROR] [ERROR] [ERROR]

 

[CRITICAL BREACH DETECTED]

 

[PLEASE STAND BY]

 

==>

Notes:

Apologies for the delayed in updates lately, I've been spending most of my time this past month shoveling my way though the mountains of snow that's beseeched my country villa, all of it as yellow as the noontime sun.

Chapter 85: > A Song Called Goodbye

 

 

 

…

 

……Hm?

 

Wha-, what happened…? Did the story go down? Hold on a sec, let me see what… wait, why are you at the Character Select Screen all of a sudden, there isn’t a scheduled Perspective change for another half-chapter. Okay, no problem, all we gotta do is select Creed again before he get’s too far along in the plot. Simple fix, no worries, we’ll have this puppy back on track in- AH! It’s hot! What the- AAH! The entire panel is overheating! What is… The Narrative burnt out?! How the hell does that happen!?! My rig is temperature controlled, we just installed water cooling! Hang on, let me get underneath the damn thing and…

…That isn’t water. Oh god… oh my god… Somebody replaced the liquid in the tubing with fucking blood… Shit, okay, shit, don’t panic. I mean, someone’s broken in, and there’s more than likely a dead body somewhere in my office right now, but don’t panic. What…? Yes, it is an office! It doesn’t matter if it’s below ground level, it’s outfitted with… y’know, a desk and… my typewriter… Basement’s are for storage, offices are for business! Like the business of figuring out who in their right mind made liquid coolant out of the local vagrants. In situations like these, there’s usually a detective guy around to narrow down the suspects, but seeing as it’s just you and me here, I believe I’ve narrowed down the search. Not pointing any fingers, but, I mean… I wasn’t the one who oiled up this narrative engine with the lives of nearby vagabonds. If you just come clean now, I’m sure the authorities will…

Wait a minute… this isn’t blood… it’s Code Red! What the fuck! Did you put Code Red in my god damn Emersion Engine?! Oh Jesus Christ, everything is sticky! This is a mess. This is a mess, and it cannot stand. The entire thing will have to be hauled out and scrubbed clean! Half of this shit is gonna need replacing! Do you know how much something like that will cost?!…No seriously, do you know? Like, can you get me an estimate on that? O-okay, forget it for now, we’ll just have to use an auxiliary integration unit. Here, put this cognitive-drift helmet on and… Yes, it looks an awful lot like Sara’s High Frequency Sonar Headgear, I didn’t have a lot of time to make a new asset, so we’re using an old one… No it won’t scramble your brains, I’m completely-… I’m… almost certain. Just put it on!

 

**Attention**

 

**Attention**

 

**Narrative Unmanned**

 

**Narrative Unmanned**

 

**Please Provide Active Viewer At This Time**

 

Ah, shit, the POV’s desynchronizing! Damn it, Creed’s a mile ahead in the chapter, he’s already reached the Perspective***Change. Maybe we can… ah, fuck it, you’ll just have to pick up where you can. You get back to the story, I’ll focus on fixing… this. Buckle up, you’re going in hot.

Guh, Code Red… God, I wish this was actually just blood…!

 

***

 

Coming back into realspace, the first thing you notice is a distinct stiffness in your neck. Leaning your head to one side, you’re treated to a cascade of cracking pops, your body acting as if you haven’t moved in weeks. Leaning your head to the other side, your grace the room with another cacophony of near-snapping cracks from your spine.

“Ah…” You grunt at the sudden relief. It wasn’t a terribly extraneous labor, but working against the clock the way you were certainly was a stressful endeavor. After intervening with the Strife on The Forge, you’d been able to navigate through the Rift to arrive at the Pyramids on LOFAC, just after the Boss first approached you. That was a relatively simple delivery, consisting of you really only telling the horrifically mutilated Page just to open up his Ability Index and you were on your way. Finding the Boss amidst the shitstorm transpiring when you went up against the God Hand was a little trickier, however. That one was a bit of a handful… On a related note, Boss seemed to neglect the fact that you also spurred on his actions when you were falling to your death fighting the damn Breath Witch on LOCAF. He didn’t tell you about that one. You had to stumble upon it as you worked your way back to the present. Really glad you were able to find that moment before the Rift closed… Whatever. It’s in the past now. Literally.

Taking a glance around the room, you find Mary’s office in generally the same state as you left it, save for the layer of fresh blood painted upon the floors here. Like freshly laid carpet, the entire ground is completely crimson. Frank no longer stands directly in front of you, having appeared to vacate to the medical table to bandage up his injured palms. Boss, however, still remains on the pillow down on the floor, the cushion now thoroughly saturated with red ichor, leaving dark stain marks seeping well over halfway up its fabric. You can tell by just a glance he's having trouble staying conscious, his mind in a visible haze as he teeters from side to side ever so slightly. He's injured. Amidst the copious amount of blood Frank had flooded the room with, you spot a stream trickling down from Boss's tunic, likely inflicted somewhere over his chest. Had he gone past his [physical limit] during the ritual? Perhaps he was pushing himself to ensure you were successful in your task, buying you a few more minutes in the past that you should've had. You can't imagine he's doing too well, considering the past week. He's been getting kicked around pretty much every day lately. Even still, in the state he's in, he's still fighting to stay upright, refusing to go down. You never gave it much consideration before, but... Boss has an insane threshold for pain. What you saw up on the Forge, the state that Thief left him in? His face was unrecognizable, it nearly made you sick. And he kept moving... Even that fall off the Pyramids, the descent left him more a corpse than a man, and he walked it off. All of this, and he doesn't even seem to realize what he's doing, what he's capable of. Doesn't realize that that shit isn't normal. You've seen glimpses of him, you think. Glimpses of what lies underneath that oblivious nature of his. What lies dormant in his mind. The Monster that lurks just beneath the Surface. Honestly... it kinda fucking terrifies you.

Hmm. No good. Best not to think on it too hard. What difference does it make? You have a job to do, don't you? Ah, good. It seems your leader is coming around, though he still seems a bit out of it. Better to hand this rodeo off in the meantime, see if he can’t think his way out of that fog. Boss?

 

***

 

“Huh?” You mutter, registering that someone was speaking to you, but not knowing from where.

“Boss?” Creed calls again, snapping a few times before you face to catch your attention. “You okay?”

“Oh, uh… yeah, yeah, I’m- agh!” As you’re attempting to put the Heir at ease, you’re suddenly wrought with an intense piercing sensation that stabs into your torso from what feels like nearly every angle, and you double over while attempting to rise up. Yeah, that’s not happening any time soon. “I’m fine…” You weakly finish your now blatant lie.

“You sure about that?” Creed asks again. You aren’t. It feels like your insides have been emulsified, your organs barely kept in place by the outer layers of their surfaces, your chest now a trove of gore-filled water balloons. Christ, you knew opening up another Window into the Timestream was gonna be a risky move with the temporal reserves you had on hand, but you didn’t think it’d be like this. Are you… getting weaker? Each time you overdo your powers, it’s like you come back less and less. Like you're unable to fully recover the vitality you've exchange once you used it up. Maybe it’s like the ocean waves, crashing against the shore, taking inch after inch until there’s nothing left. Damn it, why’d this have to start happening now? When you're so close to solidifying the contingencies of your Plan. Safe to say, your reserves are completely tapped once again. No telling when you’ll recover enough energy to properly strife.

“I said I’m fine!” You manage to repeat, forcefully pushing yourself to your feet, your ribs whaling like steel pushed to its breaking point. Yet you will yourself up regardless, a distinct metallic taste on your tongue as you do. Lazily craning your head back, you glance about the room with about as much strength as you can muster, finding your roster of misfit toys still at attention. Frank is futzing around with a jar of cotton balls and Perses has thankfully put his shirt back on. You only notice Mary when you see the back of her hair bun bobbing up and down as she rummages around behind her operations desk.

“Alright." Creed puts his hands up to show he's backing off. "Whatever you say, Boss.” He says, easing back a ways, no longer lingering close in case he has to catch you when you fall. Just as he does, you near-immediately almost slip and eat shit as you step halfway off the pillow you’d been meditating on, catching the cushion at a bad angle and practically shooting it out from under you like a self-inflicted rug pull.

“Fuckin’!” You curse as your footing slides back across the floor unexpectedly easy. Jerking forward, you quickly force yourself to recover your balance before you can slide any further. The sudden stress on your muscles as you tense up to regain control feels like you’ve actually begun to melt, the scorching burn of an oven cooking your insides as a wobble begins to form in your knees along with an uncontrollable spasm trembling at the bottom of your ribs.

“Back from the land of make-believe, are we?” Mary calls over from behind her desk, having heard you begin to move around once more.

“Save it.” You grumble, fighting to get control over your body. Looking below you to see what caused your foot to slip so suddenly, you find the entire floor saturated with a cherry red repaint. Is that… is that blood? Jesus, where did it all come from?

“I take it you’ve concluded your little romp of necromancy this morning?” The Mage continues to inquire, glancing up from behind the oak barrier to see you. Concluded? Was it…? Shit… you can’t remember anything about what happened after opening the Window. After Creed warped into the time fissure… it’s like everything faded away for you… What the hell happened in there?

“Yeah! Did our ritual look super cool?” Frank eagerly asks his Mother.

“No, but you flooded my room, so… thank you for that.” She says while standing up, setting down a bucket and ringing a blood-soaked sponge into it.

“Forget about the room.” You tell her, shaking the bit of blood staining your hands off once you realize some had gotten on you during the ritual. “You won’t be here long enough to grieve its loss. We’re leaving.”

“What, now?” Mary asks, unbelieving of the news. “Don’t you think we still stand to gain more if we rest here while we still can?”

“That’s the thing, ‘while we still can’ is currently out the window.” You break the news to the room as your back attempts to give out under your weight. “Our enemies have already uncovered our position. Not only that, but they’re being cautious of Dallra’s omnisight. They’re implementing strategies specifically targeted against weaknesses in her kit. It’s like they’ve figured out…” You pause a moment, not wanting to will it into existence by saying it aloud. Yet you know there’s no denying it. Robin’s figured out how pivotal Dal is to your escape. Not only that, she knows how to circumvent her powers as well. The only question that remains is how? Do they have an intelligence specialist with them? It’d be possible for their Thief of Void to uncover that info, in theory, but the brief encounter you had with her, you learned she has to steal secrets from the person’s mind directly, and you were able to fend her off before she got anything valuable. Someone else then? Do they have their own Space player? Someone who’d know how Dallra’s powers work in depth? And how do they keep finding you so quickly? No one should’ve known where your base on LOMAM was, yet they not only knew, but were so familiar with the area, they were able to lay an ambush. Last night as well, you hadn’t been stopped for even a full day and they’d already infiltrated your camp in disguise. What do they have tracking you…? “Regardless, we can’t afford to stay here any longer.” You tell them as you feel a headache burn to life at the front of your mind, brought on by your attempts to figure out what your group is up against. “Pack up your things. And make it quick.”

“Righto.” Mary exasperatedly exhales, dropping her sponge into the bucket with a splash. As she does, the door to the office opens, and into the room strolls that smug prick, Haugrr.

“Yo, Dallra said she saw something weird happening and wanted me to-“ He begins, only to freeze in place mid-sentence when he sees the Mage packing away her cleaning supplies. “Whoa… What the fuck is going on in this room?” The Prince asks, looking between you all like he’s walking in on a murder. Catching his attention before any of you can answer, Haug seems to notice the thin layer of liquid coating the floor, lifting a leg to see what he’s stepped in. “Oh god, please tell me that’s grub sauce.”

“It came from the wretch.” Perses informs the Prince with a grunt, pointing towards Frank with a casual thumb. As if hit with a wave of sickness, Haugrr’s lips invert into his mouth and he stares up at the ceiling with clamped-shut eyes, a look of cringing agony on his face.

“…I regret not knocking.” He says before turning back around to leave, closing the door as he goes. “I’ll be scrubbing my sightglobes if anyone needs me!” You hear him shout out in the hall.

“Huh… Wonder what that’s about.” Creed hums, gazing at the door the Prince left through. A moment passes where no one in the room moves, all seemingly stupefied by the unexpected interruption. “Boss?” You hear the Heir call for you, though you can’t seem to focus on his voice. Despite standing right next to you as he speaks, it feels… as if… Creed is a thousand miles away, only the faintest echo of his words reaching where you are. It feels like… everything is a thousand miles away… Like you’re out in the dark of space, all alone. You think… “Hey, Boss, you don’t look too good.” You think you can hear a phone ringing, somewhere… What… What’s happening? “Boss?” Will someone… “Boss?” Will someone… pick that up…?

 

***

 

*click*

“Go for Penni.” You answer your phone, bringing the device up to your ear to listen.

“Sipso. I’ve got a job for you.” The familiar voice comes to life over the line. Well if it isn’t that scruffy bastard, Leon.

“Oh do ya, now.” You smugly smile, knowing something big must’ve happened if this shmuck is reaching out to you. “That’s funny. Correct me if I’m wrong, Leo, but if memory serves me right, and it usually does, but your girl’s last words about me were, and I quote; never in a million years I’d have that slut on our team; end quote.”

“Things have changed. Certain circumstances have had their deadline unexpectedly pushed forward and we’re shorthanded.” He explains, all business as usual. Such a tight-laced guy, no fun at all. “Same payment as before. How fast can you get to Lacaf?”

“Which Locaf?” You inquire, interested what’s got them reaching out on such short notice. “Constellations and Frogs?”

“Chess and Foresight.” He corrects.

“I’m looking at it right now.” You tell him, lazily glancing to your right.

“You’re planet-side?” His voice perks up ever so slightly. So cute when he gets excited.

“Nah. Chillin’ on Lobag at the moment.” You tell him, closing the rift to the checkered world. “Get it? Chillin’…? Cuz it’s an ice planet? Ha! Classic…”

“Hilarious.” He drily states. “Take it you’re game?”

“Slow your roll, handsome. I haven’t agreed to anything yet.” You toy with him a bit. “What’s the order, anyway?”

“Transport.” He promptly answers, all seriously like. Always so serious with him!

“Aah, my specialty. So it isn’t just that you’re shorthand, you need me specifically.” You deduce for yourself, idly batting at the bulge in your codpiece with your index finger.

“Begrudgingly…” He one-words you again, not even trying to partake in the give-and-take of the conversation, a most boring mouse to your cat.

“Don’t you know how to make a girl feel special.” You lament, swooning woefully. “Fine. Send me the details. I’ll be in touch.”

“Understood.” The call cuts out without another word. Man... What a cocktease, that guy.

 

***

 

“Boss?” A quiet voice reaches you out in the dark. "Hey, Boss? Ya with us?"

“Hm?” You open your eyes, sitting up in your seat. Looking around, you find yourself in a small cab, Dallra by your side while Creed and Gretel sitting across from you on the opposing bench. “Wha…?” You groggily mumble, unsure of what’s going on right now.

“You dozed off again.” Creed tells you as you come to.

“Oh… sorry…” You mutter, blinking a few times as your eyes adjust to the light. Peering off to your left, you find a window there. Outside that window, you see you’re suspended several hundred feet in the air, the cabin you’re in slowly rolling its way down a suspension wire above you towards a station at the bottom of a very large alp, the black and white checkerboard pattern decorated with trees and caves, giving the veneer of a dynamic mountain range.

That’s right. You’re on LOCAF again. After an awkward conversation with Dallra about buckets and the apparently inappropriate times to use them, you and your group had gotten on your way again, leaving the turmoil-filled office building behind and, much to Perses’s dismay, intact. Travel through LOHRAC was something else, however. It’s been a while since you’d been forced to navigate such a hustling and bustling city, let along one as complicated and interconnected as the Lower Banks you’d resided in. The entire place was like a maze with a thousand other participants trying to find the exit all going in different directions at the same time. You ended up having to take four different sky trams and six different trollies until you found your way to where you were going. But under the skillful lead of Dallra’s navigation, find your way you did, eventually turning up at the gates of the Gateway Temple dedicated to the Land of Chess and Foresight. Ironically enough, the high-rise the temple was housed in looked like one great big Rook. In that same vein, the landing zone the gateway portal took you to required a gondola lift to descend, similar in make to the sky trams of LOHRAC. You’d actually taken a tram into the Temple itself, so you suppose it’s fitting you’d have to take a lift down out of the landing zone you arrived at. You’ve noticed Temples and Landings will oftentimes mirror the Lands they’re connected to, bearing minor structural similarities to the world on the other side of their Gateway and vice versa. You’d probably find the symbolic architecture interesting in a procedural generative game theory kind of way if not for the fact that you can barely keep your eyes open at the moment. However, since you can’t, you don't, and instead just enjoy the gondola ride down. That’s another thing. You can hardly stay awake at the moment.

You guess that makes sense. It’s hard to get decent sleep on the road under normal circumstances, but the past three days have been Batshit Ball-to-the-Wall Hectic, last night probably being the worst in regards to interfering with your sleep. That shit’s gotta catch up with you at some point. You just didn’t expect that point to be any time you sit down for more than ten seconds. Embarrassing! Anyway, as previously stated, you’re currently descending from a rather large mountain fortress at the moment. The Gateway Portal had taken you to a considerably regal throne room, and after a bit of exploring, more Ryder and Haugrr getting distracted due to their undiagnosed ADHD, you’d found your way out onto the rampart of the structure, discovering the Landing Zone was built into a large castle keep sat upon the top of an alps-esk protuberance in the chess board. Swanky was the term your father would describe prim and proper estates like the one you had found. You aren’t really sure if that’s a real word or not. Regardless, you didn’t stay long, finding your way out of the complex and into the gondola lifts that ferry pedestrians up and down the mountain. Which brings you to now. In a big… metal cage… suspended by a single wire two hundred feet in the air… No biggie…

“Whoooooa! We’re going over the moat!” Gretel suddenly jumps up onto her seat, standing on the bench with her little snoot pressed against the window. Upon hearing her declare, you feel a sudden spark of stress fire directly up your spine, and immediately your breathing gets heavier, like a wave of exhaustion and anxiety hitting you all at once. “Look at this, Mr Jason, it’s so cool, you can’t even see the bottom from this high up!” Encouraged by your daughter’s enthusiasm, you glance to the side once more, gazing down at the chasm around the mountain range acting as its moat. O-o-oh, wow… how… cool… Yeah… super cool… totally doesn’t leave you with a sinking feeling whenever you look down into its depths. If anything, it should be nostalgic to that time you got thrown into one and totally survived without any lasting effects, physical or otherwise. Honestly, it seems like a party! Nothing would make this day better except… your lift cables snapping and you suddenly plummeting into the dark… Y-yeah… “This place is amazing already!” The young girl declares, her tail wagging so firmly it throws her off balance.

Come on, Jay! Get yourself together, man! What’s got you feeling so jumpy all of a sudden? It’s not like heights are anything new, right? You used to be able to fly, for fuck’s sake! People don’t spastically develop phobias or something, do they? You don’t think so, but… looking down while you’re this high up, you’re having a hard time breathing right, and your mind goes kind of blank trying to figure your way down immediately. What the hell’s about heights all of a sudden that’s giving you a fucking conniption? Come to think of it, you had a hard time crossing that one bridge back on LOMAM too, didn’t you? Right before it was cut… Guh, fuckin’ Heights… Heights, heights, heightsheightsheights… You’re great with heights, aren’t you?! You’ve fallen a million times before! What’s so different now-

Holy shit… you just remembered Mary hasn’t finished fixing your rocket gear… You have no safety net… You need to get off this gondola. Oh god, the walls are closing it! You’re flipping the fuck out right now! Acrobats and Handles and All that Shit! Shit… Shit!!

“Hey.” A soft voice suddenly cuts through the panic as you’re taken by the hand. Looking up, you see a concerned Dallra facing you, worried eyes having taken note of your unsanctioned meltdown. “Focus on me, alright?”

“T-… thanks…” You say to the girl, your face turning bright at her comforting assurances.

“You didn’t get much sleep, did you.” The Seer more or less says than asks, moving over from her side of the bench to press into you, the glow on your face growing brighter.

“I’m okay, I think.” You try to tell her, knowing full well you’re running on empty right now. Judging by the few groans you got when telling the others that you were disembarking so soon after stopping, you can’t imagine you’re the only one. Ryder in particular still seemed exhausted after going head-to-head with the Thief of Hope. You wish you could’ve stayed longer, but after a direct attack with your entire group in the building… Your enemies are getting bold. You don’t like it. Not at all. You’re running out of time, the entire lot of you…

“Hey.” Dallra vies for your attention again, pressing herself into you with a nudge. “About that talk…”

“Talk?” You look over at her, unsure what she’s referring to.

“You know, the talk. Think about us talk.” She clarifies with an extra nudge, jogging your memory as to what she’s asking.

“O-oh… right…” You mutter, feeling that Chain of Obligation Finlus hung around you all rattle in the wind. Even after everything, it’s still there. “I guess we never got around to it after everything started kicking off.” It's still bound you all.

“It’s only natural plans get waylaid with how much has been going on these past nights.” She sighs, resting on you now. “Even still, I’d like to know what’s been worrying you recently. Y’know, aside from the obvious.” She gently laughs under her breath, taking your hand in hers. “I’ve been thinking of us, as promised.” …Damnit. Why does it have to be like this? You’ve wanted to tell her about the Aquatinting Shake since you’d learned of it, yet still, every time you try to broach the subject, it’s like your throat goes dry and your heart begins to race. You try to find the words, but they simply won’t leave your lips. Why…? You’ve already decided, haven’t you? How you really feel under those chains. Your feelings for her won’t change, but… what if hers do? You know how you feel about her. You know how she feels about you, but you’ve no idea what she’ll think of the truth... Will she hate you once all is out in the open? For keeping quiet about it? For letting it happen? Will her feelings fade once she knows the origins of them? Again and again, you feel yourself going in circles.

“I… well…” Yet still, she deserves to know, does she not…? Deserves to decide for herself? “Tonight. I promise you. Tonight, I’ll tell you everything that’s been on my mind.” You vow to the Seer, causing a small yet precious smile to grace her lips. The kind of smile that gives you hope that everything will be alright. Now all you need do is figure out how you’ll break the news…

While you’re deep in thought over how to handle the coming challenge, your sky lift suddenly snags on something on the line, and the entire cabin goes rocking forward, nearly dropping your heart into your stomach in the swing. Another spark of panic slams into you as your head turns on a swivel to search for the danger, but you find that instead of a free fall, the gondola has arrived at the boarding station at the bottom of the mountain. Oh thank Christ…! By the looks of it, the rest of your group made it down no problem as well.

“C’mon.” Dallra gently says, taking you by the arm to stand you up, leading you off the infernal hell-gondola. There’s a bit of a wobble in your legs, but you get by. Walking past Gretel, you snag the cutie by her backpack, lifting her up and setting her down upon your shoulder, evoking a giggle from the young Gecko girl. With your daughter scarfed around your neck and Dallra huddled close, you’re calmed enough to get ahold of yourself again.

“Everyone here?” You call out to the group, interrupting the various conversations they’d divided into as you stroll out onto the boarding platform your tram parked itself beside. No one says anything outright, but doing a quick headcount, you all seem to be present. A lot more people here than you wanted for Team Witch Hunter, but better safe than sorry, right? “Good. We’re on our final stretch to Logaw, but that doesn’t mean we let our guards down. We’ll be here three or four hours. Beyond this, it’s a straight shot to the Witch of Mind.”

“Any Rival Players on the planet right now?” Leah crosses her arms, eyeing the chessboard horizon outside the station with a grizzled vigilance.

“A few.” Dallra says, moving forward a step. “We have two in the same hemisphere as us, one Knight running solo about twelve or thirteen kilometers west, a bit close for comfort, but they haven’t seemed to realize anyone is nearby. I doubt they’d try anything if they did, so we should be able to pass without trouble.” A small stirring comes over the crowd upon the news, but most stay calm. You can’t help but notice something strange about Ragnaa, however, who keeps looking between yourself and what you can only assume is west from where you are, a confused look on her face. “We also have a Seer to the North, maybe two hundred kilometers. A safe distance, but there’s a few unusual factors that stand out. From what I’ve observed, she’s speaking with someone outside my God’s Eye. Possibly a Hero of Void, but it’s too ambiguous to say at this moment. Along with that, she’s been traveling with a Sprite. The thing looks battle tested, but something as unusual as a Sgrub construct still at her bidding this late in the game is something we should keep our attention on.” Wait a minute, a Seer… and a Sprite…? Samantha? Without intending to, your eyes dart to Mia, who, up until that moment seemed uninterested in the travel briefing. However, noticing your sudden glance near-immediately, her attention zeros in on you in return. You know that she’s almost instantly realized something is up, but the incredulous look on her face seems to indicate she’s still deciphering what. Damn it, play it cool!

“You said a possible Void Player?” You interject before the Maid can sniff you out. “Any blindspots we should worry about?” Subtly checking to see if Mia’s still on your case, you glance her way, finding instead of you, she’s looking at… Ragnaa, who’s… bouncing her attention from her to you… Mia seems to be growing frustrated at this point, likely thinking there’s something silently going on involving her. Is there something going on? Why is Ragnaa acting so skittish?

“Yeah, actually. There’s a few large patches of darkness that I’ve been keeping an eye on. They haven’t moved in around two or three nights, and they’re on the other side of the planet, but… something’s off about it.” She explains, a strain of concern on her face as her sight focuses on the Dark Storm. “The blindspots don’t seem self-sustaining, like they should’ve dissipated by now. Which means someone’s probably there, maintaining their placement over the planet. Nevertheless, if anyone actually is there, it’d take them at least fifteen or sixteen nights to get to us from where they are. We should be okay.”

“All the more reason to put this place behind us.” You declare, stepping up beside Dal to put a conclusion to this pitstop. “Let’s get going, people.” Making the call, the others linger for a moment before acquiescing to your instruction and your caravan funnels its way out from the gondola station, setting out across the lonely black and white wastes for the road ahead. Following along with them, you keep pace with your group to the best of your abilities at your current condition, a heaviness in your eyelids and a fatigue in your legs making you feel as if you’re dead on your feet, barely able to stay upright the way you are. You aren’t sure when the last decent night’s sleep was, but it gets further and further away from you by the second. Maybe you’ll find comfort in one of the mighty Chapels on LOGAW once you get there… You doubt it, though. Religious institutions have never quite been your cup of tea in the past, you doubt now will be any different.

During this latest expedition, you’ve subconsciously begun to drift towards Sara as you walk, the invigorating presence of her passive abilities granting you a minor pep to your step. It’s not a full night’s rest, but it’s enough to get by, at the very least. Atop your shoulder, Gretel twists and turns, attempting to get a better view of the new world, a glamor in her eyes as she beholds the various ships and war barges cruising through distant skies. You’re still pretty high up in the mountains of LOCAF, even after taking the gondola lift down, so the ships in the distance you see are just about level with you, looking almost like they’re sailing upon an invisible ocean just on the horizon.

Beholding the low orbit vessels alongside your daughter as you walk, you begin to feel a sense of deja vu as you traverse the kitchen-patter floors of the planet. You’re pretty sure this is the first time you’ve ever returned to a Land in the Arena before. Up until now, it’s just been one new planet after the other on your travels, but after you and Creed cut through here to get to the Land of Firmament and Sea Monsters, it’s like you’ve become completely familiarized with the place. Well… maybe not completely familiar, but you at least feel like you have your bearings, more than you would if it were a completely unexplored world. The fact that this place looks like the Battlefield probably isn’t helping any either, but still, the point stands, you feel like you’ve seen this all before!

Placing your mind elsewhere, you focus ahead on your place in the pack, noticing that Ragnaa is still looking around with a nervous temper, anxiously waiting for… something to happen. She’s pulled her hood up, yet even still, you can tell by the restlessness of her head, she’s looking every which way for whatever she’s expecting. What’s up with her lately? She was acting shifty back when you were regrouping, but you figured that was just post-gondola stress getting to her. But now…?

“Sorry, Dal. One sec.” You tell Dallra as you let go of her hand with a promise to return quickly, prompting the Seer to glance back from her conversation with Haugrr.

“Sure, it was just the one bucket, but I don’t trust whatever they were doing in there alone.” You hear Haugrr mutter to her as you hurry your pace to catch up with the Bronze Troll. “Humans get weird when enough of them get together. Have you noticed that?”

“Ragnaa.” You say, looking down at the girl as you walk up next to her.

“Hm?!” She nearly jumps at your appearance there.

“Is something wrong?” You inquire, noticing that the Troll’s eyes are having a hard time staying focused. Maybe you and Ryder aren’t the only ones still exhausted after yesterday.

“W-… why would anything be wrong…?” She attempts to deflect. You don’t pry much, really only just stare at the Seer a moment longer than you usually would, which seems to be more than enough pressure to get her to crack. “I don’t know what it is…!” She quickly explains, frustrated at the words not finding her. “It feels like… everything’s converging, all on top of each other. Like Trusses of Fate separated by supereons long past have reconverged, weaved over themselves once more into a transfixed Nexus of Eventuality… An Ouroboros Eating its Tail!”

“Trolls have those…?” You mutter, unsure how the girl would know about a human cultural symbol like that.

“I feel the waves over the horizon… the unavoidable pull of Providence on the cusp of Fruition, waiting to be thrust across the threshold into the waiting and wanting valley. This is the final verse… the Final Verse to this Story…” Ragnaa goes on, starting to freak you out the slightest bit. “Never has there been a more Important Moment than the one we stand at the precipice of.”

“Never?” You raise an eyebrow, unsure how a Doom player qualified ‘important’. All moments are important, aren’t they?

“Never.” She reasserts, no waver to her convictions. “A story of Four Verses. Four and Nevermore. One; Made ash by the blind and vindictive. Two; Our world torn asunder by a countermeasure of the dead.” Rag begins counting down, freaking you out a large bit now, her eyes beginning to glow from beneath the shade of her hood. “Three; Crushed by two opposing existences. Four; You will all be ash soon. You will all be ash…”

“…” Okay, yeah… you’re pretty freaked the fuck out right now. You don’t have nearly the mental faculties at this moment to decipher what it is she’s said. In fact, you’re so tired, the only thing you were really able to grasp from her speech was that it was ominous as shit. All you know is the creepy girl is saying scary shit to you right now, and that creepy girl has a startlingly accurate track record for her predictions. Which is to say; All Signs Point to Seriously Bad Shit. Before you can ask her what all this means, you feel a nudge on the side of your arm.

“Mr Jason?” Gretel asks for you from your shoulder.

“What’s up?” Turning your attention upward, you see the Consort is perched higher up on your back to look over top the crowd behind the group. Following her line of sight, you spot Dallra at the back of the pack, not moving as the others unknowingly continue on without her, her face in a contortion of focus and worry, eyes shifting back and forth like she’s pouring over an entire archive of information. Growing frustrated by her intangible pursuit, the Seer suddenly throws her oversized hood over her head, blinding her sight beneath the dark fabrics. Seeing her there, you halt your own stride forward, allowing the others to pass you by, too enthralled in their own conversations to notice your stop. Quickly looking left to right, you scan the horizon on the off chance you’ll spot whatever it is she’s seeing, but when you inevitably come up short, you hurry over to the Seer, the dread creeping up your back like a chilling ice. “Dal, what’s wrong?” You ask her once you draw near, the urgency in your voice nearly throttling your words.

“Something was just launched from the northern hemisphere blindspot.” She explains, a visible fear on what little of her face you can see beneath the veil of her hood. “An escape pod.”

“E-… escape pod?” You repeat the word.

“The mock Star Cruisers, certain models are equipped with escape pods for their crews.” She explains what she’s seen, stress beginning to completely saturate her voice as she goes on. “One just came rocketing out from the dark spots in my vision with someone inside.”

“O-okay, but you said those blindspots are days away, didn’t you? We’re still okay, right?” You point out, not just to try and calm her down but to put your own worries at ease as well.

“Jason, the pod was fired from orbit, at the roof of the incipisphere. It’s outside the planet’s gravitational drag, nothing is slowing it down!” Dallra stresses, letting you know circumstances have suddenly been sprung against you. “Whatever mechanism launched the pod, it must’ve been powerful, more powerful than the ships are designed for. Right now, it’s going several hundred times the speed of sound… It’s headed straight for us, it’ll be here within the minute!” Understanding the gravity of the situation now, you place your hands upon the sides of Dallra's arms, keeping her still before you, as if she’d slip away at any moment.

“Dallra. Who’s in that escape pod.” You firmly ask her, attempting to steel your nerves to capitalize on what little time you have.

“I-I-I don’t know, he’s not in God Tier garbs!” Dal frantically answers. “He’s a Troll, Indigo Blood, a-and he has a large make!” These people… they’re masking their players… Playing on Dallra’s weaknesses… This is another Ambush!

“His horns. Do they narrow to a point along their front ridge? Like the edge of a blade?” You follow up, an image having already formed in your mind of who the opponent headed straight for you is.

“Exactly that.” She confirming your assumption, eyes meeting yours even behind her veil. It’s the Knight of Doom… The Rogue… She’s already taking her next shot!?

“We gotta move.” You declare, taking your Seer by the hand and breaking you both into a sprint. By now, your group has already gotten a ways away from your both, making their way into a sudden dip in the clearing you’re in. How? How?! You just arrived on LOCAF, how could they have figured out where you were so soon?! And to have an attack ready to launch at a moment’s notice? Have they been waiting here? Waiting for you to arrive?! Damn it all to hell! Reaching where your team had gone down, you find a set of stairs built into the ground leading into the depression in the valley and you practically slide across them as you descend the forewarned steps, leaving caution to the wind in your attempt to catchup with everyone else. “Is there anywhere nearby we can take cover in?” You ask Dallra as you tear down the steps.

“There are auxiliary strongholds built into the cliffs to the west, four hundred fifty meters. If we can make it to one, there are underground passages that can take us back to the castle we arrived at.” She reports, giving you the game plan. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, you realize the dip is actually an enormous trench way, likely used for funneling troops across the frontline without being targeted. You were originally planning to cross it to head north, but it should give you cover from anything coming at you as you head to the cliffs!

Up ahead, the others continue on, about to start their ascent out of the canal way, when Creed pauses like he’s realized something. Turning around, he spots you and Dallra rushing to catch back up with them and seems to realize that something’s going on. Turning back to the group, he announces something to the rest of them, turning all of their attention back to face you. A few look mildly annoyed at the delay, but among them, Mia seems to register the panic in your stride. Stepping forward, she moves to the front of the herd, cupping her hands around her mouth to amplify her voice.

“You good?!” She calls across the divide.

“Hostiles Inbound!” You shout back, pointing west towards your new destination, slowly leaning to the left as you and Dal cross the canal. “Divert course! Divert course!!” They all stare at you without moving, likely unable to properly hear what you’re warning about, but then, without warning, an enormous burst of thunder comes scraping across the skies.

BOOM!!!

“Sound barrier!” Dallra tells you as you completely change course now, heading left down the trenchway. “Shuttle has begun reentry!” Back with the others, Mia is the first to move upon hearing the skies erupt, bursting forward in enormous strides as she pursues your trio, quickly imploring the others to follow after once she does.

“The hell is happening, Greene?” The Maid demands as she catches up with you, running in tandem as she merges into your group.

“The Rogue’s Team is making another move!” You tell her, struggling to breath as your exhausted stamina fights against you. “She just shot one of her guys out a fucking railgun at us!”

“One guy?” Mia scoffs, sounding indignant of the idea. “We’re running from just one guy?!”

“It’s never just one guy with these freaks!” You bark back. “It’s an ambush! They have to know we’ve got our entire group with us this time, there’s no way Robin would attack without having something big up her sleeve!”

“You think this guy’s bait?” Mia asks back, seeming to take your caution seriously for once.

“I don’t know what else he’d be doing getting this close.” You answer back.

“Shouldn’t we just take these fuckers head-on?” Ryder proposes, suddenly appearing on your side opposite of Mia. “Come on! Let’s spring their stupid fucking trap and crack their skulls when they come out to play!”

“We can’t risk it! Not when they’re being this bold.” You shoot down the idea. “We make our stand once they fully show their hand.”

“We have a place to dig ourselves into?” Leah asks, appearing in a -flash- next to Ryder.

“Up ahead to the cliffs.” You nod ahead. “There are strongholds there we’ll bunker down in. Whatever the bastards are planning, putting a bastion between us and them will slow 'em down. We’ll figure it out from there.”

Unified into a single striding mass, your team sprints down the trench as fast as you all can go, the distant sounds of powerful winds growing louder the closer you get to the palisade cliffs. Glancing back towards whence you came, you spot in the not-so-far away skies what looks to be a meteor falling to earth, burning up in the atmosphere, forging a flaming set of twin tails to trail behind it. It’s crashing fast, but the shuttle shouldn’t touchdown anywhere near your team. You don’t wanna jinx things, but it looks like you’re in the clear until you can get somewhere secure!

“STOP!” You’re suddenly yanked to a halt as Dallra slams her heels into the ground, nearly pulling your arm out of its socket as you continue the short length of your limb. Heeding her plea, the rest of your team hit the breaks alongside you, and as you turn back to see what’s wrong, your veins go cold when you find a look of panic splashed across the Seer’s face. The kind of look you only get when you realize you’ve made a grave mistake. “Someone just appeared.” She says, her focus snapping upward past you, toward the bend in the trench you’d been approaching. “Stepped out of thin air…”

“What…?” You look where she looks, to the top of the staircase in the crook of the bend. It’s there that you hear it, in the silence that’s befallen your group, the sounds of shoes tapping against the hard stone of the Land, slowly approaching your group’s stand. “Who is it?” You quietly ask, barely above a whisper as you refuse to take your eyes off the ledge before you. “Dallra, who’s found us?” You ask her once more, your nerves placing an urgency in your voice this time. By your side, the tremble in your hands is kept at bay by the clutch of your fist, yet even still, you feel no more a man upon keeping your composure. At this moment, you are at your most cowardice. Each clack of the enemy’s shoes upon the ground drawing them closer, each clack that echoes out and bounds across the divide, clashing against your eardrums, you are reminded of just how little holds up your last hopes of salvation. How thin the barrier that separates you and oblivion truly is. You are surrounded by Titans and Warriors, the fiercest friends sworn to your protection, and yet… you have never felt smaller, simply waiting for your fate to arrive before you.

“The Bard-“ Before your Seer can finish her utterance, before the very first word she had said can register in your mind, the one who has cut you off at these crossroads reveals themselves. Appearing above the trench, a figure, dressed in robes as black as night, strolls to the ledge looking down into the long and winding grave you’ve dug yourself into. A human girl stands there before you now, reaching up to lower the long dunce cap of a hood from her crown, revealing beneath it long locks of flowing brown hair. In the wind, dark streamers blow behind her in the vague shape of a cape, the curved tips of her ruby red slippers reaching past the edge of the trench letting you know exactly who it is who’s found you. The Bard of Space. Looking down upon you with a smug pleasure upon her face. Seeing you there, down in the ditch, her mouth curves into a knowing smile, a pitying smirk. It’s then that you realize, in your tireless efforts to run away and hide, you’ve played directly into your enemy’s hands. Walked willing and eagerly into their trap. Not a moment later, you hear the mechanical clicks and racks of weapons being summoned and readied, of your teammates arming themselves. Bullets chambered, swords drawn.

“Hmhmhmhmhmhmhm!” The Bard chuckles to herself, all too amused at you bearing your fangs. And as the others prepare for battle, you stand there in their center, too stupid and stunned to act as your mind races, fighting to understand the nature of their attack. A pincer? With only her and the Knight? No, the Knight was only to prod you away, to kite you into the Bard! Will she destroy the ground beneath you? Slice off the cliffside you stand upon and drop you into free-fall? Scatter you, just as the God Hand did? What’s the angle? What’s their play?!

 

-RUMBLE-

 

Snapping you from thought as your brain begins to burn itself out, the ground trembles beneath you with a tremendous force, at first you think from the Bard’s doing, but you realize the source of this quaking is too far behind you to be her doing. A few of you turn in the direction of the distant explosion, startled by its proximity. The escape pod? Has it landed? How far away? How much time do you have left?

A Knight arrives on the Board. Pushes the Pawn into Check.

“Mr Jason!” Gretel calls for you, a small and fearful paw gently clutching your cape. You reach back to place a hand upon her head, telling her to stay close.

“Hey!” The Bard above shouts out, snapping your attention away from the rumblings behind you, back to the threat looking you straight in your face. There, you find the girl pointing, a single finger extended out towards you in the crowd. “You there. The one in red threads.” She adds once she has your attention, ensuring there is no mistake in who she addresses. “Can I tell you a secret?” Asking with a laughing grin, the girl takes extra joy in seeing the realization cross your face upon hearing her words. Ah. So that was their play. And as reality begins to come apart behind her, the abyss bursting out into the confines of the real world, the Bard extends a clutching hand out towards the portal. “You all really should’ve stayed home today.” Grabbing hold the edges of existence the summoned rift burns at, the Bard swings her hands out, as if revealing what lies beyond the veil to you with all the grandeur of a ringmaster throwing back the stage’s curtains, and before your huddled masses, the sky opens up, the boundaries of the rogue portal cascading outward, high into the atmosphere as Reality is-

 

Torn

/

Asunder

 

Ripping the entire goddamn sky in half, what lies beyond the veil is a rippling storm of chaos and lightning. Total darkness which spills out like a fog, subzero temperatures chilling the air around your place in the trench in a flash until finally, out from the nothingness that lies beyond, a shape begins to emerge. A golden point, like the piercing needle pushing through from the other side of the fabric. More and more, pushing through, the needle transforming into a spear, and the spear into phalanx. The looming mass continues on, emerging out from the dark like a living shadow, revealing its shape to be that of a ship. Low orbit craft, gunport decorated with an array of cannon and ballista alike. A Dreadnought bearing Colors of Prosperous Gold, -shaking- the very space upon which it invades with an unyielding fury.

“Ho-holy shit!” Ryder is the first to gawk, astonished by the magnitude in which the vessel’s appeared, repainting the entire heavens before you into a scene of battle. Through the pandemonium the Bard’s kicked up bursting open that portal, you spot her, up on the top deck of the ship as it finishes emerging from the dark. The Rogue of Life, Robin. Your eyes meet, her having found you in the crowd first. Even from this distance, you can feel it. That unbridled disdain you felt your first run in back on LOMAM. She stares you down a moment longer, looking as if she were contemplating something to herself. Then, upon coming to her conclusion, the Rogue reaches up and dawns her mask, tying it back before disappearing into the ship.

“Dal, what are we up against?” You urgently turn to your Seer, your timetable shunting from hours to seconds in a single move. “How many do they have on that ship?”

“A lot.” She answers in dire chill, eyes jittering in place as she performs a headcount through the vessel. “Every one of them we’ve seen in previous engagements is present. Ones we haven’t as well, all armed to their gills. It’s a Full-Hive.” As she frantically scans through the ship under the watchful reach of her God’s Eye, something subtle grabs her attention, drawing her focus behind you, causing the girl to glance its way. “Look alive, it’s not just the ship, their Knight is up to something as well.” She announces as she watches the scene take place in real-time. “He’s just injected himself with something at his crash site, just over the hill at the end of the mote.”

“Mounting a distraction?” Leah twists around to face the way you’d come as well, pistol drawn and ready down by her side.

“Whatever he’s doing, we’ll need to watch our flanks. Frank, take the rear-guard, don’t let him sneak up on us. Everyone else, forward towards the enemy.” You direct your troops, unsure how to mount an offense against a opponent so brazen. Up until now, they’ve only sent hit squads targeting a handful of your teammates, never a full on assault like this. They must’ve been testing your strength this entire time, gauging how much power they’d need to go against you. Does that mean they’re betting everything on this one encounter?

“O-okay, on it!” Frank follows your orders, squirming his way through the group to get to the back.

“Wait, w-wait!“ Dallra interjects, resting her mechanical hand against your arm to grab your attention. “The Knight, he’s-“ Before she can tell you what’s happened, the Seer jerks away, her hood flying back to reveal the soft jade eyes that lies beneath it wide in panic, her attention snapping behind you, peering down the vector Frank had cut through the group. “Look Out!!!” She shrieks, shoving you back so hard you wince. Not a quarter of a second later, the black and white ground you’d stood upon shatters, the head of an enormous axe swinging down like a guillotine and burying itself there with catastrophic force. Wielding the disastrous blade is the hulking Knight of Doom, eyes ablaze with glowing frenzy, muscles bulging so large they tear the sleeves and legs of his disguise. Where… where did he come from?!

“RAAAAH!” He roars, immediately hurling his buried axe out from the stone, sweeping it across your group as though he’d intended to take all of your heads off in one foul swing. It all happens so fast, not even a full second since he’d appeared, you have no time to react, to even think. Just as your mind catches up with what’s happening, a purple blur shoots forward before you all. Ryder, two of his swords drawn, blocks the Knight’s attack from striking any of you as he stands guard before a surprised Leah, the first in his line of Would Be Felled.

“Tch!” The Mad Page grunts as he’s forced back by the unexpected weight of the attack, an sudden influx of crackling energy erupting from the clash of blades, pouring over your defender like an engulfing explosion. “Guh!” He growls, stumbling back with a cough.

“Huah! Jason-!” Dallra cries out, forcing you to your senses in an instant. Through the confusion the Knight’s whipped up in his blitz, you see her hoisted into the air, a look of terror in the Seer’s eyes as they find you through the smoke. He… he has her in his grasp… the Knight… he has her! Readjusting his grip upon the enormous god damn axe in one hand as he lifts Dallra over his shoulder like she’s nothing but a sack of flour! You go to move, but time is running slow, like you’re in fucking molasses, you can’t move…! You try to get to her, but you aren’t fast enough! The Knight, he crouches down like he’s prepared for a race. No… NO!!

And then… he takes off. It’s as if time has fallen to a slogging crawl for you, yet he moves unabated, crushing steps stomping through the slow without a glance back. Even still, you push forward, your hand scraping through the air as you reach out for her. It comes rushing back all at once then, time catching back up with you like the shock of a sonic boom. The Knight bursts forward at a shattering speed, his body morphing into more a dark blur than a tangible form. Your eyes lag behind, fixated on the point he’d taken her as he disappears, gone in a flash… Two and a half seconds.

“D-… Dallra?” He was only there two and a half seconds. From the first swing of his axe to his fleeing getaway. He’s taken her. Two and a half seconds…

 

Jason, Do something.

Notes:

A Happy Late Valentines Day to all you Lonely Romantics out there Who had their Lovers swept away by the Tides.

Chapter 86: > But He Couldn’t Let Go

There’s a wheeze in your chest as you breathe out, rumbling and raspy, and you stand there in shocked awe, staring slack-jawed at the open space she’d been only a blinking moment ago. You feel a pounding behind your eyes, an overwhelming pressure as your heartbeat pulses in your vision, slowly undoing your very soul, one beating throb at a time. Three seconds. Four. And yet you still cannot pull yourself together. Jason, Do Something.

“Tch!” By the time you can crank your neck to the side to look where he’s gone, you see all too late as the Knight has cleared two, three hundred feet, his blurred body scouring up the length of a nearby hill like the stroke of a painter’s brush, climbing the steep peaks towards the summit the enemy ship orbits. Without stopping, the blur leaps outward, off the very point of the hill, springing into the air like a jumping mantis and vaulting into an open bay upon the side of the vessel, a kind of boarding port for smaller craft or larger weapons. He’d crossed the distance in the blink of an eye, completely retreating before your mind could catch up with what’s happened, your useless fucking brain caught in a loop of stupor and panic. Damnit, Jay! Do Something!

“Well done, Hekter.” A voice comes projected through the ship, booming from speakers meant to address those resistant souls fighting in the mud amidst its invasion.

“Gah, let go of me!” You hear her. Dallra. Struggling in the room the speaker resides. It sends a tremble to your hands.

“My pleasure, Ma’am.” The bastard’s voice emerges from the dark. The same one you heard in that cramped garage all those years ago. The same one who started all of this. “Energy Boost worked like a charm. What a rush, I feel unstoppable!”

“I bet.” The voice passively addresses the Knight. “Get her somewhere secure.” She orders in a sharp tone.

“Yes ma’am!” The bastard complies, followed by the sounds of a struggle.

“Tah! You cowards!” Dal cries, her voice getting further and further away. The tremble in your hands has spread. It’s in your very core now. It rattles your soul. Something unknown, stirring inside you, screaming to get out.

“Ryder!” Leah exclaims, kneeling down behind you as your party recovers from the blurring attack.

“I’m fine.” He coughs, having collapsed to the ground from whatever the Knight had done to him. You barely hear it, still struggling to comprehend what’s going on. This is… this isn’t happening right now. This isn’t real… It can’t be, not when you’re so close!

“You can hear me down there… can’t you Jason?” The voice returns as Dallra is taken away, sending a chill down your spine as you’re addressed directly. “Let this be a lesson, you psychotic son of a bitch. Kick… scream… thrash all you like. You aren’t the one who decides how this will End. I am. That is how it was always meant to be. This is simply what happens when you go against Fate. And I’m sure this is a hard pill for you to swallow, but swallow it you most certainly will…! Good luck assembling that war-party without your bloodhound.” She mocks before the audio is cut out. And you are left with nothing but the sounds of the ship’s jet engines roaring to life as their vessel slowly begins to turn and rise. Wait… they’re leaving…?

This was… this was supposed to be a fight… They can’t abscond, this was an ambush, your team against theirs…! Where are they going, they can’t leave! They still have… Dallra… this entire time, they were after Dallra… Damn it, you knew they were targeting her! Back on LOMAM, they made a play for her, just as they did here! And you did fucking NOTHING!! What, because they took a shot at you again, you forgot who they were really after?! Jesus, Jason, move already!! Do something… Do something…!!! They’re getting away! He is getting away! It’s happening again! He’s taking her away from you! That Bastard Knight! He is taking her away! Again… AGAIN! No! You won’t let him! Bastard. Bastard! That BASTARD! Not Again! You won’t let Him!! Do something! Do Something!!

 

Jason,

Fucking

Do Something!

 

You move. You take a step forward. Overdrive… Overdrive! Compensate for your losses, bridge the divide, you have to catch up! You have to get her back! Before it’s too late! Time Dilation. (88 sec. your ti-

“GRUUUAH!” Your insides shriek as you activate your ability, and in an instant, you vomit up a stomach’s worth of blood, spilling your guts upon the monochrome floor, black and white and red all over. The others say something, gasp in shock or try to help you. You hear none of it, nearly keeling over unconscious right there and then. No, you can’t! Not now! Not when everything’s on the line! Rich… you fucking bastard! “You won’t take her from me again…!” Your jaw slams shut as you wipe your mouth, teeth grinding so hard they’ll likely crack. Your eyes budge as you force the darkness from your vision. It feels like there’s a stranglehold around your lungs, crushing them down like aluminum cans. Bear it. You have to bear it! You re-engage Temporal Dilation, feeling the energy course through your veins like fire, burning up your life-force without restraint, (20 sec. your time =1 sec. local time). You’re only able to make it up the steps before your concentration breaks, your abs threatening to twist themselves into your stomach. “Y-… You can’t have her…” You mutter while peering up through wincing eyes, discovering with horror that the ship has completely turned around now, beginning their escape as they approach the cliff's ledge. “I… I won’t let you take her from me again! YOU CAN’T HAVE HER! I WON’T ALLOW IT!!” Clutching your ribs, you try to quell the cramps collapsing your right side, limping forward as fast as your lame legs can take you.

“Jeez, man, you’re pretty worked up, huh?” A voice comes from before you. You turn your attention down to find the Bard of Space standing just a few feet in front of you, loitering just to the side of your path. She’s still here? “There something wrong with you? Ya look a bit green around the gills, bud.” She looks at you like you’re a peculiarity, like a strange animal at the zoo. You don’t have time for this. “Oh?” She chirps as you continue forward, surprised that you’ve elected to ignore her as you rush past.

“Fuck! Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!” You curse, watching the ship get further and further away. Without thinking, you equip your rocket gear with intent to follow, but when only one boot deploys, you realize you don’t have enough lift to catch up.

“Well, excuse me. Don't let me interrupt.” The Bard sarcastically comments, walking at a leisurely pace pursuing after you. “Although… I’m pretty sure they’d want me to stop you, no? Dang it, they didn't mention anything about aftercare.“ Before another word can be said by the ridiculous clown, an overwhelming force comes thuuming forward, catching the girl’s attention at the drop of a hat. Spinning on a dime, the Bard reaches out behind her, clashing against the tremendous impact with an open palm, invoking a crack of thunder.

-SLAM-

Startled by the eruption, you twist back, finding Perses has appeared there beside the Bard in a flash, a punch having been thrown by the Baron with intent of striking his opponent straight through her skull. Yet there he stands, his fist firmly clutched in the Bard’s grasp, joints and knuckles straining under the pressure of her grip, the strike caught by the girl with ease. She looks at him a moment, surprised. Not threatened or scared, simply… curious that someone has approached her. Unperturbed by the assault as she holds his attack taught in her hand.

“Hm? And who might you be?” She asks him, not struggling in the slightest to keep the enormous strength of the Dwarf at bay singlehandedly.

“I’m you… but better!” Perses sneers, ducking past the Bard while wrapping her own arm across her stomach as he spins behind her. In position, the Baron tucks his own arm around her torso, pulling back and jerking the Bard off her feet as he throws her into a suplex.

“Ho, how manly.” The girl swoons mid-throw. Without delay, the Bard shoots her one free hand out, her palm slapping against the ground, stopping the grappling throw short. With a quick flex of her captured arm, the girl breaks free from Perses’s grasp. Not missing a beat, the Dwarf falls completely back on his tail, using the appendage as a tripod leg to balance on. And with his freed feet, he tucks his knees to his chest, rolling back and kicking them out once again, slamming the Bard square in the face with the bombastic stomp. In an instant, the hostile is rocketed away with unexpected force, sent flying as she disappears a hundred or so feet behind you into the trench. Sent Flying…

“That’s just an appetizer, Soft-shell.” The Baron snarls, returning to his feet and turning like he’s planned to head after the far-flung Bard.

“Forget about her!” You snap at him, grabbing the Dwarf’s attention. “She’s just a distraction, we can’t let them get away!”

“R-right!” The Baron nods, startled at your taking charge.

“Pers, I need you to throw me.” You tell him as he hurries back to your side.

“Say again?” He stops, baffled by the request.

“Throw, warp, whatever you need to do, just get me on that ship!” You clarify, turning back to the vessel, finding it getting higher in the sky each time you look. “Can you do it?”

“What’s happening?” Mia calls as the others catch up, pouring up from out of the trench.

“I’m going after them!” You yell back before turning your attention to Perses again, seeing a panicked look as he can’t seem to find an answer. “Can you?”

“W-what if it’s dangerous?” Gretel asks from atop your back, reminding you of the consort’s placement there.

“I’m sorry, kiddo, I have to go.” You tell her, hurriedly taking the girl off your shoulders, placing her on the ground beside you. “Perses?!” You demand now, forcing the Dwarf to answer.

“I-I-I don’t know! I mean, I can get you onto the same level with them, but my Jump is for large bounds through space, not precision transportation.” He denies, shaking his head as he frantically tries to gauge the distance between you and the vessel. “I can send you up, b-but I can’t guarantee to get you on board.”

“Damn it!” You hiss, turning to the rest of the group to search for a solution. “…Sara! Mia! I need your help!” You call to the girls, hurrying with a limp over to them.

“What are we supposed to do?” Mia asks like it isn’t obvious.

“Toss me. Use a Fraymotif, whichever one you've got that can throw me as high as possible.” You explain, your anxiety rising with a quickness the longer this takes.

“My friend, that’s madness!" Esspin interjects. "P-perhaps if we-“

“There’s no time!” You cut her off, knowing you can’t afford to stop and strategize. Once they’re gone… “Do you have anything?” You urgently look between the two.

“…Winds of Crescendo.” Sara begrudgingly tells you. “It works like a catapult, but… are you sure about this? What if we miss?”

“You won’t, just do it!” You order, taking her and the Maid by their hands, forcefully placing them together. The girls exchange glances, unsure of the union you’ve compelled along with your plan as a whole. Esspin lingers between them, across from where you stand, uneasy of what you’re about to attempt as she looks down at you three.

“Fuck it.” Mia finally declares. Invoked thereafter, a sinking feeling begins to flood all around you. That same sensation when you swim across an abyss and see nothing but infinity below you. Sara soon follows suit, and that feeling of dread surrounding you begins to channel, swirling like a whirlpool. Spinning and spinning and spinning, the winds around you take on a dark tint, staining with corruption as the nightmarish presence seeps into the air, a gaseous poison noxious to all things that have known joy. Brimming with the dark magic now, the winds surrounding you form a malicious dust devil, exterior gusts casting off in every direction like screaming phantasmal blades, clawing at existence as they’re hurled aimlessly into the endless hollows, slicing into the stone as it crashes against the ground.

“Back, stand back!” Haugrr directs those too close to the sorcery away, pushing his arms out to put himself between them and the harmful winds.

“You ready, Greene?” Mia asks. You don’t answer. Bane of All Mountains does for you when it equips to your hands, your grip tightening around the pick as your eyes remain locked on the fleeing ship. The jets of its rear thrusters have flared, making it clear it’s picking up speed now. “You look ready.” The Maid tells you before you’re thrown forward.

 

 

-FUCKING-

- + - + - + -

-SWOOOSH-

 

 

Launched with the force of a missile, you rocket into the sky, a god damn Man on a Mission, pickaxe in hand. Hurtling towards your destination, you have to squint your eyes as the wind bites at your corneas, causing the corners of your vision to water. Even still, there’s no mistaking that golden piece of shit before you. You’re fast approaching the tail section of the ship, if you can just sink your pick into a side paneling and latch on, you can break one of the exterior windows and crawl your way in. From there… forget it! One step at a time. Focus on getting aboard. You can figure out the rest from there! Closer, just a little bit closer! Damn it, you’re losing momentum, come on!

Engaging the rocket of your boot, you push yourself as far as you can get, feeling the heat from the ship’s thrusters steam the air now, threading the needle between the plumes of fire as you weave into the space between them, invading the stern of the ship. Just a little closer! Just a little-

“Ha…?” The gasp escapes your lips before you can realize, spotting the outline of a figure emerging above you, strut upon the rear observation deck. In the split second it takes to look them over, you realize you recognize this person. You’d met her not long ago, along the path leading down from the Monastery. Leafy green completion and vibrant red petal hair, the Thief of Breath stares down at you, a simmering contempt beneath her emotionless glaze. Then, without a word, she raises two twisted and monstrous arms like snarled swamp branches, and you begin to feel yourself slow down. “N… n-no…” You mutter, pushing your boot as much as it can handle, fighting against the imprisonment the Thief slowly presses you down into. Pushing and pushing until… you hear a heart-stopping -pop- burst from your engine. And then you begin to fall. “Hn…!”

“…” The Floral girl watches in seeming indifference or boredom as you disappear from her. The last thing you see before you go tumbling back.

“f-… fuuuUUUUUUUUCK!!!” As you spiral down and down and down through the air, you get a glimpse of the world below you, and you realize you’ve long since extended past the cliffs your team had launched you from, your several hundred foot fall compounding into multiple thousands, with there being nothing to catch your descent as you plummet head-first into the abyss. Peering up at your boot, you reach to the device, slapping its side again and again, a witless attempt to get it to work! “C’mon… C’mon!” It’s not turning back on, the thing’s busted! Something else, right? There’s gotta be something else you can do, isn’t there? Time Displacement? No, you’re too far from anywhere safe in your chronology! What about Fate Cries Foul? And what, get a redo just for that damn plant to knock you back overboard again?! Time-Capsule? There’s no way, you’re moving too fast to enter! Damn it… Damn it, Damn It, DAMN IT! Whipping your head back, you gaze up at the golden spire in the sky, watching helplessly as that hoard of ghouls gets away. It keeps happening… Again and again! She's going down a path you can't follow! “Dh……DALLRAAA!!!” And like an angel cast from the heavens, you’re left to fall to the board of war and players that hang beneath you, and be it above or below, you have ensured your passage to the next world.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

And

 

.

 

then

 

.

 

you

 

.

 

are

 

.

 

caught

 

~

 

“I gotcha!” You hear as a weight collides against you from behind. Before you can react, something slips itself underneath your arms, hooking you by your shoulders as you’re scooped up. Dragged upwards against the momentum of your fall, the inertia pulls at your legs in an attempt to yank you down until you finally swoop upwards. In the blurring momentum, you see how startling close to the ground you’d come, having nearly plummeted the entire length of the mountain, finding yourself zooming above the base of the cliffs. What the hell just happened? You’re… flying? Was it Sara?

“Huh?” You look back, baffled at the last minute save. There, you find someone so very unfamiliar to you, eyes obstructed by a set of aviator goggles, yet the focused look on his face is unmistakable as his attention remains glued forward, concentrated on navigating the skies. Noticing you glancing back at him, the stranger looks down at you in return.

“Hey there!” He shouts to greet you over the winds, his determined look broadening into a proud smile. “Couldn’t help but notice you were in a tight spot there! Hope you don’t mind me dropping in! Ahahahaha!” He heartily laughs as he suddenly pulls up, and you soar along the height of the wall-like cliffs leading atop the mountain.

“Tchh!” You involuntarily hiss as the G-Force from the ascent weighs on your stomach during your way up. “Jesus!”

“Apologies! Not the easiest ride your first time!” The stranger joyfully tells you. “Hey… HEY! You’re that fellow from before! The one with the funny glasses!” He continues to babble as you fly, looking at you closer than you’re comfortable with. “Aw man, am I glad I found you when I did, ol chum! That could’ve been real bad for you if I hadn’t!”

“The hell are you talking about?!” You wince as your pilot drifts too close to the rock-walls of the cliff, instinctively causing you to flinch back, lest you be grated like a block of cheddar.

“Whaddaya mean; what am I talking about, I’m talking about our agreement, of course!” He emphatically declares as you zoom past the ledge of the palisade, breaking his momentum as you go by. “You told me to meet you here, don’t you recall? Feels like forever since then! How’ve you been?” Before you can try to decipher whatever the hell this nut-job is saying, you feel as your shoes are placed back down on the ground again, and you go stumbling forward, still partially being carried by the guy.

“Ah, fuck…!” You yelp as you place weight upon your feet, feeling your leg muscles start to cramp to high hell. Completely falling to your knees, you wince at the strenuous sensation, attempting to bar it from your mind.

“I told you that was a half-baked idea.” You hear Perses growl as the sounds of your team approaching grows louder.

“Shut the hell up, fish-boy.” Mia barks back at him as they trot up. “The hell?” She slows down when she sees the newcomer standing over you by the mountain’s ledge.

“Nothing to fear, citizens! All in a day's work!” The guy laughs in a half-sarcastic bravado, greeting your team as they group-up around you. “Rest assured your pal was in good hands, for I was here!”

“Sure thing, Sully, now how bout you take a step back there.” Mia orders, pushing the stranger away as she appears beside you. “The hell happened up there, Greene?”

“Seems your pal had gotten into a fair bit of trouble with a shady character up on that spacecraft.” The stranger answers for you, placing a hand against his brow to shade his eyes as he looks out towards the ship in the distance, the vessel getting smaller and smaller as it approaches the horizon. Not good. “Lucky for him, I was in the area investigating the crash site of that mysterious two-tailed comet that came tumbling down not a moment ago. Saw your boy just in the Nick of Time!” As they talk, Gretel gallops up next to you, crouching down to see your face.

“A-are you hurt?” She whimpers, her worried expression looking up at you.

“Thief… stole my… speed…” You rasp between breaths, clutching at your collapsing legs. Holy fuck, how the hell do cramps hurt this much?!

“Here, this should help.” Sara tells you while joining you by your side, placing a hand over your own as you clutch at your calf. In her grasp, the Sylph sends a cooling breeze over your calcifying limbs, unknotting your muscles like they’re living rope straightening themselves out. The sensation makes you cringe, shuttering as the muscle fibers worm their way back in place. “That better?”

“Y-yeah, I-“ You begin to say before a jolt of panic fires through your brain when you remember your missing Seer, fully realizing just how far the Rogue’s group has gotten without the pain in your legs to cloud your mind. “Shit!” You rush to your feet, hurrying back over to the ledge of the cliff as close as you can. You feel something snag your nape before you can reach, finding Haugrr behind you grabbing hold of your cape to keep you in place.

“…What’s your deal, new guy?” He asks, turning away from you to look back at the stranger. You look as well, finding a flowing blue cape billowing in the breeze behind him. A Knight…

“Just a well intended bystander, I assure you.” He says, lowering his head as he waves his first two fingers in an informal salute. Coming up beside you, Esspin walks to the ledge as well, bringing her rifle level with her eye.

“About Seven Kilometers.” She quietly reports, watching the ship through her scope. You look up at her in horror, shocked to hear how far away they've gotten in so little time.

“You got a name then, bystander?” Leah pokes, skeptical of the rival Knight.

“Cut the chit-chat, god damn it! They’re getting away!” You shout at them all, ripping your cape from the corpse’s hands. “Can you teleport us on board?” You request of the Prince.

“I don’t teleport, I delete uneventful travel time from my pathway.” Haugrr rambles on, incapable of a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’. “If I don’t have a direct passage somewhere, I can’t disregard the distance I have an obligation to travel.”

“And?” You search for an actual answer.

“And I can’t fucking fly.” He blandly hisses. “No direct path, no instant transport.”

“Fuck…!” You whip back around, facing the sky. They’re so small now. She’s so far away… “Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuck!! We gotta get after them!”

“After who, friend?” The Newcomer Knight tilts his head at you as you freak the fuck out.

“Those assholes in that airship!” You gesture an open palm at the gold beacon sinking into the horizon. “They just kidnapped one of us!”

“How absolutely diabolical!” He gasps, crossing his arms at the deed. As he does, a breeze blows through from down below, causing the Knight’s outfit to ripple in the wind, a sudden emphasis over the Symbol of Breath upon his chest… That’s it!

“You! Blue Cape!” You point at the stranger.

“Greetings!” He happily acknowledges you back.

“You’re the Knight of Breath, aren’t you? You can fly?” You ask him, the desperation seeping into your voice now.

“Like a Sparrow!” He boastfully confirms, resting his fist against his hips as he puffs his chest out ever so slightly.

“Can you fly us there? After them?” You hurriedly request, looking back every other second to watch their heading.

“Boss, you gotta calm down, you’re not thinking straight.” Creed interjects, trying to slow you down. “You just threw yourself off a cliff without so much as a Plan B if you missed! You’d be dead right now if not for sheer blind luck. Just-… Stop. Strategize. We have to be clever about this. If we go in half-cocked, it could blow up in our faces.”

“We don’t have time for this, Creed! Every second we’re not going after them, they’re getting exponentially further out of our reach!” You argue, knowing if you waste your time figuring out every little detail about your plan of attack, you’ll never find her again.

“Think, Boss! Maybe this guy can fly himself, but there’s no way he’s strong enough to bring us all up. You’d be going in alone!” Creed yells, more aggressive in his attitude than usual.

“Then I’ll go in alone!” You snap back at him, refusing to lose her like this. “I won’t let him get away with her, Not Again!” Turning to the Knight once more, a weight settles in your gut, making you feel sick. “Just bring me. Will you do it or not?”

“Easy, pal, you know there are ships docked all over the land, right?” He asks back, holding his hands out to ease you down. “If you really want to catch up with those villainous scoundrels, you could always appropriate a vessel of your own to keep pace.”

“Appropriate…?” You mutter, your mind lagging behind as it tries to wrap itself around the word. Everything’s so foggy… You can hardly keep your eyes focused.

“Where’s the nearest docking bay that you know of?” Creed asks for you.

“If I’m not mistaken, there was a station not too far from here, built along the mountain side.” He points north with two fingers. “Just along this ridge, no less. I’m sure if you hurry, you’ll catch up with your assailants in no time!” Even with your mind so bogged down, hearing you have a way after them, you spring into action.

“Perses.” You turn to the Baron, your request not needing words for him to get it.

“Understood.” He nods before turning in the direction the Knight had pointed. “Grab hold of my shoulder. Everyone, form a chain!” He calls. You comply without question, firmly grasping the pauldron of his armor. Before anyone else can move into position, you feel a sudden force latch onto you. Glancing back, you see a spectral chain has formed around each of your groupmates, the Breath Knight included, each enormous link in the chain encapsulated around your every person. Following the length of the chain, you find Frank at the rear of the pack, who with a single tug seems to sway where it is you all stand, and the others are suddenly slid into place, like a thread being tightened into fabric. Frank’s smile widens into a grin and he gives you a thumbs up when he sees you looking. No time to unpack all that. You look forward and give Perses a shake, imploring him to proceed. Upon your command, the Dwarf flourishes his fingers into a fist, reeling his arm back for a punch. “Sonic Boom…” His words sink like dry ice, and the world around you begins to feel as brittle as glass. “Stepping Cannon!”

“Why is everyone we know such a fucking dork?” You hear Mia mutter behind you. Before you can look back, the Baron throws his fist and a staggering sensation rips over you, hitting like whiplash. You’re sent warping forward through space, through everything, the hills and mounds in your way eviscerated into molten rock, tunneling past the Land at blurring speed, smearing the very world into a monochrome drag. You can make no sense of it, only distinguishing the vague shapes in the distance with uncertain picture. Barreling across the cliffside, you have no idea how far you need to go, yet before you can raise your concerns, the chain around your team is pulled taught once again, and the Dwarf’s concentration is broken, knocking you all out of the warp, anchored in place.

“Agh!” Perses grunts, seeming to be hit the hardest by the sudden deceleration, taking several steps forward, folding over as he reels with the force. “Damn you, Wretch! What is the meaning of this?!” He whips around, growling at Frank.

“We’d arrived.” The boy points to the left where along the ridge, just at the bottom of the hill you’d been anchored on, sits a large hangar, carved into the cliffs, its platforms reaching past the ledge to hoard their trove of dearth freighters. “Did you like the chain I made?” He asks the Dwarf who peers at the docks with dazed confusion, unsure of what he's looking at.

“Let’s move people!” You take the lead, breaking forward towards the ships. At first you step out to run down the hill, but the slope of the incline is too steep to walk down. You nearly go tripping face-first before twisting yourself to the side to kick your cape out in front of you, leaping down onto the fabric as if you were mounting a surfboard. With a soft material against the smooth surface of the ground, you use your cape as a makeshift sled to slide down the ridge with.

“Good boy.” Mary says as she hurries past Frank, patting the boy on the head as she goes by. He smiles, you’re sure.

Stumbling upon reaching the bottom of the hill, you slam Bane into the ground to stabilize your slide before pulling yourself forward with the anchored point, breaking into a sprint for the terminals with a forceful fling back onto your feet. Dashing across the lot and rushing up the steps to the entrance, you’re greeted with a massive station half stuck out past the ledge of the cliff, giving you a view of the entire open skyline outside the station, the chessboard landscape appearing so much smaller from these heights. Framed by the borders of the docking bay, the view looks less like a mountain overlook and more an enormous screen displaying war-game simulations of ships and chess in unreal definition, breaking your stride for but a moment as you take in the unbelievable sight before you. Scanning the interior of the building, you find there are multiple platforms outstretched over the cliff, positioned like the waiting tracks of a train station, hosting an array of barges at your disposal. Without having to think, you choose the biggest in the bay, an enormous derelict built for taking a beating. A perfect warship. You hurry along to the dock that houses your vessel of choice, walking out to the platform to inspect the equipment dedicated to keeping it fastened within its harbor. Turning forward, you look to the horizon, seeing that distant ship the Rogue and her ilk ride upon, the shin of its golden carapace standing out like a star in the nighttime sky. Slowly walking toward a ledge of the dock, wind whipping at your shirt from the updrafts of the open horizon, you watch as it tries to flee, tries to run from what’s coming for them. She’s there. She’s still within your reach.

“Everybody, on board!” You turn back as your team arrives upon the platform. “Marry, get the engines running. Creed, take the helm.” You order, directing them to their tasks. You notice then that there is an entire line of gargantuan security locks fastened to the side of the ship, like a set of enormous claws latched onto the exterior of the cutter, ensuring it remains secured to its dock. The ship is stationed halfway over the cliff’s edge, letting it’s front stern hang out over open sky, meaning it must rely on these latches to keep it from tipping forward. You doubt you can take off with those things still attached then. Glancing about the dock itself, you notice several computer arrays stationed at the back of the platforms, their screens and input consoles built into large boxy frames. You’re sure those are the intended ways to disengage the latches, some program to run or password to enter that will release the restraints. You have no time for that. You’ll need to break it free yourself. “Mia, help me cut these locks.” You gesture to the mechanical claws clutched onto the ship. “Everyone else, get ready for a fight!” Without having to say again, your team gets to work, hurrying to the boarding ramp at the middle of the ship.

Turning to the first latch, you march over to the mechanical clamp, and with a mighty swing of Bane, you slash into the hydraulics of the device, carving a chunk of metal from its trunk. Yet it looks as though you’d only put a scratch upon its veneer. You pull your pick back and strike it again, but more of the same. Only a single nick from its frame. You pull back once more and strike again… Again… Again… AGAIN!!!

 

***

 

Amidst his fervid chopping and hacking, it seems the Page of Time has lost focus, devolving into a rabid state of anger as his basest emotions overwhelm his sense of reason. Unable to compose himself enough for a proper stream of consciousness, the Narrative seems to have detached from its host, and the POV flutters like a leaf in the wind, until it is snatched up by the nearby Maid of Rage who watches the young man from just down the platform.

Standing there, outside the banged up purple piece of shit your team has decided to claim as your Barge, you watch the moron you grew up with hacking at the metal anchors locking the ship in place, not so much as considering what’ll happen to it once enough of it’s supports have been slashed. His progress in slicing through the metal beam had seemed negligible at first, until suddenly, upon one particularly ferocious swing of the idiot’s pickaxe, he completely shatters clean through the remaining 90% of the metal latch in a show of unexpected strength.

“RAUUH!!” He roars as he carves through the foot-wide steel. Panting a few times, he glares at the broken lock until he seems to notice you watching him. “What are you waiting for?” He growls through the puffing in his chest. He’s faltering. Won’t last much longer.

“Where’s your head at, Greene?” You ask him, all too familiar with the state he’s in.

“Right here in the moment.” He scoffs as he marches past you, headed for the ship latches near the platform entrance. You sigh, knowing there’s nothing to do about it now. Swinging Heed No Warning into a readied grip, you walk along the length of the dock, slashing through the numerous port-locks connected to the ship with ease until you hear a voice come from behind you.

“Pardon the interruption to… whatever it is you fine people are doing, but might I ask a question?” Looking back, you find the new dickhead that’s begun to hang around your group, the Knight who scooped up Jason before he could splattered against the pavement, those goofy-ass goggles still covering up the top half of his face. Regardless of how he looks, though, he’s a quick bastard. Back when Jason had first started to fall after your throw came up short, he had come flying out from the hills behind you, zoomed past you all before you could even notice he was nearby. You didn’t know what the hell he was at first, but he made a B-Line straight for the dumbass as he was going down head-first. Looked like a blue blur, speeding around as fast as he was.

“You just did, genius.” You shake your head, tuning back to your task at hand, swiping upward at one of the higher latches.

“Right… one more, then!” The dude quickly adds, undeterred and unable to read the room. “Would I be out of line if I were to ask to come with you all for the time being?” You can’t help but scoff at the request.

“Sorry, hombre. We’re currently in the middle of something at the moment.” You say as if it weren’t obvious. “Recruitment office is closed for lunch.”

“Oh, no, I don’t mean to join permanently. Honestly, I’m more of a solo-act by trade.“ He declares with a smirk, like what he just said made him seem cool. It didn’t, if you hadn’t noticed. “But… well, your friend asked me to meet him here, after all. Unfortunately, he seems a tad busy at the moment, but I’d hate to crash-and-dash just because he had his hands full when I found him.” You pause hearing the rando’s riveting revelation. Jason asked this guy to meet him on LOCAF? When the hell did that happen? You’ve basically been with the jackass since he first arrived in this hell-hole, so-… well... Except for that week you went AWOL… Hm… You keep forgetting about that.

“Do whatever you want, Boy Blue.” You sigh as you cut through one of the final latches on your side. You assume Jason’s finished his end when you see him heading back for your place on the platform, an indignant pissy look on his face as he glares up at the ship. “Though something tells me you won’t be getting the answers you’re looking for from the guy.”

“Swell!” The dude laughs, deep and hearty. “To tell you the truth, I’m feeling rather invested in what you kind folks are up to here, as well. I can’t wait to see how this scrap pans out for you all. Looks like a good bit of fun!”

“…Just who the hell are you, anyway?” You ask the weirdo, slightly put-off by the gun-ho go-with-the-flow attitude of the young man. At the same time, you slash through the last latch you’ll cut before the ship’s engine kicks on, not wanting to risk its stability on the dock and send it crashing into the trenches below.

“Ah! Pardon my manners, my Father alway did say to give your name when introducing yourself to strangers.” He laughs again, lifting up his goggles to sit atop his forehead, revealing beneath them a set of steel grey eyes. Something… something feels so familiar about them… those eyes. Where… “Name’s Jacob Greene, Knight of Breath, at your service!” …Huh? What did he just say?

“Greene?” You repeat the name, glancing over at Jason as he stomps past to see if he’s hearing this as well. “You’re a Greene?”

“That I am!” He proudly declares before tilting his head, confused at the question. “Why do you ask?”

“Uh, hey Jay…?” You look back at the moron as he gazes up at the ship in irritated panic.

“They still haven’t gotten the engines running…” He mutters under his breath, in a completely different world from you right now. “What the fuck’s the holdup?!” He shouts aloud, storming up the walkway onto the boat. Turning back to… whoever this person is, the Knight watches as Jason disappears into the derelict, not so much as a hint of recognition in his eyes.

“Wonder what’s eating him.” He puffs, half-laughing as he moves to follow him aboard. What the hell is going on right now…?

 

***

 

“Did you hear me?! What the hell is going on right now?!” Jason shouts, tantruming through the corridors above you in the vessel, his muffled voice passing through multiple layers of titanium.

“Sounds like you’ve got trouble headed your way.” You say into the voicepipe connected up to the Bridge.

“Yeah, I heard it.” Creed huffs as the audible sounds of buttons clicking and levers flipping chatter around him. “Creed, take the helm, but does anyone ask if I know how?”

“Better work quickly, young man. We’re waiting on you, after all.” You lightly tease the boy while busting the panel off one of the generator’s turbines, giving you access to the rotor. There’s a dust buildup, but nothing clogging the actual core, except for one bent stator blade. Grabbing hold, you jiggle the broken fin until you shake it loose enough to rip it out directly. Not ideal to have even one of these missing from the blade array, but you’re in no position to be making repairs as lofty as replacing the entire rotor shaft, especially on the time table you’ve been given. It’ll have to make do with a missing fin for now. That’s about the extent of the damages in the turbines. For the most part, you’ve been lucky. Most of the engine room has been left in relatively workable condition, only needing a basic tuneup to come into order. Quite a blessing, considering most of the machinery here is massive, much too large to overhaul in the few minutes you’ve been given. There are a few sections of the engine you’ll have to monitor once it gets going, and you no doubt will have to make repairs on the fly but overall, it’s not a bad rig.

From what you can tell based on the specs you’ve been able to gather on this thing, the engine seems relatively advanced. The main block is dedicated to the anti-gravitational equipment the ship relies on for upthrust, nothing too exciting there, but the central engine here, from what you gather, is a Perpetual Motion Machine. Sure, alchemizing objects capable of infinite task was commonplace with an Alchemiter. Firearms with endless ammunition or personal devices with a neigh-unending charge were a cinch to create, but they were always considerably small artifacts. Toys, really. Their energy consumption near-negligible on a grander scale. Yet this? Well, you’ve never come across one so big. Oddly enough, however, you’ve noted a very peculiar design flaw in the whole system. The central axis is positioned in a manner that will cause it to bend. Not horribly, but after three or four billion rotations of the turbine, it’ll become enough so that the axis will begin to rub against its hull, inevitably causing it to wear down and break. The only thing you can’t understand is why? The placement there is deliberate, it has to be. A flaw so minute, it’ll only show itself after countless hours of use… so intentionally placed, it can’t be for any other reason than planned obsolescence. Designed to Fail. Not really a perpetual motion machine if it’s designed to cease motion after a certain point… Though, who are you to judge another inventor’s choices? You prefer the biological fields over the mechanical, anyhow.

In theory, all of this machinery, though dusty, should work fine for the time being, however, unlike most sea-fearing vessels, this ship is designed very much like a car, where the actual engines won’t kick on for anything but a spark from the electric starter in the Command Center. There are no control panels or manual backups down in the engine room, so until the key is turned up on the bridge, you’re left to make minor tweaks here and there. And for the past few minutes, Creed has been struggling to do just that. Hasn’t anyone ever told him never to leave a Lady waiting?

“Give me a break, I’m pouring through five hundred pages of thousand year-old manual here in a language for Bats and my translator only speaks Anole!” Creed whines, his complaints coming tumbling down the pipes like rain. Ugh, boys. Always kicking up a fuss about the smallest obstacles.

“Brother, I do not believe that was the right sequence of nob flips to hard reset the access terminal.” The consort he kidnapped chirps up alongside what sounds like countless pages being turned all at once.

“That was three steps ago!” Creed cries out, making you ponder if you should just head to the Bridge and get this junker started yourself at this point. “Hang on… why is the power light not on? Do we still not have electricity?”

“Any time now.” You idly mention. As you do, One Eighty-Seven’s head pops out from one of the nearby pipes, his face covered in muck.

“Propulsion thrusters fully hooked up and auxiliary engines have been properly greased, Ma’am.” He reports while climbing out from the port. At least one of the young men around here knows what he’s doing. Probably because you were the one who made him, after all. Hm!

“Very good, Frankie.” You tell him, walking over as you pull out a handkerchief, flicking it a few times to open it up. “Now come here, you’re filthy.” You say, dabbing the cloth against your tongue before wiping clean the soot from One Eighty-Seven’s face.

“Damn!” Creed shouts from the speaker.

“What is it now?” You sigh, glancing back at the metal cone.

“The Battery is dead!” He moans while ripping something off of something as he talks. “And there’s a… fuckin’ hand crank, but it… Gah! These systems are centuries old, it’d take a bolt of lightning to jump start this garbage!”

“…I have a bolt of lightning.” You mention.

“……What?”

“Tell me, Mr Ledermen. Does this hand-crank have jumper cables attached to it?” You move on, figuring it’ll be easier to do rather than explain.

“Uh, y-yeah. Looks like there’s a retractable lead in its same compartment.” He answers, sounding unsure of what you’re getting at.

“Connect them to the voicepipe and take a step back.” You instruct while searching through your bag for that pesky card. Ah, here it is. Promenthea Extricata. A lovely vintage, first bottled on the bastion rooftops of the Land of Castles and Lightning. Deploying the artifact, the fat-top glass flask appears in your hand, its vibrant glow washing the room in a cool blue as the charge bounces about within, arcing from wall to wall. Out from the liminal containment of your inventory’s subspace now, the bottle’s presence fills the room with a notable static, raising the hairs on your neck in respect of the power. Cautious of its potential, you handle the bottle’s cork with care, aiming its snub neck like a cannon towards the Speaker of Pipes.

“Are you sure about this, Ma’am?” One Eighty-Seven asks, stepping beside you. “Isn’t that a rather valuable resource?”

“What’s the harm? We have two more, after all.” You shrug, not seeing the need to be stingy in its implementation. “Besides, if it’ll help us recover dear Dallra, I’d say it’s more than a worthy use of our resources.” Having no other objections, One Eighty-Seven nods, allowing you to proceed. Readjusting your stance, you narrow your eyes, your auto-targeting systems adjusting your trajectory ever so slightly until you’re lined up head-on.

“Is something supposed to happen, or-“ Creed begins to pester before you pop the cork from the bottle, letting free the torrent of stored energy all in one burst, your captured bolt springing out like a launching spear at the internals of the ship.

-ZAP-

“I-… I think we got power.”

 

***

 

Sitting in the cold dark of the prison cell, the gold tints of the ship fall away in the shadows that shroud you. A hateful silence sits in the room with you, your eyes transfixed in a glare upon the brute who’d grubnapped you like a thief in the night. He stands at attention before your cell, facing left towards the end of the hall with his back against the exterior hull of the ship, posted up there like a good little soldier. A Blueblood. Indigo. Like most of his caste, he’s a no-nonsense type. Strict, adhering to the rules others have put in place for him. A very loyal barkbeast, if you were to say.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, you lament how it is you’ve ended up in this situation. It all happened so fast, too fast to keep track of. It couldn’t have been more than three seconds that it took for him to clear the distance between where you were and where he landed. Five Kilometers. He was moving at nearly Mach 5 in a gravity well, using nothing more than his own strength. You’ve only ever seen those under the Banner of Breath accomplish such a feat of speed.

Peering past his skin, you’d taken a closer look into his physiology and studied his musculature, finding a grizzly scene just beneath the flesh. Despite his attentive posture, the Indigo has to be exhausted. His joints are worn and torn, calciumrods strained or outright fractured at points, and just about every last one of his muscles are all shot, two particularly large tears in the fibers of his stridepoles. He pushed himself to his absolute limit in that blitz. You imagine whatever it was that he injected himself with must’ve been what made that supersonic dash possible, amplified his physical stats enough to elevate his natural capabilities to truly monstrous levels. Supercharged. Not without toll, evidently enough.

Given his current state, he’d probably be easy to take down, all things considered. With a bitter taint of defeat, you glance down at the stump where your grabbershaft used to be, a slight soreness from your phantom limb as you try to move an extremity that isn’t there anymore. They… confiscated your prosthetic… Probably knew you would’ve carved him open like a hydration cylinder otherwise. The pompous lowlife even has it slung over his shoulder, right in front of you! Drat… you knew you should’ve installed a Voice Activated Self-Destruct Sequence into the limb, you just couldn’t ever figure out a decent enough Activation Code that you’d remember when the time came! Hm… Power-Up Dough Thrower, maybe? Or how about; Crouching Fingers, Hidden Card-Up Sleeve? No, you’d probably forget that before you could even program the words in. You always thought Diamond Dazzler would've be a cool move name, so you suppose that could've made a decent enough Detonation Phrase. Shoulda, woulda, coulda, you guess. No point pouting over non-explosive arms. Although… it would’ve been pretty sick if you could’ve blown it up right now. The prosthetic is practically around his ignoranceshaft at the moment, more than close enough to take his nugbone clean-off! It would’ve been like fishing with dynamite, it just wouldn’t have been fair! And yet, here you sit, having not properly planned for tomorrow. Foresight can be a bitch sometimes.

“…What do you think this is going to accomplish?” You finally speak out, breaking the silence in the incarcerationblock. Your captor doesn’t so much as twitch at your call. “…………I’m not going to join you, if that’s what you’re after… And that is what you’re after, isn’t it? You wouldn’t have taken me alive otherwise.” Still the Highblood remains silent in his stoic watch. “…You want to use my Sight to hunt down Contestants in the Arena. That’s what I think… It makes sense. There’s bound to be Godtiers out there that are planning to hide until only a few people are left alive, and there’s no way they’d challenge a group as large as yours, either. If that’s the case… your Leader is probably afraid she won’t be able to find those hidden Contestants before your team turns on one another. That’s the most logical reason. Who knows how long you might be looking for them. Weeks. Months. Maybe even Sweeps, if they’re slippery enough. She probably can’t be sure you’ll all stay loyal to her that long, especially if you’re all still planning on killing each other in the end. So she thinks getting a hold of someone like me will bypass all that. Have me find them so you don’t have to sniff them out yourselves…. That’s just what I think, at least.”

“Shut up.” He finally says back, seemingly not even hearing what you’d said.

“It won’t work, though. All you’re doing is burning your last bridge out of this prison.” You try to speak reason to the marauder, looking for any angle you can get at to get out of here.

“Hey! Shut uup!” He repeats in a whinnier tone like a wiggler demanding a toy, glancing over at you this time. “No talking for prisoners!” Oh yeah, you can definitely work with this.

“…Under what authority have you proclaimed me a prisoner?” You prod at him, knowing a child who enjoys following rules when you see one.

“Uhh… we captured you and put you in a cage?” He asks, looking at you like it should be apparent. “What other authority do I need?”

“Well, unless you’re acting under an Officially Established Government, you have no right to process me as a prisoner.” You professionally inform him.

“W-…What?” He leans in with a concerned expression, deeply disturbed at the possibility of being in infraction of the Bylaws of Conflict. “…Really?”

“That’s right.” You nod, knowingly. “So right now, I’m technically a hostage. And hostages get to negotiate!”

“Damn!” He turns to curse to himself before looking back. “Well, I guess since it’s not against the rules… what do you want to negotiate?”

“My immediate release and transport back to my allies.” You promptly lay out your demands. “Also I want my arm back.”

“Hmm…” He rubs his chewhinge. “What are your terms?”

“You let me go and I won’t let my friends kill you.” You explain to him simply. “And, now I’m not supposed to be doing this, but if you get me to my friends safe-and-sound, I’ll put in a good word for you with who we Undoom first. You could be one of the first Contestants to strip away their doomed fate in the Whole. Arena.”

“Remove our Doomed Fate? Pff.” He scoffs at the idea. “Robin was right, you guys are crazy. Negotiations are closed.” With that, the pompous Knight turns back around to his post, not bothering another word on you.

“Hey! You can’t just close negotiations! Hey…! Hey, I’m talking to you!” Regardless of your protest, your warden remains unmoved, dedicated to his orders. “…Jackass……” You mumble under your breath, giving up on talking your way out of this situation. Accepting that you won’t get anywhere with the Highblood, you pull your hood over your sightglobes, turning your attention beyond the confines of your cell towards the team you’ve been taken from. Last you’d seen, they had just managed to bring one of the freighters along the cliffside harbors to life. While hopeful they’ll catch up to you eventually, those ships they’ve found are junkers. Bulky beasts with nowhere near the speed to keep up with the Speeder you’re currently on. Yet when you focus your sight towards the skies surrounding this prison, your eyes widen in shock, and with the split second you’ve got, you dive across your block to the other corner of the cell, dodging away from the ship wall.

“What do you think you’re doing, hostage?” The Indigo demands to know, watching you take cover. Before he can figure it out for himself, the wall behind him falls away in fantastic calamity.

-BOOM-

“Geez Louise!” The Knight yelps as an entire section of the hull is exploded from the ship behind him, ripping the wall asunder and depressurizing the cabin. In the mayhem, the Highblood is thrown to the floor, either from the force of impact, or from a kick-reflex in him to duck-and-cover in moments of chaos. Gazing out the opening torn into your cell, you find the Junker just beside your own ship, no more than fifty yards away, having caught up in record time as the enormous thing barrels through the sky like an unstoppable juggernaut coming to your rescue! Awww!

At the bow of their ship, Perses stands like the Orphaners of Old, enormous blunderbuss in hand, its muzzle smoking with hot vengeance. And with the opening he’s bought you with that explosive entrance, you find your prosthetic has slid across the incarcerationblock floor, far outside the reach of your jailer. Springing to the cell door, you stick your stump through the bars and engage the Magnetic Recall function, summoning the mechanical limb back to your nub's Integration Port and cracking into place, quickly rotating several times to calibrate itself.

“Ha-Ha!” You exclaim, throwing yourself to your stridepads, feeling fully complete with your returned limb.

“Wha- Hey! Give that back!” The Blueblood demands as you bolt across the cell towards the carved open window you’ve been awarded. “Wh-Get back here!”

“Sorry dude, but I’ve got a boat to catch!” You laugh as you reach up, sinking your mechanical grabber into the ship’s siding, hoisting yourself up and out of your captivity.

“W-wait!” You hear him call after you, leaning out the tear in the cells to look up at you. “Can we reopen negotiations?!”

“Apologies, sucker, but I’m now officially no longer a hostage!” You laugh back as you climb your way up the side of the golden dreadnaught, away from the squabbling cries below.

 

***

 

You’re within fire range now. Smug gaggle of assholes never would’ve expected you to catch up this fast, did they? Glancing back into the Bridge of your Warship, you watch as Sara evokes the channel of winds your crew sails, dancing with the spirits in a ritual plea to grant your humble craft the Gift of Expeditious Flight, transforming the lumbering purple beast into a vengeful wraith, relentless in its pursuit of your goals. Alongside the girl, Esspin kneels on the sideline in the room, whispering silent prayers to herself, beseeching whichever powers that be that your voyage is a safe one. You could care less if it were safe. So long as you get your Seer back, that’s all you care about.

Before the two gals, your Helmsman diligently works the controls of your ship, his attention bouncing from terminal to terminal, seemingly still getting a grasp on how the systems are all supposed to work in unison with one another. He’s picking it up fast, however. Inheriting Strategy means he’d be a quick learner when it comes to this sort of stuff. He’s got the brains for it. Alongside him, his three First Mates, Gretel, George and Remmy, argue over the Pilot Manuals while they stand atop the Holo-Map display table, debating translations and interpretation of the ancient texts, none of them quite fluently versed in the script. You told Creed to go with his gut regardless, and so he tends to the controls the best he can, racking his brain with the task of comprehending the needs of the ship’s every creak and moan. Down below on the Top Deck, you watch as Perses reloads his shotgun with a twirl, taking aim once more at the tail section of the Rogue’s ship as your vessel catches up with them.

“Perses, what are you doing?! I told you to aim for the engines!” Mary suddenly shouts, bursting out from one of the many hatch doors leading to the lower decks of the vessel, catching the Dwarf’s attention and pausing his second shot.

“…Were those not the engines?” He nonchalantly glances back with a mildly bothered look on his face.

“No! Those were stabilization thrusters! Weren’t your people engineers?!” She scolds the Baron as the results of his shot take effect ahead of them, the area he’d hit spewing out a dark pillar of smoke as the enemy ship drifts to the left. “We’re trying to force a landing, not capsize them!”

“They’ll have to land if they flip, won’t they?” He shrugs, squinting at the Mage like she’s too simple to see him plans.

“Not without destroying a majority of their ship and killing everyone on it! We’ve got friendlies aboard, you horse’s ass!” She continues to berate the alien boy, snatching him by his pointed ear to force him into compliance.

“Aah!" He grimaces at the yank. "Seriously, what’s a Horse?!” While they bicker, the metal walkway you stand upon is jostled as someone begins to ascend up the ladder leading to the Bridge’s outside platform. From down below, Frank's head pops up, sticking out from the climb-shaft.

“Jason!” He exclaims up at you. “Look!” The boy points while still upon the ladder rungs, out towards the Rogue’s ship, to the hole Pers punched, past the pillars of smoke that bleed from it. You peer in the direction he gestures to, seeing the vague shape of a person scamper up the side of the craft’s exterior. Dark robes blowing in the wind, and a gleaming metal arm reaching up to pull her along. Dallra… “She got out!” You watch the scene unfold, seeing the Seer climb her way to an upper level of the ship, clambering onto a walkway of a side deck, setting down safely as she climbs over the guardrail. Once on solid ground again, you feel as your breath is taken away when she turns back, looking to your ship as you chase after her. She sees you. Through all the mayhem and chaos, she sees you, your eyes meeting from across the divide. She’s so close, yet still out of reach… Suddenly hunching down with a jolt, Dallra faces left, towards the front of the ship, reacting like she’s seen someone coming. She bolts not a moment later, no time to look back anymore as she disappears into the golden vessel. A few seconds after, you see a number of the Rogue’s crew rush out onto the top deck, searching their surroundings for something. Damnit… Faster…! You have to be Faster!

“Everyone!” You shout out to those on the Deck and Bridge. “Our objective is clear. Get Dallra back. Neutralize their Ship. And get the Fuck out of here!” You get them all on the same page. Turning back to the Bridge, you pick your Sylph out in the crowd specifically, pointing at her from the other side of the glass. “Sara, give us some extra push, see if you can’t get us enough speed to overtake their vessel. If possible, try and take some of the load off the engines until we can start our getaway.”

“On it.” She nods, a bead of sweat streaking down her cheek as she centers herself, opening her bladed fans up to amplify the breeze she provokes. Turning back, you grab hold of the railing to the guardrail before you, slipping under it and dropping down to the Deck below.

“Marry, how’s our retreat preparation coming?” You inquire for updates as you march across the deck towards her, interrupting the Mage as she yanks on Pers’s ear.

“Awful.” She lets go of the Dwarf, instantly losing interest in him as you approach. “I’ve attempted to rig our main engine to expel a flood of energy across our entire propulsion systems for a temporary speed boost, but there isn’t much I can do while it’s still running. At most, we can overload the rear thrusters in a single burst, but there’s no predicting how our Elevation Generators will react. We might end up throwing ourselves into an upward spiral if we’re not careful. Not to mention our right jet has tried combusting five times already, infernal thing has been fighting me the entire time it’s been running.”

“Keep working at it! Once Dallra’s back, I want to leave these fuckers in the dust!” You order with an outward swing of your arm.

“As you wish.” She sighs, turning back for the door to the lower decks. “Frankie, meet me at Bay Fifteen!” She calls up to the Bridge for her son who immediately breaks into action, diving head-first into a nearby opening in a pipe.

“Mia, Ryder, you’re on artillery.” You turn to your Rage players who’ve been milling about in the shadows of the Bridge’s Tower. You turn them towards the turrets lining the sides of your craft, the enormous pieces of weaponry stationed and ready for battle. “According to the consorts, most of these guns are energy based. You channel your powers into them, they shoot out what you’ve got to give. You know what to do.”

“Hell yeah!” Ryder exclaims, rushing to the biggest gun he can find.

“…” Mia remains silent, looking at you with an unreadable expression on her face, a vague sense of pity in the dark underneath her eyes. She glances up, towards the roof of the Bridge above you, up where the Knight of Breath stands, watching everything unfold before him. What the hell is that guy doing still lingering around? Gah, whatever, you’ve got no time for him now. You’ve got a damsel in distress that needs saving. So let’s storm this fucking castle!

“Everyone who doesn’t have a job, stay alert! We don’t know what these jagoffs are gonna throw at us! Help out where you can, and don’t engage with them alone!” You tell them all as you find your way to one of the kinetic turrets on your barge. “Creed, get us closer to that ship!” You shout up to the Command Room as you load a harpoon into the barrel of your gun, pulling back the slide with a hearty -ch-chck- as the projectile is fastened in place. “We’re going fishing.”

 

Jason, Take your Best Shot.

Chapter 87: > The Ides of March

There’s a searing pain biting at your temple, an overwhelming pounding clouding your mind making it impossible to think straight. You’re… on the floor? Pushing yourself off the golden planks, you’re suddenly struck on the back of the skull as you sit up, bashing your head on something above you.

“Ow…” You wearily moan, rubbing the welt forming upon your dome as you look up to the barrier you’d clashed with. You’re under your desk… That’s right. You were in the Captain’s Quarters when your ship was hit with something big. You’d been thrown from your seat and hit your head on the way down. Reaching up, you lightly probe at your injury, feeling an enormous pressure under your gentle touch, finding there as well a heavy stream of blood pouring down from your forehead. Before you can fully grasp the severity of your wound, there comes another booming explosion that throws you up into the air, rocking your ship as if it were to come apart around you. “Shit!” You shout, landing back down on your ass. With an angry hand, you slap the top of your desk, sinking your claws into it as you force yourself back onto your feet. “God! Damn it!” With a fury in your step, you strut out from your quarters in search for some fucking answers. Traversing the mother fucking hallway, you reach your ship’s navigation deck, kicking the door open with a swift boot only to find a bunch of lazy layabouts inside, standing around doing nothing. “What… the Fuck. Do you all think you’re doing?! Are we not under attack right now?!” There’s a long and tense silence as the group of idiots stare back at you.

“Yeah. Seems kind of obvious.” Auratt mutters under her breath. Your attention snaps to her in an instant.

“Then how about you Fucking! Do Something! About it!” You shout at the ignorant girl, causing her to flinch away from you. Again, your demands for usefulness from the mob is met with wide-eyed empty-headed stares. These people… “That isn’t a fucking suggestion, you slack-jawed morons, get out there! Now!” Finally relenting to your requirement of competency for your team, the room begins to clear out, the peons reporting to their battle stations. Hopefully there’s something left of your ship by the time they get around to doing their fucking jobs. Eventually, the only ones left on the deck are yourself, your boyfriend and that narcoleptic fuckass, Iggy, carelessly snoozing while curled up on the floor. Why do you even bother… “Ignatius.” You growl through clenched teeth, stomping over and snatching the Page up by the nape of his ridiculous cape, dragging him towards the door the others left through. “Get to work, you lazy fuck!” You cast him out like hauling last week’s trash, hurling him down a set of stairs in the general direction of your other teammates. You don’t wait to see if he wakes up from the impact or not, instead turning back to the last and biggest mother fucker still left in the room. “And you!” He raises an eyebrow at you like the cocky cock he is, unmoving as he leans against the map table with his arms crossed at you. “Don’t think you get to lounge around like you usually do! Make sure everyone is working together on this, I want these assholes firing on all cylinders. We are Not Losing to these dicks! So get your head in the game and try not to be fucking unless!” He stares at you, that complete indifference look he loves to show off stagnating in his tired eyes. Seeing he has nothing to say back, you huff at him before setting out, knowing you’ll need to take the reins to this fucking circus before the morons on your team fuck everything up for you.

“Hey.” LJ calls just as you’re about to leave. You peer back at him over your shoulders, waiting for whatever smartass remark he’s cooked up. He gazes at you a moment longer before pushing off his leaning perch, crossing the room towards you. Stopping just before you in the threshold, the tall bastard looks down at you, his face unreadable until he reaches over, placing a gentle hand against your still bleeding head. You feel under the soft touch a thin coat of his blood move across your temple under his command, sweeping over your injury like an autonomous cloth, absorbing up the blood staining your face as it crosses your forehead, forging a minor stitch with the small influence he has over your own lifeblood. Watching him as he works, you notice a tenderness in the way he attends to your wound. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he actually gave a fuck for once. “Look after your head, alright? Even small injuries can be serious.” He explains in monotoned voice.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, playboy.” You sneer, grabbing his wrist and forcefully removing his hand. “Now chop to it. These idiots would nail themselves to the floor unsupervised.” Turning back, you leave for the exit, having more important fish to fry at the moment than the superficial cajolings of your ficklefuck boyfriend.

“Love you too, honey.” You hear LJ sarcastically sigh as you leave him behind. You don’t pay him much mind. As you’re passing the corridors out towards the top deck, the floor beneath you trembles once more, your vessel struck in yet another volley of bombardments from these annoying pests. Knocked off-kilter by the attack, you stumble against the wall, grabbing hold of the surface as you try to regain your balance. The hell is going on out there?!

Bursting open the cabin door, you exit into the cold light of day, greeted by the sideshow gaggle of clowns you call a team floundering about as usual, caught in the chaotic mess your aircraft has been plunged into. The ship is on fire. Large pyres of burning purple flames crackle across the deck, and a majority of these morons are panicking, scurrying and scampering about in aimless abandon, a whole flock of chickens with their heads cut off, dancing between infernos like it’s a God Damn Bonfire. Marching out with nothing but disappointment in your heart, you try to comprehend the ridiculous scene before you to the best of your abilities. Ignatius is still asleep, what a fucking shocker, Aellocy is nowhere to be seen while Anshal seems to be having a meltdown with the amount of fire illuminating the deck, causing her to frantically search for somewhere dark enough for her to hide. Auratt is… you aren’t sure what Auratt is doing. From the looks of it, she’s threatening the fires with her Bow, you think. Screaming at it with an arrow drawn back like it’ll back down and put itself out. Dylan, the only one seeming to be doing anything useful at the moment, rushes up and down the deck, stomping out the various purple flames that’ve sparked up across the ship. Tabes, the fucking psycho she is, actually seems dedicated to keeping the fires going, giddily giggling to herself as she feeds her dead leaves to the inferno, crouched down to observe the flames in enamored detail.

“Is that the best ya got, mother fuckers?!” Archie shouts at the rival ship that pursues just across the divide, one foot stood on a crate and the other on the gunwale as he waves his ridiculous fucking flag back and forth like it’s some kind of taunt.

“Someone get him down before he throws himself overboard!” You order while watching the Page rock entirely too close to the edge of the ship. Eager to comply, Tabes takes a moment from her pyromaniac pursuits to accost her fellow team member, practically springing over to where Archie futzes about, reaching up to the overly proud boy and yanking the fuck out of his cape while pulling him back, reeling him in like a dog on a leash. Good enough.

Turning your focus to something actually worth your attention now, you find that along with the fires, those pricks have been tearing holes up and down your ship! Peering over the railing at the lower levels, you discover the starboard side of your vessel looks like fucking swiss cheese. What the hell kind of fire power are they packing on that damn thing?!

 

-KA-BOOM-

 

In the middle of inspecting the sanctity of your vessel, yet another exploding bombardment comes shooting over from that floating pile of junk, tearing into your exterior hull as if it were tissue paper. Damn it all to hell! You picked this good-for-nothing clipper for Speed! What the hell is the point of forgoing Defense if those thunderfucks can keep pace regardless?!

“Someone find Aellocy and tell her to get her ass in gear! We need those fuckers off of us and the only way that’s gonna happen is if that damn plant does her fucking job!” You order, knowing full well you’ll be dead in the water if your pursuers are able to keep on you like this. The one time that damn Thief can prove useful and she’s in the wind! You swear to god, if she isn’t out there syphoning their fucking speed in the next five minutes, you’ll play Love-Me-Not with her damn head! Until you can slow these fuckers down, you can’t allow them to keep pounding you the way they have. You need to boost your defenses… “Tabes!” You call for the Maid. She looks over to you while sat upon Archie’s stomach, pinning the boy the the ground as he incessantly screams and flails at her, shouting profanities and crass threats alike while unable to free himself. “Front and center.” With a sly smile, the Elf uses Archie’s head as a contact point to push off of, smushing his face against the ground as she gets up, flaring up the boy even further.

“Ma’am.” The damn weed greets you with a casual tone and a mocking salute, smiling with a tired look behind the leafy veil covering her face.

“Cut the shit, we’re getting pounded out here.” You sigh, grabbing the Maid by her wrist and dragging her to the edge of the ship. “Prepare yourself. We’ll need another donation.”

“You know there’s only so many times I’ll be willing to do this, don’t you?” The gloomful girl sighs, seeming to grow more rebellious by the task. With an attitude like her’s, you’d have ditched the troublesome Elf ages ago had she not proven so useful. Her ability to create undeniable rules is simply too valuable a resource for you to squander over a petty squabble. And so she gets away with her tursh comments. For now. “Who needs a transplant this time?”

“The Ship.” You say as you place her hand upon the banister, giving a point of contact with the damaged section of your aircraft.

“Ah.” The girl chuckles at the absurdity of it. “Come then, Shaded.” She says, hopping up onto the railing, opening her arms up towards you like she’s expecting a gift. “Let me hug you.” You are getting so sick of these god damn aliens. Acquiescing to the ridiculous demands of your… ally… you allow the Elf to wrap her fleshy plant-hands around you. Tabes has a thing for hugs. Intimate physical contact of any kind, really. You think she takes a certain joy in the discomfort she causes with these awkward embraces. You try to grimace through it the best you can.

And while the Maid of Wilt does her damnedest to make this a negative experience for you, your focus falls behind you. Reaching a hand back towards the walls of burning hellfire that’ve begun to overtake the entire deck now, you begin to funnel all that roaring energy rampaging in the flames towards your Syphon, the inferno pyres pulling towards your open palm as if magnetically compelled. Funneled to you is all the burning power of the flames, draining the inferno until nothing but crackling embers remain on your deck. And with the enormous wellspring of potency that is housed within your form, you channel the current towards your Elven comrade, endowing her with a vitality that swells her floral frame with overwhelming growth, the veil of dark wide-set leaves that shroud her face extending outward as they thrive and bloom, billowing down in long and large vines which twist and flourish outwards like an enormous tangle of snakes crawling along the side of your ship, finding placement over the damaged hull, fortifying your defenses with a tangle of dense and unyielding roots.

“Let’s see them get through that!” You mutter to yourself, proud as you admire your work. Almost immediately, however, yet another barrage comes barreling in from the other side of the sky, striking the siding of your ship hard enough that it nearly sends you rocking sideways, forcing you and the Elf tumbling back. “Fucking…!” You snarl, reaching up and grabbing hold of the railing, forcing yourself upright while your plant still clings herself around you.

“Your greatest work yet.” The Maid sarcastically coos while petting your head like you’re some toddler to be pitted.

“Get the hell off me, Tabes!” You force the girl away, standing back up with a huff. Urgently hurrying back to the taffrail and peering past to the side of the ship, and you see your fortifications have sustained heavy damages, a litany of fresh craters punched into them along with a series of flames sparking up along their length. Whatever. It held. Placing your hand against the hardened plant matter, you reinforce the vines, sapping the flames that’d sparked up across them to partly rebuild what was wrecked. Good. If it can hold out long enough, it won’t matter if those chumps can keep up. They won’t be tailing you for much longer.

“Ma’am!” A voice suddenly calls, coming out from the doors leading down to the brig. Turning around with a sigh, you resign yourself to the next problem that’s about to be slapped down on your lap. Rushing up the stairs, Hekter appears on deck practically crawling, hysteric as he searches the deck for presumably you. Eventually finding you in his field of view, the oaf rushes over, a visible sweat pouring down his face. “Ma’am! The priso- I-I mean the hostage! She’s escaped!” He bursts, panting heavily as he tries to catch his breath.

“What…?” You turn around completely now to face the Alien Knight, your attention fully stolen by what he’s just said. “How!?!”

“She crawled out the hole in the ship.” He explains while forcing himself to stand at attention, still breathing heavily as he struggles to compose himself.

“Well why the hell didn’t you stop her from crawling out the hole in the ship?” You snarl at the incompetent fuck, snatching him by his collar to reel him down so you can scold him face-to-face.

“S-… she’s very fast, ma’am.” He nervously informs you. You grip the bridge of your nose in a vain attempt to quell the swelling frustration.

“Alright!” You call to your flying monkeys once more, tossing Hekter aside as you step out to the middle of the deck. “Half of you to search for the damn Troll! The rest of you-“ Interrupting your dispatching of lackeys, another bombardment comes slamming into the side of your vessel, jerking you forward like a vindictive shove to the shoulder. You close your eyes while trying not to lose it, taking a heavy breath in to center yourself. “Kill those Fuckers!”

“Finally! Orders I can get behind!” Archie exclaims, speed-walking to the Manual Defense Turret at the starboard bow of the ship. Nestling himself into the shoulder stocks of the launcher, your absolute savant of a teammate doesn’t seem to notice that half the damn gun was melted in the fires. Pulling the trigger without even checking the ammunition belt to see if it’s properly fed, the Turret backfires instantly, exploding into Archie’s face and knocking him across the deck.

“HA! HAHAHAHA!” Tabes doubles over into a laughing fit, pointing at the staggered boy.

“I am going to blow a fucking gasket, I swear to god…” You mutter under your breath. Before the words can even fully leave your mouth, an enormous force whips past, striking at the Deck behind you with a splintering impact. Turning to look, you find an enormous Harpoon attached to a steel cable has struck your Mast, fastening you to that enormous piece of shit across the bay. Another deep breath in. “…aaaaAAAAAHHHHH!!!”

 

***

 

“BOOM!!” You exclaim, hitting your target dead-center. “Nailed it!” Hurrying to secure your lead, you lock your turret in place and pull the retraction winch taught. As you work, you notice someone lurking beside you.

“Um… Jason?” Ragnaa appears, her eyes locked on the harpoon line. “Are you sure tethering ourselves to our opposition is the best course of action?” She asks, the concern in her voice near-palpable. “I-I don’t see that ending well.”

“It’s fine.” You assure her. “If it causes any problems, we’ll detach the lead.”

“O-okay. I-…if you’re sure about this.” She gives her tentative blessing, her focus still transfixed on the cable before you, likely privy to some Omen or another intangible from your perception. You think nothing of it. Her warnings are Immaterial. You were always going to take the leap.

“Creed! Take us up higher!” You call up to the Bridge, signaling to the Blue Anole in the window for lift. “I’m going over!”

“This is a bad idea…” Your Helmsman mutters up above, far too far for you to hear.

“I’m… sure he has things under control.” Esspin says back, doing her best to inspire confidence in the Heir.

“Don’t sound so sure.” Creed mutters while flipping on the PA system Gretel had shown him how to operate. “On it, Boss.” He confirms into his mic, his voice coming to life across the speakers on the ship. Upon your request, the Heir adjusts a wheel gauge on his holodisplay and pushes forward the knife switch on his terminal. Below you rises your chariot, the antigrav-thrusters flaring to life upon the ship’s undercarriage, and you go pushing up further into the sky, turning your harpoon cable into a zip-line to the ship in your shadow. Peering up from the deck of her vessel, Robin grits her teeth in frustration, complications in her plans forming like sticky resin.

“Shit, they’re trying to board!” She announces to her cohorts, once more too far for you to hear. At the same time, you take up Bane of All Mountains in your hands and do your best to swallow your fears. You spring on the forefronts of your feet in an attempt to hype yourself up, but… Fuck, you’re really high up. Okay, come on Jaybird, time to Fly! Turning your thoughts off and blocking out the little voice telling you to stay on solid ground, you burst forward, your stomach sinking as you leap off the side of your ship, hooking Bane on the connecting cable before you go sliding down the lead at terminal fucking velocity, Holy Fucking Shit this is Scary! “Hekter, suit up already, Tabes, get an angle on their jets! And would somebody wake Iggy the fuck up?!” Robin coordinates as you scrape across the sky, 10,000 feet of fucking nothing below you!

 

-BOOM- -BOOM- -BOOM-

-BOOM-

 

Before you can reach your destination, there comes a sudden thundering eruption tearing across the skies above you, and as your head cranks back to look, you’re met with a fucking nightmare, as the entire underside of your ship is engulfed in a sweep of blooming explosions, completely decimating your gravitational rotors keeping the enormous hunk of iron aloft. Almost instantly, the tension in your line goes slack, and your slide slows to a stop, leaving you stranded halfway between ships as yours begins to fall. Oh fuck…

“Son of a bitch!” Creed’s voice booms through the speakers. “Upward thrusters just got knocked offline, hold on to something!” Looking back, you search for what the hell just hit your craft, spotting at the back of the Rogue’s vessel the Maid of Doom, stood behind one of the energy launchers along their galley, still sizzling from her attack. Your heart sinks when you see with her first target disposed of, the Maid turns her sights to you, center stage between aircrafts, suspended in place like a slab of meat on a feeding-hook, lowering down into a lion cages.

“Tch!” You wince in anticipation of the shot, though through a stroke of luck, the turret the Maid operates suddenly rusts over, decaying in a matter of seconds, leaving the strange plant girl dumbstruck as she quizzically looks over the dismantled weapon, getting nothing but a -click- when she tries to fire it. Breathing a sigh of relief, your salvation is short lived, as you begin to backslide, returning towards your ship as it dips underneath the Rogue’s cruising altitude, continuing on its crash course.

“Sara, mind your footwork!” Esspin’s voice chimes in on the background of the intercom. Unseen from your eyes as you clutch onto your pickaxe like your life depends on it, which it quite literally does, the Mage of Hope leaps into action, carves a sigil upon the floor of the command center in consecrated chalks, effortlessly inscribing the arcane symbols around the Sylph’s dance, the seal burning to life in a divine glow upon completion. “Keep it between the lines!”

“I’m on it!” The Sylph complies, her performance being narrowed to a stage no larger than three feet around her. And as her graceful steps jab at the floor below, the gales in which her ship sail engorge in their might, moved by her dedication to the performance. Outside, the Junker pushes upward, as if splashing down upon a great set of waves as it’s caught by the winds, keeping the gargantuan ship aloft while bringing it level with its rival once more. You’re thankful your ride still has a bit of gas left in the tank, but you’re still left hanging out in the middle of the goddamn air! Oh fuck, okay, just… just don’t look down!

“That wasn’t enough, huh? Quick, Hekter, bring the mast down!” You’re barely able to hear Robin dishes out her orders across the way. SHIT!

“With pleasure!” The Knight complies with gusto, trotting over to the enormous golden pillar you’d landed your harpoon in. Summoning up his enormous whore of an Axe, the Troll reels back before slamming its edge into the pole, taking a chunk from its side. You’re in the middle of having a heart-attack when you realize… he’d hit the mast above the point you’d anchored the harpoon…

“Wha- What the hell are you doing?!” The Rogue barks at her Knight. “Cut under the harpoon, you moron!”

“But… that guy is still out there.” The Knight tries to reason with her, glancing out to you as you dangle at the Roof of the God Damn Sky! Holy shit, dontlookdowndontlookdowndontlookdown! “He could be injured if his wire doesn’t remain secure.”

“That’s the idea, now get chopping before he boards! That’s an order, jarhead!” She shoves him around to face the mast once more.

“Uh… y-yes ma’am!” He hesitantly nods before prying his axe back out from the pillar, adjusting his aim for below the harpoon this time. Though the bastard doesn’t get two chops in before a bolt of purple energy is hurled into him, knocking the Knight away. “Dagh!”

“Don’t even think about it, fuckface!” Your own Maid shouts over to the Rogue’s crew, the metal of her turret practically boiling from overheat.

“Damn, Mia. Even I felt that.” Ryder whistles, watching the smoldering Knight through his scope.

“Yeah, what of it?” She scoffs at the young man. “If anyone’s putting Greene in a grave, I’ll be me.”

“Alright, alright…” Ryder mutters under his breath, loud enough only for Mia to hear him. “Is that what they’re calling romance nowadays…?”

“The hell was that, wimp?!” She snaps at him. “How bout you show some respect for your Sensei and repeat that for me!”

“Nothing, ma’am!” Ryder quickly steps back in line.

“Then keep up the fire, we need to clear that idiot an LZ.” Mia instructs while disengaging from her turret, stepping away from the Page. “I’m gonna get him over, keep him covered in the meantime.” She adds while sprinting over to the gun your cable is attached to. “Hey Jay!” You hear called over to you. When you look back, you see Mia there, grabbing hold of the steel line you’re attached to. “Brace yourself!” She shouts while suddenly lifting the slack lead and whipping it down, cracking a wave into the line that surges for your position on it.

“What the fu-“ Is all you can sputter out before the ripple reaches you, the sheer force of Mia’s spurring of the cable flicking you from its line, sending you flinging through the air towards the Rogue’s ship! “-UUUUUUUAAAA!?!” With your heart in your throat, you look forward, hoping to GOD your landing will be on solid ground that isn’t 10,000 feet below you. Very easily you see you’ll hit the Rogue’s ship as intended, but you also see just about her entire team waiting for your arrival with open arms. First and foremost, of course, is the Rogue of Life, ornamental crossbow with a bolt the size of your forearm summoned to her mitts as she takes aim for you mid-fall.

“Would you look at that! A living clay pigeon!” She laughs as her cross-guard surges with a burning energy with you in its sights. Yet before she has the chance to fire, the top deck of the Rogue’s ship is lit up with a bombardment of hateful artillery, Ryder carpet bombing the ever living hell out of everyone there. Strafing back, Robin takes cover behind the mast long enough for you to finally touch down, landing on the golden planks of the enemy vessel. Breaking your fall with a roll, you eventually come to a stop with a thud, spinning out into a nearby pile of crates.

“Jesus…” You mutter while trying to stand back up, doing your best to get ahold of that sinking sense of vertigo resting in your stomach at the same time. Slipping back down as you try to prop yourself up, you accidentally pry the side of a crate off, spilling out its contents, leaving a pile of pears on the deck. “Huh?” You grunt while looking down at the fruit. Not a second later, your hand is nearly impaled as a fucking spear pierces through the mound of produce, Robin taking a shot at you as she steps out from behind her cover, already reloaded. Startled, you fall back from the bolt in time to watch as the pile of pears suddenly begin to wilt, a vibrant green energy pulled from them back towards the Rogue as the Life is drained from them before your eyes. Putting 2 and 2 together and realizing it’d be bad to get hit by that thing, you spring back into a run as Robin fires three or four more times for you, the bolts barely missing as you tear down the side of her ship towards the stern. Mid-stride, however, a sudden force strikes you in the center of your face, just beneath your nose, stopping you in your tracks. “AWH!” You shout while clutching your face, staggering back two steps as your nose gushes with blood.

“Been a while, Jason.” You hear said just before you. Wincing your eyes open as they flood with involuntary tears, you find the Mage of Blood stood at the middle of the stairs leading up to the cabins, his yo-yo thrown down as it spins in place by his side. Well that’s just fucking great. “You’re not lookin’ too good, mate.” Strafing to the side, you dodge out of the way from his next attack, that steel toy of his flinging itself in an overarching swing in an instant, smashing into the deck and shattering the boards where you’d just stood. Crossing the deck to the other side of the ship, the Mage quickly pursues, vaulting over the stairs onto your same level as he sprints after you. Noticing to your flank just in time, you pivot back just quick enough to avoid another shot from the Rogue, her bolt nicking into your shoulder as it whips past. Even from the small scratch the attack left on your arm, you feel a significant amount of energy sap out of you, leaving your off-hand feeling like you’d just curled a dumbbell a couple dozen times.

“Agh!” You wince as your limb falls to exhaustion. And while your pivot avoided the Rogue’s attack, it stopped you just long enough for the Mage to catch back up, and a left-hook goes slamming across your jaw, tumbling you back as you fall to the deck. Without pause, the Mage goes for another strike while you’re grounded, missing as you swerve to the side on the floor, his fist hitting the deck and breaking the planks there. You put up a defense up with Bane by the time he’s throwing his second punch, blocking his fist with the shaft of your pickaxe. Practically on top of you now, the scruffy-looking fuck grapples with your guard, attempting to rip Bane from your hands as you push your feet into his stomach to get him the fuck off of you! From the corner of your eye you notice as Robin reloads her crossbow, taking aim once more. With the split second you have, you twist to the side, dragging the Mage with you as you place him between you and the Rogue, blocking her shot.

“Damn it, LJ! Get the hell outta the way!” She demands as she jukes from left to right to get an angle on you. But before her dick-head Mage can obey his master, a beam suddenly cuts through the space before the Rogue, nearly striking down at her throat and sending her staggering back a step. Across the way, on the Bridge of your ship, Esspin pulls back the bolt of her rifle, -tsk-ing at herself for the sloppy aim before taking a followup shot. “Fuck!” Robin panics while dodging out of the way of a second beam aimed for her gut this time. “The hell kinda munitions are these assholes packing?!” Taking aim at her new target now, the Rogue fires a bolt across the divide for the Troll who’s sights she dances in, forcing the Highblood to duck out of the way of the enormous projectile. Before she can reload to take another crack at your Mage, a bolt is fired back, a concentrated ball of anger striking the girl while she’s preoccupied. Detonating with all the force of the Page who’d fired it, Robin is blown away, her form Flung into the guardrail on the other side of the deck, slamming her into the banister and beyond, clear off the port of the ship.

“Three Points ya Dirty Whore!” You hear Ryder cheer, undoubtedly throwing his fist up in victory.

“Robbie…?” The Mage of Blood’s attention is drawn away from you, glancing back in time to see the Rogue tumble past off the side into a free fall. “Shit, Robbie!” He suddenly springs off of you, practically galloping as he tears across the deck in an instant, leaping off the ship after her without even a moment’s hesitation. Damn… Her team’s a lot more loyal than you thought they’d be…

Brushing yourself off as you get back up, you glance across the way at your savior, giving Ess and Ryder a wave of appreciation in thanks. Your Mage gives a knowing smile as she returns to the bridge, while the Page simply nods, turning back his aim back to the rest of the Rogue’s crew at the front of the vessel, keeping them pinned down where they are. Perfect! With them busy, you’re free to search the ship for Dallra. Pressing forward, you push open the double doors into the cabins on the top deck’s level, entering into the front hall of the golden keep. Taking only a few steps forward, you notice someone collapsed just by the entrance, curled up like a dog laying on its side. It’s… the Page of Life, knocked out cold. Jesus, how many of these assholes are on this damn cruiser? Is he… snoring? Maybe Dallra’s already been through here, and laid him out before he could alert the others? No time to think, you’ve got a ship to search. Stepping forward again, you debate which hall you should take first, left or right. However, your contemplation is cut short as something behind you snags your cape, and you’re yanked to a halt. Glancing back, you see the Page of Life, still down on the floor, clutching you cloak as he gazed up at you with an annoyed look, face still half buried in the crook of his elbow. He was faking?!

Tightening your grip on Bane, you’re about to swing behind you at the sneaky fucker when suddenly, you’re grabbed by the shoulder and forced back forward. Before you can see who it is, you’re struck dead center on the face once more by what feels like a fucking battering-ram, knocking you back. Tumbling head over heel, you push off your back hard enough to break your momentum and flip onto your front, dragging to a halt while down on one knee as you scrap Bane against the floor. Once you actually do stop, you have to stretch your jaw out, trying to re-engage your hearing as your bell just got the fuck rung out of it!

Reeling your head up, you find that along with the Page, a new contender has appeared. The Sylph of Mind… Renee…… You have blink a few times, unsure of what you’re seeing. When your vision clears, your friend disappears from sight, replaced by a pale and ghostly figure. She’s a Dwarf. The pigment of her skin darkens on her forehead, merging into the dark locks of her hair. Long and tied in a bun, partly falling out into a ponytail. Her arms are the same, darkening until completely black at her hands. Behind her, a slick and dark tail swishes into attention. Her God Tiers have been modified, the typical skirt Sylphs wear appears to have been cut and mended into pant legs, and the tassels of her hood have been clipped short and sewn into the shirt of her dress. Properly fitted for Strife. Aside from that, she wears enormous Metal Boots that engulf her legs just past the knee, the steel of her left foot’s toe stained crimson with your blood. Beside the Dwarf, the Page of Life stands up properly, bearing a Steel Girder, like one you’d seen on a construction site, lazily wrapped in cloth, holding the hunk of metal over his shoulder with one arm as if it weighed nothing.

“This is a Private Residency. As such, we do so ask you to leave, sir.” The Dwarf politely declares before immediately charging forward, throwing out a sweeping kick aimed to take your damn head off! Ducking down, you feel the force of the attack brush past the hair on the back of your head, barely evading the traumatic force as it goes by. Tumbling in the opposite direction she’d kicked in, you avoid her second attack you hadn’t even seen coming, her heel slamming where you’d just been in an axe-kick that splits the floor open. In the brief opening you’ve bought yourself, you struggle to your feet and try to ready yourself for a 2v1 with literal heavy-hitters. Before you can fully fortify your guard, the Page has hurried into your flank, swinging his Beam into your ribs with a breathtaking -crack-, sending you staggering to the side away before he can strike any more times with that fucking thing.

Cautious of the Life player now, you focus on him entirely, searching his repose for the signs of his next attack while forgetting that you’re fighting a tag-team. Taking you by surprise, the Sylph moves behind you while you’re faced against the Page before sending a booting kick straight into your back, shoving you forward towards the Page who’d finally swung his beam. With a meager guard, you’re able to keep the steel from striking you directly in your head with the shaft of Bane, but the weight of the hit sends you spiraling, nearly spinning you out. Pulling yourself together, you shake off the dizziness rattling around your head and try to go on the offensive, lurching forward to take a swing at the Sylph, knowing she’s likely the Lead in their Strife Dynamic. Reeling back, you aim to plunge your spike into her stomach, hoping a deep enough hit will decommission her without much fuss. However, the Dwarf stands her ground, raising a High Knee that your Pick clashes against, blocking your attack with ease against the face of her Boot. As you attempt to push past her guard or at the very least throw her off her footing, you’re suddenly rushed from your flank, the Page taking his Beam and slamming it against the centre of your stomach like he’s swinging a Battering-Ram, taking you off your feet and tossing you back towards the entrance of the cabins. Only barely landing on two buckling legs, you wretch, your stomach attempting to empty its already absent contents.

With bile on your tongue, you force yourself to face your enemies, keeping your attention on the both of them, your eyes bouncing between the two, paranoid which one will take the first swing. With you on the defensive, the two step forward towards you, forcing you to slowly back away like you’re face-to-face with a couple of Tigers, creeping back outside to the deck that’s still being bombarded. It’ll be embarrassing, but if Esspin can give you some suppressing-fire again, you’re sure you can handle these chumps no prob-

-chch-

-FWOOM-

As soon as your opponents exist past the cover of the cabin halls, the Sylph pulls what looks to be a flash grenade out from behind her, pulling the pin and tossing it out towards your ship. Exploding outward from the device is an enormous wall of smoke, completely blocking out your place from anyone on your team. Fuck.

While you’re busy strategizing how to tackle the current situation with this new factor, the Sylph charges forward before you can figure out a plan of attack. Out of time, you decide to cast strategy to the wind, lurching forward yourself to meet the Dwarf before she can reach you. Lancing the head of your pick down as she goes to kick her leg, you slam the weight of your weapon against her shin to shove her foot back down to the ground, and with her attack canceled, you continue on, running shoulder-first into the Sylph and shoving her back into your pick’s swing range. Reeling Bane back, you take a swipe for the alien girl’s neck, the spike of your weapon going wide past her throat as she weaves back from the attack. In the middle of her dodge, you notice as the Dwarf’s attention shifts behind her, and she suddenly crouches down while you’re in the followthrough of your attack. Before you can figure out why she’d choose not to counter-strike with an opening like that, your focus is suddenly brought forward above her, as the Page comes barreling in, his Girder swinging through the space over the Sylph straight for your jaw. Barely able to bring Bane back for a half-assed guard, the weight of his attack shoves your own weapon into your face, breaking your nose, you’re pretty sure.

“Mothr FWUCKER!” You spit out, blood pouring down your chin once more. Whipping his steel beam behind him, the Page follows after as you step back, swinging his hunk of metal over his head like he’s trying to hammer a nail straight down on your head. Juking back, you evade as the enormous girder shatters down into the deck floor, throwing up a flurry of splintering golden shrapnel, bending a handful of planks up as it rests in its crater. Though when the Page attempts to yank his beam back from the hole he smashed it into, it resists his pull, jammed into place there. Seeing your opening, you juke back into his space, lifting Bane above your head and reaming it down, the weighted top of your pickaxe smashing into the Page’s skull as he tries to retrieve his weapon with a satisfying -CRACK- as he’s brought to the floor. He’s down, but by now you’re too pissed to care. Reeling Bane back, you aim your spike for the prick’s heart and bring your weapon down, prepared to finish one of these fuckers off before he can get back up again!

Yet, just as your pickaxe is brought down against your enemy, a hand shoots out, snatching your spike by its tip, halting your attack just as it was about to make contact with the Page. You struggle against the grapple the hand has on Bane, attempting to force past its grip a moment longer before you look up, finding the Sylph there, her Metal Boots gone, replaced instead by heavy-duty Metallic Gauntlets, engulfing up to her elbows. Jerking back on your pickaxe, she yanks you forward off of the Page before cracking you across the jaw with her free hand, evoking a heavy metal taste to pour into your mouth as you reel from the hit.

With all your strength, you rip your pick’s spike from the Dwarf’s hand before reposing your stance, guarding for her next attack. You don’t have to wait long, with the Sylph shooting forward with a right cross that brushes past your chest as you juke back with her. You try to counterattack as you bring the handle of your pick up, aiming to smash it against her chin, but the girl reaches out with her gloved hand, batting away the strike like there was no power behind it. And as you’re jerked forward from the counterstrike, your opponent slams her fist dead-center against your chest like she’s trying to stop your fucking heart! Forced back by the impact, you shake off the spasms your pectorals are sent into as you bring Bane up, swinging the pick over your shoulder as you try to return the favor. Though, the Sylph tucks into your space before your attack can land, raising her left arm to guard the side of her head as your spike scrapes off the side of her gauntlet. Too close to follow your attack up properly, your opponent then sends her right hand rocketing up into your stomach, slamming her fist into your gut with an attack that nearly makes you hurl again. Jesus Christ, she’s playing you like a damn fiddle!

While you’re still staggered from the gut-shot, the Sylph balls her left hand up and springs forward, ramming her fist up into your jaw. Stumbling back, you remain alert enough to throw an attack back, swinging your pick underhandedly at her unguarded legs. However the Dwarf seems to have seen your move from a mile away, swiping her left hand down past her thigh, and in an instant, the gauntlet she wears shifts, detaching from her arm in a flip, clamping onto her leg as it transforms into her metal boot once more. Fully shielded, the spike of your pickaxe -pangs- off the side of her stephinge, unharmed. Hax! You call HAX! With your entire plan of attack rattled by her sudden dynamic change, you’re seized by a clamping force on the top of your head as the Sylph’s still gloved hand grabs hold of your skull, holding you still as she raises her armored leg up in a martial stance, delivering three rapid kicks up and down your ribcage.

BAP BAP BAP!

…Yep, something’s definitely broken.

Jabbing your pick upwards, you slam the top of your weapon against her wrist, breaking her grip on your head before she can outright crack open your torso. Twirling Bane in place, you readjust your grasp into a front guard grip, pushing your staff forward like you’re rowing an oar, swinging your spike forward with your full weight. Yet your efforts are thwarted at every prod, the Sylph swapping her armor from limb to limb, blocking and shielding every inch you can think to target on her, one step ahead of you in the Strife like you’re an open book to her. No, it goes beyond that. She isn’t just reading you, she’s leading your every step in the fight, kiting you along. Every move you’ve made so far originates from something she’s done, a response to her stance, her attack pacing, her strafe-pattern. She’s sewing your choices into your mind herself, it’s like she’s Snake-Charming you!

Damn it! Even a little bit of Temporal Intervention would give you an edge in this Strife! Yet every time you try to engage your Time Majyyks, Knots, Dilation, Displacement, Any of it, you feel the burning rattle in your bones telling you you’re still tapped dry. You’ll just have to-

“Think Fast.” The Dwarf tells you, tossing out another Smoke Grenade to your feet. What? Why would she want another wall of-

-FLASH-

“GAH!” Looking down at the explosive, your eyes are suddenly exposed to Full Frontal Force of the Mother Fucking Sun, blinding you in a flash of light as the device detonates on the deck floor. “OH MY GOD! WHAT THE HELL?!” You shriek out while covering your eyes in an all too late attempt to protect your corneas.

And as you’re busy testing to see if you’ve actually gone fucking blind, you’re suddenly struck across the side of the head. You stagger back, unable to see the space before you, your eyes still reflexively searching for where the attack came from. Then again from the dark, you’re struck in the stomach. Again, against the jaw. Ribs, lung, liver. Again and again, you’re being battered, god damn tenderized! You should really be someone else right now.

 

***

 

Easing off the handles of your turret as it finally overheats, you take a step back from the gun, watching the thing melt off its mount and fold forward, the weight of the weapon pulling itself fully off its base, tipping off the side of the ship to plummet down to the Land. That’s the third one you’ve lost since starting this little dog fight. At this rate, the damn junker’s gonna run out of guns.

“Shifting positions!” You call to the runt as you march to your next turret.

“Roger!” He calls back, continuing to bombard the opposing aircraft. Since your resident dumbass took the leap to the other side, you’ve been focused on keeping most of the enemy dickheads there pinned where they are at the bow of their ship, though it seems some had already left for the lower decks before Jason had crossed over. Under normal circumstances, with the amount of punishment you’d been raining down on their craft, you’re sure you’d have cut straight through the golden skimmer as if it were tinfoil by now. The only thing keeping it from complete bisection seems to be the dense foliage plugging up the tears in their hull. You’d been making simple work of their defenses until that point, but then out of nowhere, that damn jungle sprung up, completely fortifying the entire barge. It’s been sprouting new vines as well, compensating for additional damage you’ve managed to inflict to their deck, almost like a living glue keeping things pinned in place.

Your own vessel’s taken a heavy pounding, all things considered. The only difference being yours is a Freighter, only showing a few dents on its hull. You also have that Undead Corpse running interference on incoming barrages. Speaking of which, seems like the other side has found their way to another of their artillery units again, one of the slots on their gundeck opening up as a turret comes online. Almost immediately after, a hail of volleys come launching out towards your deck, peppering the side of your ship with explosive rounds. The first few hit, one even landing a ways down the line from you, near the bridge with a crashing-

-BOOM-

Though the shelling soon dies down as an Enormous Matrix appears before the siding of your craft, a grid-like shield which kills the momentum of the bombardment, exploding shots fizzling them out in an instant as they pass through it, unable to reach your hull. Guess that Corpse has a use after all.

Reaching your next turret, you seize the reins of the gun and begin to channel your fire into it, the barrel of the weapon humming to life with a purple glow. However, before you can get back to work, someone comes running up behind you, calling your name.

“Mia!” Ragnar or whatever the hell her name is appears, panic painting in streaks across her faces. “Something’s happened!”

“Gonna have to be a bit more specific than that, girly. There’s a lot of things happening right now.” You tell the Troll while taking a few potshots at the deck, aiming for that dork in Orange over yonder.

“It’s Jason.” She clarifies, pausing your fire. “I’ve been seeing flashes of him in the Gloom again, I-… I think he’s in trouble!” You’ve got no idea what the weird little alien girl is talking about, but it doesn’t exactly take a genius to figure out Jay’s gotten himself in over his head again. Peering out where you’d seen him last, you find a thick smog covering the stairway at the back of the cabin area.

“Great…” You simmer. Looks like Jason’s getting his ass kicked. Again. “Ryder! Keep the pressure on, make sure none of those pricks make it off that deck. I’m gonna go give that dumbass backup.” Without waiting for confirmation from your pupil, you take off, sprinting down the length of your ship before leaping off the side, catching the steel line connecting you to the opposition and beginning to climb your way across.

“Uh-… o-okay! On it, I guess.” You hear Ryder answer, sounding surprised at your sudden take to action. He can think whatever he likes, so long as he keeps up his suppressing fire.

Meanwhile, on the Rogue’s ship, the Knight you’d shot down soon rouses from his near-comatose state with a gasp, ears ringing as he takes in the world around him. To his left, a majority of his allies are pressed down, scornful and hissing cannon fire exploding in hellish flames all around them. To his right, Iridora of Clan Kappa engages with the upstart who’s been giving his friends such trouble, all while Ignatius lies unconscious on the floor. Coming to his senses, the young Troll finds his grit, rising to his feet and marching to his weapon, Pluto’s Crescent Moon, which still lies embedded in the Mast of his vessel. Taking hold of its handle, he pries free his armaments, gripping it tightly in his hands.

“I… I’m sorry, angry girl who shot me.” He mutters only loud enough for himself to hear, pulling back his enormous cleaver. “But orders… are Orders…!” With a single mighty swing, the Knight shatters through the Mast, completely severing it from the greater vessel.

“Whoa-“ You huff, suddenly dropping down a foot or so as you continue to climb towards the ship, the anchoring of your cable suddenly jostled. “Ah, shit…!” You look up, realizing what’s happened.

Back on the Rogue’s Ship, your Braindead Douchebag of a Leader is alerted to the Knight’s sweeping chop, the shattering -crack- of the hit snagging his attention and bringing his blinded senses around to its source. Despite the blunt force trauma hazing his thoughts, the Page realizes what’s happened instantly, yet he questions why?

‘They brought down the Mast?’ He thinks to himself. “Why would they… unless… someone else was crossing over…’ And then it clicks for him.

“Mia…” He mutters. And as though brought on by the word, in an instant, the Young Man is imparted with a sense of clarity, his destroyed sight returned to him, restored and centered by his Gift of Alacrious Thought. And so too was his vision mended that he was imposed a simple Instruction that echoes about his skull, loud enough to rattle his brain;

Save Her!

Bursting forward at unnatural speeds, the chronology of the Page curls towards the singularity, time slowing its hand as he tears across the deck towards the severed Mast. Reeling back in slowed time, his Bane flares with a surging power, and he sweeps the armaments into the trunk of the great felled tree, knocking the base of the staff off course, altering the trajectory of its fall to ensure it collapses upon the ship itself, in place of it timbering off the side. Crashing down with tremendous force, the aircraft itself dips, burdened by the impact of the fall before raising back up again, compensating enough to return to its buoyant level. Even still, as the enormous length of the item slams down, laying forward off the front bow at a side angle, the harpoon loses its grounding, coming loose and threatening to detach. Without having to consider, the Page slams his Pickaxe driving into the mast over the spear’s hook, cross-lacing the anchoring and ensuring the line holds.

“Whoa…” A voice comes from beside Jay. Glancing over, the Knight of Doom stands there, watching his work hold strong. “Quick thinking.” He commends. The two stare at one another a moment before the Page seems to realize they’re still fighting, quickly summoning a backup Weapon, striking at the Knight before he could realize as well.

Meanwhile in the more important half of this Strife as this all transpires, you still hang out like yesterday’s garbage, stuck between the space that divides the ships. Like a damn cat in one of those ‘Hang in there, Baby’ posters depressed office workers would have pinned up in their cubicles. Dropping several feet all at once, you bounce with a jerk as your line settles, the Mast your cable is attached to barely hanging on the side of the Rogue’s craft. You’re down below the bottoms of both vessels now, the high wind dragging against your Crone Cloak, blowing it in the breeze behind you. Above you, the exchange of volleys between sides continues on, the Rogue’s explosive artillery peppering your freighter every few shots that aren’t nullified, Ryder and that weird Dwarf guy blowing chunks out of their Ivy-Shields. It’s a hell of a view down here. Shame you’re 23,000 feet too high to enjoy it.

“God dammit, Ryder! What did I tell you?!” You shout up at your pupil, your orders clear that he keep the enemy team pinned down!

“Excuse me, I wasn’t expecting G.I. Dickhead to go all fucking He-Man on the giant stick thing!” He shouts back, making up excuses for his shortcomings.

“It’s called a Mast, you moron!” You correct your failure of a student. As you and he shout from across the gorge at one another, it seems you attract the attention of the Rogue’s artillery gunner, as you hear the mechanical shift of the enormous firearm adjusting its aim. By the time you notice it’s selected you as its target, the round it already fired, it’s volley of shots striking your chest and legs first, engulfing you in a blast of antilife, your hide already familiar with the sensation. “Mother Fucker!“ You shout in frustration at the hit. Why the hell couldn’t that damn Corpse block that one?!

Struck a few times more by the shelling, it isn’t until the gunner hits your knuckles directly that your grip breaks, and the cable slips out of your hands, leaving you to plummet from your space between ships. Thankfully, you’re much more graceful in a plunge than other members of your team, and you don’t go tumbling ass-over-heel like a bird that just slammed into a freshly polished window. Shaking off the soot and burn of the artillery shots, you reorient yourself in the air, assessing the situation you’ve quite literally fallen into. You’ll be fine surviving the landing, but there’s no way you can keep pace with the aircraft once you touch down. In fact, you’re already trailing behind even as you fall. You’ve pretty much been separated completely from your-

“Whow!” A voice exclaims in relief as you’re scooped up in a Princess-Carry. “Evening, ma’am!” Looking up, you find the Breath Knight has come to your rescue out here, so far down in the sky. “No need to worry, I’ve got a grip on the situation! Ahahaha!” He laughs as you hover in place in the clouds.

“Just get me on that ship, Greene.” You sigh, rubbing your head in response to the migraine burrowing itself into your skull.

“My pleasure, citizen!” He complies, booming back upwards towards the dogfight at biting speeds. At least he’s good for something. However, as you’re flown back up to your aircraft, you feel as the Goggle-wearing Wonder’s eyes look you up and down, an unsure distraction in his stare. “…Say, Miss!” He pipes up finally, getting your attention. “You seem familiar. Have we met somewhere before?” He asks as you rejoin the battlegrounds. Though before you can answer, your easy return flight is suddenly thrown into chaos, interrupted by a sudden barrage of turret fire cutting for you in the sky. Taken by surprise, your dashing hero swerves into evasive maneuvers like belligerently drunk housefly, swooping up and down, in and out, weaving around the detonating explosions as the Rogue’s gunner hard-targets you while you’re still unprotected by the Corpse’s Matrix. In his arms still, the Knight jostles you around like you’re in a fucking pinball machine until, running out of places to strafe to, you’re struck head-on by one of the shells, the gunner hitting a bullseye on you mid-air. Pivoting last second, the Knight turns, shielding you behind himself, leaving his back to take the brunt of the explosion as it hits. “Guh!” He grunts as the fires billow out behind him like wings, and you lurch forward, his flight interrupted as he’s… oh shit, he’s unconscious.

“Aw fuck!” You groan while grabbing hold of the twit, doing your best to pilot his knocked-out body towards your ship as you spiral back down again. “Chivalrous to a fault, ya dumbass, I could’ve tanked that shot no problem! You just had to go and show off?!” You shout at the Night-Knight as you coast through the skies, explosions booming all around you like it's Normandy. Thankfully, the dude’s form still has some elevation left in it, letting you glide him like a wing-suit, crashing down on the top deck of your freighter with minimal damage to your steed. Though crash you still do, hitting the ship and skipping off the Knight, tumbling to an eventual stop just by the Bowsprit. “Christ…” Sitting up, you shake off the dizzy spell the flight inflicted on you, relatively unscathed by the ordeal. “Hey… Greene Number Two, you okay?” You call over to the slumped form of the Knight.

“Tis but a… flesh wound…” He rasps, trying to push himself upright before collapsing back down, completely fainting.

“Sure, kid.” You sight, standing up and brushing yourself off. “A Greene by any other name is still an dumbass, I suppose.” Well… it’s the thought that counts, you guess. Looking up, you find you’ve landed relatively close to Ryder again, the runt glancing back when he hears you talking.

“Oh, you’re back.” He mentions while blind-firing at the ship, seemingly unfazed despite the last he’d seen, you’d fallen overboard. Glad to see your student was so worried for his poor Sensei.

“Astute as always.” You huff, marching up beside him. “What’s our status over there?”

“Most of those pansies are still hiding up at the front deck.” He nods over at the ship. “That Troll dude managed to squeeze past. He’s going at it with your boytoy and that Furiosa-looking bitch.” Peering over, you see as the smoke screed that had been in place at the cabins of the ship has partly cleared, and you can see Jay throwing down, looking like he’s had the piss beaten out of him. Damn it, you’ll have to figure out another way over there. Can you make that jump from the tower, maybe? “Hey Mia, what the hell are you wearing?” Ryder asks, breaking your concentration. Confused at first, you glance yourself over, finding your Maiden, Mother and Crone Outfit gone, replaced with your God Tiers once again. Wha- Son of a Bitch! Those mother fuckers burnt your False Idol disguise! Damn it, you really liked that getup...

 

***

 

You come to as a breeze blows past, rousing you just enough for your facilities to return. Your head is throbbing, and… and you’re having trouble remembering what happened. You’re…

“Fuckin’ Hell!” You shout as your vision comes to again, seeing nothing but an empty abyss beneath you as you hang over open sky. What the hell…

Frantically searching your ,surroundings it dawns on you that you aren’t alone here. Robin is with you, clutched desperately to your chest as you hold an arm around her, out like a light. She’s been singed up pretty badly, burns splotched up and down her left side. That’s right… one of those tossers landed a shot on her, sent her flyin’ overboard. And you went divin’ after… Then how?

Glancing up, you find your other arm extended out, a tether of blood reaching out from your palm, spanning up and attaching to the bottom of the Clipper. Judging by its length and how far down you’re hanging from the boat, you’ve got just about your entire body’s supply of blood incorporated into your fetter here, keeping you connected to the hull of the ship. That’s probably why you’re having such a hard time focusing on anything in particular. You’ve got nothing circulating in the tank.

“…” Glancing down at Robbie, you verify that your grip on her will hold before you try climbing your way back up. Seeing she’s going nowhere, you strain your hand, psychically commanding the cells in your tether to decrystalize into a more viscus state, allowing them to return back to your veins.

“Ugh… well… suppose I owe ya one, boys.” You give thanks to your little helpers as they pour back into the cut in your hand, cringing slightly at the feeling of the large volume of fluid all forcing its way into your palm, a strange billowing sensation as thicker segments of the rope retract up your forearm. Regardless of the disturbing feel to it all, the more of the liquid you retain, the clearer your thoughts become, leaving you reinvigorated once again. All the while, your tether slowly pulls you back to your ship as it winds itself back inside of you. You’re just thankful no one else is around to see this. You get enough of their shite about your powers already. You can only imagine what some of them would say if they saw you reabsorbing your ichor like this. Maybe something like-

“That’s really gross, LJ.” A voice suddenly comes from above you, nearly causing you to slip. Head shooting up, your attention snaps to the source of the voice, finding the Preppy Thief girl sat upside-down on the underbelly of the ship, knees curled up against her chest as she idly watches you hang perilously above who knows how long of a drop!

“Aellocy, what the hell are you doing!? Have you been sulking here this entire time?!” You shout over at the Elf as she continues to meander about.

“Pretty much…” She sighs, glancing down at the bottom of the ship, thoughtlessly scratching at the hull with one of her transplanted finger fronds. “I just needed to be alone for a little while. I thought no one else would be here until you dropped in.”

“Well sorry to bloody interrupt!” You sarcastically jeer at her.

“Okay, I forgive you…” She turns away, as to not face you, seeming to miss entirely how much you did not mean that apology.

“Have you missed the memo that we’re under attack right now?” You ask her, genuinely baffled how much of an airhead she can be.

“No, I sensed some of the explosion noises recently.” She confirms for you that she’s completely waived her duties.

“Okay, look-“ You try to collect yourself before you lose it, retracting a few more yards until you’re parallel with the bloody Elf, looking at her with a stern demeanor. “El? I’m gonna need you to get it together, yeh? We’ve got hostiles on the ship and we need all hands on deck, ya get it?” Continuing to stonewall you, the Thief glances down at her arms, looking over the dark foliage transplants Robbie had constructed and attached for her, a dejected look in the darks of her eyes.

“LJ… is it pathetic to be overly reliant on others?” She asks you out of left field. “If a Budding Life must fallback on those around it in order to continue its propagation, does it truly have a right to the Nutrients it monopolizes? Would those resources not better be used on one more competent in their pursuits?”

“El, what in Christ’s Name are you on about?” You ask back, in no mood for the nonsense your team cooks up on a daily basis.

“My Progenitor always told me I wouldn’t amount to much on my own. That I would always be a Root-Leech costing off the foundations others laid in the Garden for me. Nothing truly of my own efforts, never independent of the lot others have afforded me.” She continues on, her gaze continuing to transfix upon her corrupted limbs. “As long as I can remember, all I’ve ever wanted was to stand tall on my own… And I’m starting to understand that’s simply not in the soil for me.”

“Oh my go- Aellocy? We do not have time for this right now, love. I’ll be more than happy to play therapist for you when our entire operation ain’t in shambles.” You try to talk reason into the Elf. “I’m gonna need you to get your head right in the meantime.”

“…For me, huh…” She mutters to herself before standing up on the ship’s hull. “You want me to carry you up then or something?”

“Forget about us, we’ll be fine.” You assure your Thief, reaffirming your grip on Robbie. “I need you to find Kai. He should be somewhere below deck looking for that Seer we nabbed. Tell him Jason’s on board and causing problems.”

“Didn’t you, Hekter and Kai all get your fronds folded the last time you took him on?” She reminds you of your last encounter, sending an irk twitching in your jaw. “What in the Shade is Kai supposed to do on his own? Get his ass kicked again?”

“Jason’s powers are still stagnated. Kai’s the stronger Time player right now, we have to capitalize on that while we can.” You explain to her, wishing to Christ one of these doughnuts would just follow an order without needing an entire briefing for once. “Find the muppet and make sure he gets his ass to work, even if you have to drag him kicking and screaming.”

“Yeah… yeah, okay. I think I can do that.” She mutters to herself, warming up to the idea so long as she gets to manhandle one of your mutual teammates. Whatever, so long as she actually does it. You’ve got no idea where things are in the Strife, but you’ve got a bad feeling regardless. You tried talking Robbie out of this plan of hers, but she was intent on pressing forward with the idea. Described it as a win regardless if they got their Seer back or not. Glancing down at her as you’ve got her in your arm, you wonder if she knows what she’s doing, or if those certain onlookers that’ve interjected themselves into your affairs have gotten in her head. As you contemplate the forces you’re playing with, the Preppy alien springs off the hull, jumping into flight before circling around you a few times. “Catch you later then, LJ. Try not to die just yet.”

“Cheers…”

 

***

 

The swing comes from right field, blatantly aimed for your neck as the Knight flings his axe past, the bit of his blade clashing against your guard as it sweeps past the shaft of your pickaxe. Cocking back as the attack is parried, you go to slam your spike into the bastard’s stomach, though when you swing, you realize you’ve ended up hitting him with the shaft of your weapon, the pointed head of your pickaxe stabbing at the air beside him. Damn it, you’re still not used to the length of this Pick yet!

Pulling back as the Knight seems unfazed by the lackluster hit, you reevaluate the dimensions of your weapon. Nearly double the size of your usual armament, Grandpa’s Bootstraps has proven a suboptimal substitute while Bane keeps the harpoon in place. Not only is it overall larger and more unruly, it’s quite a bit heavier than your usual weaponry, meaning you’re struggling to Strife with it efficient enough to keep pace with your opponents. You’re starting to see why your Strife Deck doesn’t consider this thing a Pickaxe…

Before you can fully calibrate yourself to the combat utensil, the Sylph comes leaping in, a sweeping kick dragging behind her as she near-pirouettes, her boot aimed to crash down against where your neck meets your shoulder. Raising up Bootstraps, your metals clash with one another as you stumble back from the inertia of her attack dropping onto you. Landing just before you, the Dwarven girl sets down on one foot before whipping herself backwards into a twirl, spinning around to bring a winding backhand against you with her gloved hand, the knuckles of her gauntlet cracking against the shield Bootstrap forms with the arc of its head. One thing about the heavy nature of your weapon, it makes for one hell of a guard, hard for your opponents to break past. You’re saving grace as your eyes struggle to stay focused, running overtime to keep track of your opponents.

Just your luck, managing to immobilize one opponent just for another to suddenly jump into the fray. At least… you think you immobilized the Life Page. Maybe he just fell back asleep, who the hell knows. The only thing on your mind right now is how much longer you’ve got left running on adrenaline. You’re headed for a wall, you can feel it. And you haven’t even gotten below deck yet! Dallra is just through those doors, and it still feels like she’s a million miles away…!

“Just…” You huff, opening up a dialog in hopes these assholes will talk long enough for you to catch your breath. “Just give me back our friend, and we’ll leave…” You explain as the ship continues to be battered into hellish oblivion. Without taking even a moment to contemplate what you’d said, the Knight takes another slash forward, still pestering after your jugulars. You juke back, feeling the sickening presence of the blade alter the air around it as it passes by your throat.

“Negotiation talks have already been established and concluded. Adjustment of terms are no longer permitted.” He spouts on like a recording, taking another chop for your legs this time, laterally down from your right thigh to your left knee. You have to jump away to avoid it, stumbling as you struggle to find your footing. Before you can fully recover, you feel as your feet are kicked out from under you, the Sylph appearing crouching-tiger-like, sweeping her boot past your shins while ducked under the cover of the Knight’s enormous axe. Shooting forward, the Knight capitalizes on the break in your guard and slams the grip of his weapon into the soft spot between your ribs, fully knocking you to the deck. “Yield, and you will not be harmed further.” The smug prick orders while lurking over you, brandishing the gleaming edge of his blade. So caught up in trying to puff his chest out, the Knight doesn’t realize he’s stepped a foot around the curve of your pick. Yanking your Pickaxe up, you jerking his foot out from underneath him and pull him up by your Bootstraps, causing him to fall to the deck beside you.

Another attack incoming, you roll to the side as the Sylph slams her gauntlet down into the floor where you’d just been. Tumbling back, you force yourself up onto one knee, and with Bootstraps reeled back, you send it swinging into the Dwarf as she’s still crouched down, punching the ground. Reacting quick enough, the Sylph switches to a 2x Gauntlet configuration, bringing her forearms together to form a shield that completely stops your attack. She’s a lot stronger than you, which you’re hoping is just a Dwarf thing and not a sign of your lacking Mangrit. Normally against a stronger opponent, you’d just funnel in a bit of temporal energy into Bane to give it an extra kick, but with your pickaxe occupied and your reserves tapped, you’re shit out of luck. Bootstraps has… something. You can sense the time majyyks channeling within it, but you can’t call on it in the slightest. It might’ve activated when the mast was coming down. Just before it could fall, it felt like your reservoir had pooled up enough energy to slow down time again, and not long after, Bootstraps practically leapt from your Sylladex into your arms. Maybe it focused your abilities enough to bring some back online? Beyond detecting anomalies, you still have no idea what Bootstraps actually does...

Breaking your pick off her guard, the Sylph throws her arms out, pushing you back. With a bit of space dividing your sides of the deck, you’ve been backed up towards the cabin entrances again, and you watch as the Dwarf swaps to a 2x Boot configuration, stomping three times as she tests her heel for some reason. Meanwhile, the Knight gets back up, brushing himself off with a blush of embarrassment flushing his face while he dusts himself. Preparing yourself for another bout between the two opponents, you’re surprised as the Sylph eases off, taking a more refined posture to address you.

“That Seer… your plans hinge on her assistance.” She observes with a calm, level tone, no sign of the combat she’d been engaging in just a moment ago in her voice. “It would be foolish to return such a pivotal player to the enemy in their time of crisis. Why concede the war when the battle is already half-won?”

“Half won? Please.” You scoff, finding your second wind to keep going, raising the heavy weight of Bootstraps up to hold an offensive guard. “I can do this all day!”

“I will admit, you’re a far sturdy individual that I’d taken you for.” She compliments, holding her hands behind her back to address you. “But you’re dull.” She unceremoniously tacks on. “You’d identified my form of combat, took notice of the manner in which I lead my opponent. And yet, you went along with it nevertheless. Took no steps to fortify your thoughts, and left your mind completely open for all to enter. Free to pull on your strings.” As she talks, a billowing mist begins to emanate about the deck, spreading out as if emerging from behind the Dwarf herself. On guard now, you ready a swing with Bootstraps behind you, ready for their next move. ”So pull I did, and I found that something stirs within you. Scar tissue running along your memories, I can feel it weave over itself, layer after layer. It’s… delicious.“ You can’t help but cringe back from her emphasis on the word.

“God, is everyone on your team a fucking psycho?” You ask the Knight, profoundly and unequivocally sick of these instigating gaggle of ghouls. He seems unmoved by your observation, brandishing his axe before him all the same.

“You haven’t noticed the web you’ve raveled yourself in.” The Sylph explains still, nodding to her Troll companion. “So now, one must say; Check.” Upon her command, the Knight springs forward, a swing cocked back as he flies towards you. Here we go again! Holding your ground, you ready a strike for just before the bastard arrives, using your longer reach with Bootstraps to clash with the fucker before he can get to you. Focusing on his every step, you watch him approach with a tension in your arms like a loaded cannon, until finally-

“Hn?” You’d swung. The Knight was about to enter into your range, but at the very last second, he jukes back. Not just a dodge from the attack, but full-on backs off, waiting just out of your reach, even when you’re left open in the followthrough of your swing. And then… he throws down his axe, leaving it flat on the deck…. Somewhat thrown off by the sudden deescalation, you get your head back in the game. If he won’t come to you, you’ll just have to go to him! Lurching forward, you go to take the bastard’s head off and- You’re jerked short. “Wha…?” Turning back, you find your pickaxe is held in place, caught by an Awoken Page of Life. You watch one another, Page-to-Page, what feels like an eternity passing as you look the other in the eye, until… he yawns. Only bothering to lazily hold your weapon with a single hand as he covers his mouth. As your mind reels trying to comprehend the sheer disrespect, you’re suddenly seized, a powerful force bear-hugging you from behind, pinning your arms down by your side. Turning back, you’re greeted by the Knight of Doom as he’s caught you in a complete grapple. As soon as your mind catches up with what’s happened, you try to struggle, thrashing and forcing against the hold your opponent’s claimed on you with all your might, but the Knight’s grip holds true. “Get the hell off me, you bastard!” You shout while attempting to wrestle your way out, not even a glimpse of progress as he turns you around to face the Sylph.

“There, there, poor boy.” She soothes in a sweet voice, taking a step towards you. ”Your mind… so wracked with grief and sorrow. You’ve just about torn yourself apart keeping all of that anguish locked away, haven’t you?” Raising a dark hand towards you, the open palm of the Dwarf begins to glow, illuminating with an indecipherable aura, and you begin to feel the fight start to mellow out from you, your resistance against the Knight’s grapple slowly but surely fading away. “Let me help you.”

“Stop! What are you… what are…” It’s getting hard to think straight. What’s happening…? Where… where are you right now…? Out in a field of heavy green fog, its mist pouring around you, completely encapsulating you to a small platform in the smoke. “wha-w…” It feels like there are leads around your brain, wrapped thought in place, sinking down into your different lobes and centers in long strips of pressure. You… you need help… you need someone… Mia… where’s Mia…?

“Shhh.” The girl shushes you, her outstretched hand reaching over to you. “Sweet boy, you’re so tired. It’s time for you to rest.” She tells you, her hand gently placed against your cheek as your mind falls into haze. “It’s time for you… to remember…” You begin to sink now. Descending down into the dark.

 

Jason, Remember.

Notes:

A few days late, but still, Ukulele and all the other Leupracons wish you Good Luck for this St. Patrick's Day Season. And an ominous Ides of March, too!

Chapter 88: > Sin Eater

You’re lost in an ether. Drifting aimlessly in the haze for what must be days. Months, even. It feels like you’re in a dream, a dream so deep you’ve forgotten yourself. A dream so deep, you’ve forgotten the world. Forgotten all the trees and the mountains and the buildings within it, letting all its architecture and landmasses fall into the haze alongside you, left to dismantle inch by inch, mile by mile, until it has all come apart. Unrendered. Made vague shapes in the deep nothing. You shift through the fragments, a dull sense of familiarity, of having been. A sense of deja vu that gnaws its way up your body, swallowing you whole. And then… you come to your senses. Become aware. You are… somewhere strange.

Around you is a sea of darkness. A complete void, nothing but pure night. Your feet tamp down on solid ground beneath you, but there comes no change in your surroundings. It’s all just… not. Looking from place to place, you try to find something in the night, but there is nothing. Nothing. And yet… you feel almost acquainted with this place…

“H-…Hello?” You call into the darkness, unsure how to navigate such a place. “Creed…? Mia…?” You call again, searching for any form of ally in all this mess. “…Anyone……?” Just when it’s quietest, when the echoes of your echoes have died out in the shadows of that eternal abyss, there comes a voice piercing through the silence.

“What do you want Jason?” Someone says behind you. Whipping around, you find Mia there, a glowing pillar in contract to the dark, her arms crossed as she stared daggers at you.

“Mia! Thank god…” You hurry over to her, an uncertainty in each of your steps without a tangible floor to walk upon. “Where the hell are we? What-“ Just as you’ve reunited with your old friend, there comes a flash of light, off in the distance. A spark within the confines of a great and expanding Bubble, illuminating the sky for only a fraction of a second, yet the sight you’re greeted by in that slim sliver of time sends a chill rippling down to your core. Before the Bubble hovered a colossal and grotesque form, its silhouette pulsing and squirming out there in the space before the sphere. An unholy monument of teeth and tentacles, eyes peering through wounds refusing to scab, crooked finger-like extremities open and close together in approximate amalgamations of winding jaws. A Horrorterror, in every sense of the word. It notices you. You Feel it notice you. Not in the way one notices another, but in the way one notice a spec of dust floating in one’s vision. A passing glance, a slight register in the peripherals. An acknowledgment so negligible, so insignificant, yet as the thing’s awareness goes drifting over you, you’re wrought with such dread, such a sense of unease, that it feels as if nothing in your life will ever be right again. “The Furthest Ring…” You mutter as the visage of the creature creeps back into the dark. Out of sight, forever in mind. “How did we… oh shit. The Sylph! She must’ve… must’ve distracted me…! Put me in a trance while one of her teammates opened up a portal here. They only have the Void Thief, don’t they? Would she have been powerful enough to break through the Space Barrier? Or maybe… maybe it was some souped-up Space player. That Bard girl…? Shit, this is bad. How the hell do we get back to the others?” Thinking through all your options, you find yourself coming up short as your mind feels like its stuck in a slog, unable to process what’s happening.

“How about you fuck off!” Mia suddenly barks at you as you try to formulate a plan.

“What?” You turn back to her, somewhat startled at the outburst. It’s then that you notice, she… looks different. She’s wearing a simple baggy hoodie and shorts, her god tiers or cloak gone. And… and her hair’s longer than it was when you last saw her, back down past her shoulders again. “Mia, what-“

“What’s your problem, Mia?” Someone asks while suddenly walking past, appearing so close to you out of nowhere it causes you to jolt. Looking over, you find… yourself…? It’s another you, dressed in your t-shirt and jeans. As you’re turned to look at your double, the darkness surrounding you suddenly snaps away, a whole entire world tumbling towards you from every angle until the very ground you stand upon is filled in with its replacement, all in the span of a second. And instead of the pitch black, you find yourself in a war zone, taking shelter in a blown-out brick hovel, the roof of the building long since collapsed as its ruinous walls barely stay standing. Outside, the sounds of artillery and gunfire ring out in spastic intervals in the smogged over skies. Wait a second… you know this place… this is the Land of Misery and Warfare… Mia’s planet back in your Session. “You don’t have to bite my head off, I was just asking.”

“The answer is No.” Mia reaffirms, turning around to focus on fragmented remains of a workbench, pouring over a series of maps and battle stratagems placed there.

“What the fuck…” You mumble under your breath as you process what you’re seeing. You weren’t teleported into the Furthest Ring… you’re unconscious, in a dream bubble… These are memories, but…

“But why?” You ask. The other you. “It’s been forever since more than three of us have been in a room together, let alone with you! Come on, the gang’s been dying to see you again.” But you don’t remember this…

“Really, Jason? Really?” Mia asks, not bothering to look back as both Yous look towards her from the center of the hovel. “If they were dying to see me, they why wouldn’t they just fucking come see me?”

“They’ve been busy!” The other you defends. “That’s the point of the party, to take a break from our quests to just chill.” Party… no, this isn’t… It can’t be…

“Busy… sure. Everyone’s always busy.” Mia sighs in annoyance with you, clearing her desk to make space for a new battle map, scribbling different instructions onto the paper. “Always busy watching out for the team gimp.”

“Excuse you?” The other you asks with a scoff.

“Did I fucking stutter?” Mia hisses, glancing back at him.

“I’m not-“ He pauses, looking like he wanted to say more. “Look, it’s not like that. I wasn’t purposefully occupying our friends away from you.” He says instead, backing down from the Maid as she grows irritated. “Even if they were busy with me before, I’m stronger now! They don’t even come with me on my outings anymore.”

“Stronger? You’re a fucking idiot, Jason. You’re not stronger, you just managed to forage together a few echeladder rungs.” She turns around again, folding up her documents before tucking them underneath her arm. “It doesn’t matter how much power you can manifest. It doesn’t mean shit if you don’t have the convictions to use it. That’s why those dicks keep following you. Even if you haven’t realized it yet.”

“…They what?” You look up, attention grabbed by what she'd said. Mia scoffs at the oblivious look you give her.

“God, stupid and oblivious. Such a winning combo you’ve got.” She rolls her eyes while walking past. Both you and You turn to watch her head towards the door. “You ever bother looking around when you’re out on that dirt ball of a Land? They’ve been tailing you since you made that little ‘I’m A Big Boy’ speech in those fucking Jason Watch memos.”

“Wha-, W-why would they-“ You begin to question.

“Because they don’t respect you. Because they know you’re weak. Because you don’t know how to grow a spine.” Mia interrupts, smearing a frown into your face like a handful of dirt.

“…You’re fucking with me.” Your counterpart more hopes than declares.

“I’ve seen it with my own eyes, Jason.” She sighs, sounding exhausted with his refusal to listen. “Not sure why they bother. Not like you need a chaperone anyways.”

“Didn’t you just say you thought I was weak?” He snips back at her with a pouting glare.

“I did, and you are, but Lexie’s skill set makes her the perfect babysitter for you.” She mockingly declares with an overemphasized cheer in her voice. “You can’t go anywhere without her knowing about it. Exactly how she wanted things to be, lucky her…”

“I don’t believe you.” He quickly declares, denying her claims about Lexie.

“Jesus, Jason, wake the fuck up! You’re still just an accident waiting to happen for them.” She suddenly bursts back at you, turning around from the exit of the rubble-heap to face him. “So what if you can summon a glowing clock? What use is it if you can’t bring yourself to use it? You aren’t independent, you need your fuckin’ hand held everywhere you go, of course they don’t think you can’t stand on your own, you don’t have any-…” She pauses, a thoughtful look crossing her eyes.

“Any what?“ You ask her, barely containing the frustration building in his voice.

“You said you wanted to get stronger, right?” She asks back.

“I Am stronger.” He declares, puffing out his chest.

“Well then, do you want to fucking show it?” Mia clarifies, slowly stepping towards you now. “Maybe get the others to stop looking at you like you’re a toddler?”

“…What are you getting at?” You inquire, cautious but intrigued in what she’s saying.

“I’ve been messing around with my magic, testing it out on some of the Imps that keep popping up around my house.” She begins to explain. “From what I’ve been learning, I can make them more… let’s say, excitable.”

“Excitable…” He nods along before shaking his head. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“A few different things, really.” She tells you as she folds her maps up and places them away more properly, captchaloguing them to her Sylladex. “Sometimes my spells give them this… surge in confidence, sometimes it grants them a boost in power and, well… sometimes their… hearts explode.” Your eyebrows raise in disbelief.

“And you want to do that… with me?” You take a step back from the Maid, unsure if you’ve understood what she’s suggesting. “Yeah, uh… No fucking thanks, I like my heart the way it is now. Intact.”

“Calm down, wuss.” Mia says with a sigh. “I can choose what I invoke now. My spellcraft’s become a lot more precise ever since I… uh…”

“Since you God-Tiered?” You finish for her.

“W- How do you know about that?!” She snaps, flustered at your sudden insight over her.

“I… stopped seeing your Dream Self whenever I went to Prospit.” You mutter in response, the intentions of the comment being more innocent than Mia took it for. “I just figured-“

“Whatever, just keep it to yourself, alright?” She sternly demands.

“Yeah, okay…” You quietly comply.

“Point is, I’ve got a handle on my magic now. And you wouldn’t believe the difference a little bit of pixie dust can make.” She continues, composed again. “Picture it. An Imp. The lowest ranking in Derse’s army, getting shoved around by every other underling they come across. Then, with the snap of my fingers, their entire world changes. They keep their head up high! They don’t take any shit from any other monster, Ogre or otherwise, yelling down Basilisks like they couldn’t swallow them up in an instant. They’re respected by other Underlings now. Able to tell everyone what they really think. Doesn’t that sound freeing? Finally able to live the way you want?” She explains it all to him, the boy slowly coming around to what she promises. “If you really can’t rally up some conviction, then… maybe I could just… give you some instead.”

“You… you really think you could do that?” You ask her, a meek hope in your voice. What…? No… no, this isn’t…

“Jason.” Mia walks over, hooking an arm around your neck like she used to do when you were young. “You’ll be a whole new man.” There’s laughter as the two walk away, seeming closer than you’ve been in years. Like the best of pals, your Dad used to say. Then suddenly, they stop. Holding in place as the moment freezes, before everything begins to evaporate, drifting away like ink in water.

“Augh!” You yelp out, an intense pressure suddenly shooting through your skull, cracking you open like continental plates ripping apart, spewing hot magma in its wake.

“Easy.” Mia firmly tells you. Turning back, you see yourself there with her, bent over as you clutch your head. “It’ll take a moment to get used to the mental shift, but the spell won’t compel anything that isn’t already there. Let the convictions take hold and they’ll settle.” She tells you while holding you by the shoulders, keeping you on your feet. “Just try to breathe through it until then.”

“Ghh… would you shUT THE FUCK UP?!” You shove her hands off, seeming to surprise the Maid who eases off without much convincing. “Don’t fUCKING TOUCH Me!”

“Alright…” She says as though questioning the response, not expecting such a reaction. Creeping forward a few steps, you straighten up, rising to a taller posture as you take in slow and heavy breaths, your chest rising and falling with visible emphasis. Looking down at his hands as they strain into clutching claws, your eyes peer with astounded revelation.

“Ha… haha…” He rasps a few chuckles to yourself. “So this is what it’s like…”

“What the fuck is this…?” You mutter to yourself as the scene unfolds. This isn’t how it went down, it can’t be! She… she didn’t… It was a Blind Rage! She ambushed you with it! Infected your mind with her hate! 

“Jay… I know it can be a lot at first, but it’s controllable.” …Didn’t she? “It’s like taming a horse, there’s a technique to taking its reins.” She tells you, coming up by your side.

“Shut up for a while, why don’t you.” You tell her as you ball your hand up, watching with interest as you see how forcefully you can tighten your fist. Satisfied with that he’s found, he summons to him the Bane of All Mountains, your pickaxe appearing in his hands, shifting the atmosphere in the shelter, a heavy miasma pressing down like the weight of a Dwarf Star as you admire the shimmering point of the weapon. “You know, Mia… I think you were actually right for once.” He says, lowering the pickaxe down by his side, his grip casual yet unbreakable as he glances back at the Maid. “I am an accident waiting to happen… and it’s about time that I wake up.” Then suddenly, and without another word, that you that stands there, burning with a horrid and dreadful aura, vanishes in a flash as he jumps into the timestream, leaving the Maid of Rage alone with her mistakes in the half-dismantled shelter.

“…Shit.” She says aloud before the scene is washed away again, disappearing once more into the dark. You feel as though you disappear with it, hiding like an animal in the night as the light dies down all around you, your eyes the only thing left visible as they glow a dim radiance in the void. Forever watching. Forever waiting. Until you are greeted once more by a voice from the dark.

“Jason. Finally decided to show up, huh?” They casually greet you as the world comes to again. Before you now sits a great and vast swamp, countless pools of infinity peering up at you between the willow’s canopy. This is… this is the Land of Forever and Frogs. Snapping around, you find yourself atop a large hill rising above the trees in the valley, where a tall tower sits, not so long ago that it was only a humble two-story cottage. Before the entrance of the scraping monolith lingers a figure dressed of dark robes, a sly smile peeking out from the shadow of her hood. The Thief of Void. Jess. “Loving the PJs.” The girl jokingly remarks.

“Fuck off.” You say as you walk past, toting Bane by your side while dressed in red, your God Tiers dawned. Drifting like a phantom, you coast up the stoop past the front door, leaving a muddled Thief behind outside.

“Alright, alright, a bit touchy about the Time Fatigues, no harm intended.” Jess apologizes, appearing from the shadows beside you with a skip. Though when you don’t answer, she gets a strange look about her. “…Hey, Jay. What’s up? You feeling okay…?”

“I said Fuck Off!” You snap at the Thief, backing her off in shock as you get in her face. As you do, the rest of the scene comes into being, revealing a room full of friends in celebration. Three-and-a-Half Years since you all started your journeys. Three-and-a-Half Years that you'd all survived after the End of the World. The First time you’d all been together again since entering the Medium… Like a reunion party… her idea…

“No… no this… this shouldn’t be…” You say to yourself as you watch all the wide-eyed looks turn to see the scene you’d created. “I-I-I don’t remember this… I was blacked out when this happened… how is this being shown to me?! Why is this in my memories?!”

“Jason…?” Your blood runs cold when you hear it, a voice so soft and wrought with concern. There, standing at the back of your old group is Lexie, a stunned and quiet look on her face as she looks at you from between the others, as though still processing his outburst. Seeing her there, you walk through the living room, all others present at the party not even registering as you move through the dying festivities, an unrivaled power in each of your steps, his will made manifest as your legs propel him closer towards the inevitable.

“Have you been having everyone follow me?” He asks as he grows closer, the sounds of his footfalls filling the room more and more with an unmistakable tension, the others watching in confusion at such an unexpected temper. There are no fluctuations in his voice. No change in its rise or pace, no deviation from what is undeniably intended. Nothing but a poisonous anger, only barely kept under wraps on the underlinings of his words.

“W-what?” Lex asks back, surprised by the accusation.

“Have You Been Having Everyone Follow Me?” You slowly growl this time, his voice raising alongside his ire as he arrives before the Seer, lurking just beyond where she stands, backing her into a corner.

“I-I-I’m not-“ She stammers, flustered. Everyone around you exchanges looks, all knowing something you didn’t, all looking to one another for what they should do now that you’ve found out. “I didn’t-, I-It’s not like that!"

“So you are having me watched…“ You exhale out, the confirmation of your suspicions settling like a weight upon your chest. And as though compensating for such a burden, your breath begins to grow more unstable, chest puffing up and down, the rage in you more visible.

“Hey, Jay, take it back a notch.” Rich suddenly comes into focus, stepping between you and Lex as he plants a firm hand on your shoulder. “You need to cool off.”

“Step off, dickhead!” You snarl, knocking the Knight’s grasp from you with your pick-hand before shoving him away with your other, a startling strength tossing his back into the glass cabinet behind him, the thing shattering as he’s near-sent through the wall. “I’m have a fucking conversation here.”

“No, this… this didn’t happen. This isn’t real!” You say as the room is alerted to the true gravity of the situation. “It’s an illusion…! It has to be! This didn’t-, i-it didn’t-“

“Richard!” Lexie calls as she rushes to his side, quickly looking over the damage you’d done to him with frantic concern. Gritting his teeth, Rich steps back down out of the furniture with a wince, gripping the back of his head after it’d slammed into the framework of the cabinet. As he does, Lex delicately holds him, making sure he’s well enough to stand. The gentle and tender way in which she touches his shoulder… your eyes narrow into a glare at the two, your grip on Bane tightening as if taunted.

“You guys…” Milo whispers to the others as they linger behind you. “Something’s going on with him.”

“Fuckin’ duh, dude.” Jess whispers back, aware of the obvious. “I’ve never seen him act like this before.”

“No, like… something on the inside.” Milo quickly clarifies. “His presence, i-it feels different…”

“He’s unwell.” Renee quietly adds her comments as well. “His mind’s not all together… Lucas?”

“I don’t know, maybe he’s gone off the deep end…” The Mage hypothesizes, pushing back his glasses as he studies you there in close detail, watching from across the room at how you twitch and pant. “The mentally unstable is your jurisdiction, isn’t it?

“Sorry, what was that?” You suddenly glance back with a jerk, glaring at the four behind you as they whisper amongst themselves. “You wanna try fucking repeating that, peanut gallery?!” A silence is forced upon them by the snapping of your jaws, quiet and alert the way one would be when faced with a wild animal. The only one to step forward from them is Milo, his meek face displaying the fear he feels in full view, yet he steel himself to speak up all the same.

“Jason, if there’s something you want to talk about… w-we’re here for you.” He assures you.

“Talk…? Hahaha! Talk! You want to talk? Fine then, let’s talk!” You laughingly retort, a psychotic jovial tone in your voice as you swing your pickaxe out in sweeping arcs, emphasizing your every point. “Let’s talk like we’ve always talked, shall we? That type of talk I tell you all how I’m really feeling and you all Fucking ignore me, treat me like a fucking kid! Let’s talk like that, how bout it?! Anyone…? No one…? Then how about you shit-heads listen for once…… Ahaha…” He laughs a few raspy chuckles before taking a breath in. “I have to be honest with you all, even after everything, I’m feeling quite liberated right now! It’s like I’m finally opening my eyes for the first time since this whole mess started!”

“You’re feeling liberated…?” Renee reiterates while taking a cautious step forward towards you. Though once she gets further than an inch away from her spot in the room, your attention turns to her like a brandished gun, causing her to backtrack those steps again. “…Why is that?"

“Why? Do you know how long I stayed in my house?! Twiddling my fucking thumbs because you all told me it was too dangerous for me to be in my Land? How much grist and loot and experience I had to split because someone insisted on going exploring with me? And for what, a fucking courtesy? Acting like it was for my own protection?! How much battle experience did I miss out on by letting you all take control of my Strifes? How much of my fortune was stolen from me with you all lingering about, waiting for me to earn it for you?! Thank fucking christ my future selves started showing up, else I’d still be at the bottom of my fucking echeladder! How ironic is that? You wouldn’t let me help myself, so my selves helped me instead!” Stepping forward as you turn your ire towards the others, Lexie regains your attention once more, standing before Rich.

“Jason, it’s not like that, we-“ She begins to explain.

“Isn’t it, though?!” You interrupt before anything can be said. “Isn’t it exactly like that…? Do you know how many nights I stayed up, too guilt-ridden to sleep, disgusted with myself that I couldn’t keep pace? That I was the burden? That I was holding everyone back? But that’s all over now… and I’ll give you a hint why. Because I finally realized… I wasn’t the burden. No… no, no, you were the burden.” You tell her, raising Bane to point at the Seer, a look of taken aback shock on her face as pools of metallic tears begin to well in her snow globe eyes. “All of you were.” You turn back to the room with disgust. “Always breathing down my neck. Always making sure I stay in my place…! To think my so-called ‘friends’ were what was keeping me from my destiny all this time. But like I said… I’m done letting you fucking parasites hold me back.”

“That’s bullshit…” A rasping voice grunts, giving pause to your rant before you twist your head back toward where it’d come from. Standing there, Rich has stepped ahead of Lexie, pushing her behind himself as he struggles to stay on his feet, his arm pressed firmly against his side, clutching at the pain.

“…Wanna run that by me again, big man?” You finally say once finding the words, tilt your head at the Knight as you invite his opposition.

“Rich, don’t…!” Lex pleads with him as he limps a step forward.

“All the things you’ve been saying? It’s fucking bullshit.” He stands up straight with a wincing grimace. “You think we were trying to hold you back? That’s Fucking. Bullshit.” You raise a chin at the objection, viciously waiting for him to go on. “You’re our friend, jackass. Our fucking teammate. Why the hell would we want to leave you behind? We wouldn’t do that to you!”

“The why the fuck am I the only one who hasn’t gotten any stronger…?” You propose the question as though the answer has caught them all in a lie. “Why is it that while everyone else is discovering new powers every other day, vanquishing goddamn titans in battle, bending fucking reality like it were putty in their hands!?! Why is it that I’m the same fucking Weakling that I was when I first got here…?!” Your breathing has gotten more erratic now, your heart practically pounding out of your chest as you brandish your pickaxe with a swinging recklessness. “Why is it that when everyone’s gotten so strong… I’m still so Fucking Weak!?”

“Weak…?” Rich repeats the words as he huffs through his injuries. “Who the hell told you you were weak?” He asks as though the idea was ridiculous to him. “You were the first of us to reach their god tier, damn it! The-, the first to come face-to-face with their Denizen! Fuck sake… you almost broke my back just now with a shove. You aren’t weak, Jason… You’re just about the strongest out of all of us!” Huffing and puffing as your frantic mind tries to comprehend what the Knight was saying to you, Milo steps forward once more, grabbing your attention as he enters into your peripherals.

“He’s right… I-I can’t even count the amount of times a you from the future came back to help me on my journey.” He offers up his account like a token of gratitude to your inconsolable conniption of a mind. “Without you, I-… I probably wouldn’t have made it this far.” Peering at the earnest young man, a confused calmness seems to dawn on the frantic haze darkening your features. Seeing the effect, Lucas is next to step forward, following Milo’s lead.

“It’s the same for me as well, Jason.” He tells you with an agreeing nod. “There’ve been multiple occasions where I could hardly make heads or tails of a puzzle or riddle I’d find in my catacombs. I’d throw myself at the problem day and night and still make no sense of it, but hearing your input when we’d discuss our Lands, I could see it from another angle. I can’t imagine how far behind in my Quest I’d be without you.”

“The reason we insisted on tagging along with your tomb-raiding was because we were worried about our friend.” Renee insists, all their words seeming to pierce through the self-assured delusions built around your skull, slowly easing you down off your ledge. You can see it in your eyes, that crazed narrative you’d spun yourself softening, rational thought returning to you once again. Yes! Come on, please! Just- Fucking Listen To Them! Put your pickaxe down and-

“………!” As you looked around at your friends, their words seeming to finally reach you, you’d glanced back at Lexie, and there you found her, coming up behind Rich, slipping her hand in his own as she smiles at the Knight, relieved he’s okay. And then… silently, that look in your eyes begins to darken once more. A hardened glare as the hand on your pickaxe twists into a death-grip. “You can try to justify yourselves all you want…” You tell them, rumbling in a low voice as the anger is barely kept at bay. “I won’t give you the courtesy of my time any longer.” Lighting like the flames of a stove, a faint burning aura sparks to life around you, your rage made manifest. It isn’t long until the room notices the phenomenon, your friends finding themselves back in that no-man’s land of indecision, unsure what to do. Closest to where you linger, Milo steps forward to intervene, extending a gentle hand out to try and calm you.

“Jason, are you-“ As the hand of the Heir reaches out, as it makes contact resting upon your shoulder, you whip around, slashing your hand out to tear the boy off of you.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” You shout. And upon your gesture, the point of your pickaxe is raised high into the air, its spike glimmering crimson like a shining beacon of dread. The room falls silent, all looking to the dripping edge of your armament as it bleeds another’s blood. No… no, you didn't mean to do that! I-i-it was an accident! You were just trying to push him away! Yet the fatal wound remains, unmoved by what you'd intended. Milo falls back a step, a stunned look on his face, seemingly unaware of the trench you’d carved across his chest.

“No…” The breath leaves your chest as you watch the realization dawn on Milo’s face that he’s been injured. “NO!” You rush forward towards your friend, trying to grab for him as he begins to lose his footing. Yet your hands pass right through him. Don’t you remember? This is just a memory.

“Oh my god…!” Jess mutters out as the Heir goes tumbling down, barely catching himself by one arm on the arm of the brown leather three-seater couch in the living room.

“I-I-I’m okay…!!” He stammers out to them all with a forced smile, desperately trying to push himself back onto his feet, a fountain pouring from his chest as he smears his blood across the phony leather of the seat cushions, slipping and floundering about with every attempt he makes to rise up. Eventually buckling to his knees, the Heir’s hands tremble as he beholds the red mess he’d made of the couch before him. “I j-just-…!! I-I I j-ju-just… n-n-need…” And then… no more. The trembling stops… and the boy falls over to the floor. All that red soaking into the carpet beneath him.

“This… this isn’t real… This isn’t real!” You shout at the panicking faces all around you. “Stop it! STOP IT!!” Behind you, Rich is the first to snap free from the shock, his fear quickly turning to rage as he bolts forward. Slamming across your jaw, the Knight hits you with everything he’s got, the sound of his knuckles cracking echoing throughout the room, yet the punch is barely strong enough to tilt your chin to the side, barely enough to grab your attention.

“What the hell did you do?!“ He snarls, his eyes filled with grief and horror and rage. Yet despite all his frenzy and fervor, you remain unaffected. Looking back at him, your form suddenly distorts, blurring as you move through Time faster than anyone can register. And in an instant, you and him go barreling into the wall at the left side of the room, Rich slamming through the plaster as your hand clenches around his throat, pinning him there beneath your grasp. The impact is strong enough to shake the very foundation of the house, the tower above you trembling with tremendous force.

“You know what, Rich? I do agree with you on one thing.” You whisper into the Knight’s ear, your hand still throttled around his throat. “I am… the strongest out of all of us…” Releasing him, you take a step back, reeling Bane back, it’s spike aimed for the Knight’s heart. Too hurt to move, Rich can only let out a weak cough, his neck nearly collapsed from your grip. “And I’ll only be stronger once I rid myself of you pests!“

“…no, No! Don’t!“ You shout, rising up from beside the now dead Milo, watching as he brings your pickaxe swinging down from above his head. Yet before his killing-blow can strike down at the Knight, a figure jumps before you, and the daggered point of your Bane goes swinging into them in the confusion. You see from over his shoulder as Lexie has appeared between you and your target, arms stretched out as to better block the incoming strike, taking the hit in Rich’s stead as your pickaxe lies embedded in the base of her neck, piercing down past her collar, into the midsection of the Seer. The sound that escapes from you is indescribable, a pitiful and gasping cry brought on by a spasm at the bottom of your chest, ejecting every last drop of air from your lungs. You try to breathe back in, to catch your breath once more, but nothing enters your throat, cut off from all that can save you now. Your face contorts into confounded anger as you watch her struggle, and you rip Bane out from her neck, stepping back in frantic confusion, not knowing why she would do what she just did.

“Lexie!” Rich shrieks, dropping as he catches the Seer’s body just before she can hit the floor. Cradling her now, the Knight places a hand underneath her head, propping her up to support her neck, and he turns her to face him, a trickle of blood trailing out from the corner of her mouth. Streaks of metallic tears stream down from the girl’s endless eyes as she looks up at him, her lips trembling as she whimpers something incoherent, her last words too frail to form. As Rich holds the girl close, you see as her eyes begin to clear up, the stars that had once filled her sight dissipating like clouds after a storm. And then she struggles no more. “Lex… Lex, come on… you gotta get up now.” Rich pleads, his own eyes filling with tears as he frantically tries to rouse the girl in his arms. “Lex, please… please, no… no, don’t do this, please… please don’t do this, you can’t do this… you can’t… You…” He grits his teeth in an awkward, grimacing frown, doing his damnedest to keep the tears at bay. “lexie……” Lingering above the two, you watch with muted response as the Knight slowly unravels, unsure of what you’ve done. Glancing down at the hand that holds your pickaxe, you stare at the blood that coats your hand, watching as it begins to steep into your sleeves. And as you look over the horror of your works, something in you changes. Your eyes begin to shift, change color. First Red and Yellow, then Purple and Black, Crimson and Blue, Orange and Green, Purple, Red, Blue, Yellow, Crimson, Black, Green Purple Yellow Blue RedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBluePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBluePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleCrimsonBluePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueBlackGreenYellowBlueRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangeBlueBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBluePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBluePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleCrimsonBluePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueBlackGreenYellowBlueRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangeBlueBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBluePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBluePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleCrimsonBluePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueBlackGreenYellowBlueRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangeBlueBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBluePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBluePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleCrimsonBluePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueBlackGreenYellowBlueRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangeBlueBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBluePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBluePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleCrimsonBluePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueBlackGreenYellowBlueRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangeBlueBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBluePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBluePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleCrimsonBluePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackGreenPurpleCrimsonBlueBlackGreenYellowBlueRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangeBlueBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurpleRedCrimsonBlackGreenYellowBlueRedOrangePurpleGreenCrimsonBlueBlackRedYellowGreenPurple

A Never Ending Spiral Down into INSANITY!! It won’t Stop! It can’t Be Stopped! IT WON’T STOP!!! IT CAN’T BE CHANGED!!! IT CAN’T BE-

 

 

 

 

 

Heroic

 

 

 

 

 

Lexie’s body begins to glow with a radiant aura as the Conditions of her Immortality attempts to bargain for her life, pleading her case with the enigmatic forces that preside over all that is eternal, and as the Good and the Bad of her Death is judged, it is determined hers was a Heroic End, permitting her to be endowed with Immortality no longer. No Kiss of Life to bring her back. No more chances to make things right. Her Third and Final Death.

Sickening chills race across your skin and you feel as your equilibrium is thrown into flux, balance stumbling as you go falling back against the wall behind you. Your sight isn’t long to follow after, a darkness encroaching around your vision as your ears begin to ring, like a blaring siren going off inside your head. You can hardly think straight, your mind reeling as your stomach churns, threatening to turn itself inside out.

“No……” You cry as you clutch behind you, grabbing hold of the wall in a desperate attempt to stop the fall. “…no, no, no, No, NO, NO, NOO, NOOO!!”

“RAAAAAAAH!!!”

Across the room, you stand there before the gruesome scene, shrieking into the sky a thoughtless roar so malicious and laden with hate, it drives your senses mad, and your perception of yourself begins to shift. Taking on a new shape, the thing that stands before has been altered, gone through rearrangement at their very core, a metamorphosis, transforming you at a fundamental level. You hardly recognize what it is you see now, looking more a mindless beast than anything resembling a human. Eye sockets blazing through a cycle of colors and numbers too fast to comprehend, enormous claw down by your side soaked in the blood of loved ones. And as you shred your vocal cords, screaming at nothing that wasn’t your own doing… You feel it. Your voice never recovered from this. That soreness still lingers in your throat. Raising an idle hand against your neck, you feel the injuries you’d inflicted upon yourself. This isn’t a delusion… the Sylph isn’t trying to trick you with some made up memory… This is real…

“…you…… You Bastard!” Rich shouts, summoning to his hand his Rusted Launcher, a drum-fed military ordinance that he unloads onto you. -BOOM- -BOOM- -BOOM- -BOOM-, his grenades shell you, exploding with a terrifying power, engulfing you in a hellish blaze as your surroundings are shrouded in the ensuing smoke. All is quiet for what seems like an eternity, and Rich lies there on his knees, taking in shallow breaths as he thinks his foe vanquished. Then suddenly, through the haze swings your Bane, clipping him across the face and knocking him to the other side of the room as your spike bites into his jawbone. Turning back through the smoke, a set of eyes, chittering with color, peer through the dark at the remaining three in the room.

“stop…” You whisper your pleas. You don’t want to see any more of this.

“Renee, he’s going out of control. You need to calm him down.” Lucas tells the Sylph as the smoke settles, revealing you once more, completely unscathed by Rich’s bombardment.

“I-I don’t believe that I can…” Renee tells him, a terrified worry plastered upon her face. “It’s not just his mind that’s become unstable! There’s something else inside of him, something that wasn’t there before!”

“You’ve got to try!” He implores the girl while summoning forth an Arcane Shield across his forearms. “Can’t you put him to sleep or something?!” Stomping your way towards them, your death-march is interrupted as Jess springs forwards, strafing into your range and grabbing your attention before leaping out over to the other side of the couch beside you. Not a second later, a portal opens in your flank, erupting out into the world as the Void breaks through the Veil, and the room is thrown into chaos as your chamber is depressurized, everything around you getting sucked into the Void. Barely hanging on where you stand, you’re inched closer and closer to the fissure in space, slowly sliding towards the portal as its pull reels you in like a Black Hole. Your slow advance towards the abyss is halted, however, as your entire arm suddenly greys-over, suspending itself in place as you Freeze the Limb in Time, anchoring yourself where you are before the void.

“If you’re gonna do something, you might want to do it now!” Jess barks over at the two as she focuses on keeping the portal open. At the same time, you push forward, using your stasised forearm as a leverage point to climb out of the breach in the airlock, slowly forcing your way to freedom. Before you can get yourself out, a body comes flying in as Rich shoulder-checks into you, practically dunking you fully into the portal. Arms and legs shooting out just before you go tumbling in, you hold yourself on now by the seams of the void, clutching at the borders of the portal to stop from plummeting in.

“Renee, quick!” Rich signals for the Sylph, his face half-carved open, your last attack gouging a slash down his cheek, leaving muscle and tissue to hang down after you’d torn an opening into his mouth from the side. Running up to him, Renee links her arm with the Knight, and carefully, he begins to extend her out into the gravity well the portal’s created as it continues to force more and more of the room through to its other side. Gritting teeth visible through the gash in his cheek, Rich braces his stance, holding steadfast against the ripping pull of the void as he holds Renee back, allowing the Sylph just enough reach to extend a hand out towards you, her fingertips crackling with thoughtful arcs, a physical promise that she’ll mend the unnatural convictions from your conscious mind.

“RAAAAAH!!!” You roar at the approaching salvation as you continue to fight against the all-consuming void, your very skull rattling with the force in which you shriek.

“Shh! Shh! It’s alright, Jason. It’s alright!” Renee frantically shushes you, the static tendrils of her works skittering across the surface of your face, rational thought finding its way into your mind to question why it is you feel such anger with your friends. “I’m here now, you’re going to be okay. Please, just calm down!”

“Gah, HAH!” You writher against the reason, burrowing further and further into your own delusions to avoid the truth. Until finally, the shuttering prismatics cycling through your eyes halt, like a pair of slot machines dispensing their prize, finding their final resting place as your sockets are filled with two Black Spheres.

 

 

(8)           (8)

 

 

 

“RRRRAAAAAAAAGGGH!!!!”

 

 

Unraveling around you, the very fabrics of existence begin to come undone, the world trembling at its foundations. Above you, a static nothing has eaten its way through the ceiling, greeting you like the scrambled drift between channels on the television, and reality starts to g̴̛̠͉͎̹̃̊̓̏͘̕͘ļ̷̨͚̫̿͐̋̋̿̽͝i̸̲̞̝̝̩͇̭̩̞̘͚̝̊͒̆̈́͒̐̏͋͒͌̂̍͐͘͜ͅt̶͎̾̒́͋̂̌̀̊̐̄͋͒͒̚͝c̸̨͉̻͕̖̝̯͈͙̹̝͇̟̳̝͊̍h̴̛̜̞̣̙̰̪̰̬̀͑͑̓̿͛̌̅̾̓͆͘ as it attempts to compensate for the alterations being forced onto its tapestries. All around the room, phantoms pop in and out of existence, countless instances of this very moment, all playing out in varying degrees of outcomes, doubles of all involved flashing from place to place, each and every scenario transpiring as they’re brought into being all at once. He’s… he’s trying to summon something from another Time. But what… No… No, he can’t be… He’s not summoning a person from somewhere in Time… he’s summoning Time itself…! Folding back the entire timeline to slam into its younger self! He’s invoking a Cosmic Tick-tock! This is it… This is what damaged your timeline so badly, you couldn’t go back… This is why you were Damned to the Arena…

 

TICK-

 

“Renee!” Rich calls over the chaos tearing the room apart, shimmering visages of the Knight trying to pull themselves from his point in spacetime before collapsing back into him once more. “You’ve got to fry him!” He shouts to her. “Overload his brain! Before he kills us all!” A conflicted look crosses the Sylph’s face as she understands what it is the Knight’s asked of her, offering her his corrupted energy to empower her Mend. It crosses her face for only but a moment before her resolve hardens, placing her emotions aside to do what needs to be done.

“Jason…” She looks back to the rabid beast, the Knight’s Hex flowing through her threads now, her lightning cackling with a dreadful power. “……Farewell.” Resolved to liquify your greymatter before any more damage can be done, the young girl launches forward a bold of ruinous chaos, the Electric Spike of a Lobotomy, yet before the spell could fully cast from her fingertips, your arm had gone shooting out, faster than lightning, claiming her hand in your own as you overpower the magic there, canceling her attack. And as your eyes meet hers, the 8’s in your sockets look back at the Sylph, watching with great interest as a stunned shock is sprung upon her face, evoking a wicked smile to slowly twist across your lips.

 

-TOCK!

 

The Timeline hits, colliding with itself over this very moment, and the room erupts with unexplainable phenomenon, everything attempting to overlap with everything until it bursts, barreling down upon you all like an avalanche, slamming into you all at once. In the collision, the others are scattered about the room along with all the furniture and enormous chunks of the ceiling and walls. The only one left unscathed is you, and you alone. Shifting around your skull, the 8’s in your eyes focus themselves on the closest thing to you. Jess.

“Stop…” You desperately try to put yourself between you and her. But yet again, you’re reminded of the futility of it all. You’re nothing but a passenger in all this, as your past self phases through you, marching past the toppled couch for the Thief sprawled across the floor. You appear behind her as she’s barely struggled to her feet, and without a second thought, you drive the spike of your pickaxe down, piercing through into her chest, slamming it to its base.

“Ah- ugh…” She writhes as you force the pick deeper in, gouging the wound further as you push her back. “gah… Ja-…son.” She weakly mutters to you, placing her hands gently upon your cheek. A sneer forms upon your ghoulish visage, as though infuriated by the tender touch your Sister had returned to such violence, and your hands begin to glow with abominable Clockwork Majyyks. “J… a…son…” She continues, pushing herself to speak as she calls your name. With her last bit of strength, the girl lifts her head up, peering past the you that had killed her, and for the briefest of moments, you think she’s staring at you. You you, that phantom in the background, helpless to stop all this. And a chill rolls up your back. “…J…a…s…o…n…” Peering at the Thief, you wouldn’t be able to question that idea long, that she had seen you in the end, for not a moment later, a torrent of temporal energies goes Cascading through the edge of your weapon into her. In an instant, quicker than the blink of an eye, Jess withers away, Sped through Time so quickly, she races to the end of her chronology in the matter of nanoseconds. Rendered nothing but dust now, her ashen remains drifting off into the wind, leaving you to watch what’s left of her disappear in shocked disbelief. It’s… it’s too much… it’s all just too much… With no strength left in them, you feel your legs give out beneath you, and you go falling to your knees, slowly descending into catatonia. Around you, the world upheaves in seismic tremor as though it'd come apart all at once. It's all just noise to you now.

“Monster!” Erupting with concussive blast, you’re struck by another volley of grenade-fire. -BOOM- -BOOM- -BOOM-, Rich fires from what remains of the kitchen entrance, leaned against the threshold as his legs have been torn to tatters, -BOOM- -BOOM- -BOOM- again and again, the volleys strike, spewing out smoke and hellfire, throwing the room back into chaos, a cacophony of whistles and shrieks in the ensuing explosions. Yet amidst the haze, out in the dark smog the Knight fires into, a form remains steadfast, an unmoving pillar in time, hallow in the face of annihilation. “You Fucking Monster!” Rich shouts as he continues to fire into the night, -BOOM- -BOOM- -BOOM-, yet with each shot fired, the figure in the smoke grows near, the explosive rounds detonating closer and closer to where they're fired as the hidden force encroaches upon him. Until finally, the smoking figure lurks just before the valiant Knight, a set of 8-Ball Eyes peering at him through the smog. Undaunted, Rich raises his launcher and pulls its trigger, yet all he gets is a hollow -click-, his drum-supply expended. Not a moment later, the thing’s claw comes swinging out from the dark, cleaving what’s left of his right leg off, knocking him to the floor. Looming over the felled Knight, the smoke clears, and there you stand, not so much as a Scratch on you. “……Monster.” The Knight spits one final time, his loathing hatred overtaking the trembling pain enough to speak. “Y-you fucking-“ Your pick goes swinging down before anything else can be said, clipping his skull, cleaving out a chunk of what was there. He’s gone in an instant.

“Stop it… please, just stop it already…” You beseech whatever powers that might be, pleading to be here no longer. With the Knight gone, you turn back towards the last two in the room. They both remain transfixed on what remains of Rich.

“Oh god…” Renee mutters as his blood drips from Bane, the cackling power at her fingertips beginning to diminish.

“Ren, we need to focus!” Lucas tells the Sylph as he summons forward his Shields once more. “Whatever Rich gave you, keep your concentration on it. I’ll try to distract him long enough to get you an opening, but-“ As the Mage strategies, the Page acts, a sudden force whipping past him as you fling your pickaxe, striking Renee in the chest by her shoulder and knocking her to the floor. “Renee!” Lucas turns back, lagging a half-beat behind the attack. Scrambling down beside her, the Mage drops to his knees, desperately searching for a manner in which he could aid the dimming Sylph.

“Lucas…?” She asks in a daze, unsure of what she’d been struck by. The Mage takes her by the hand.

“I’m here, I-I’m here.” He assures her as wave after wave of blood pours from around your Bane, each pulse emptying more and more from her veins.

“…lucas…” She repeats, softer this time.

“It’s alright. Y-you’re going to be alright, okay, I can fix this!” Lucas tries to tell her as he grabs hold of Bane, prying it out of her shoulder and evoking a new wave of blood to follow after. Quickly tracing a series of shapes across the palm of his hand with a finger, he summons a glowing sigil across his skin. Pressing the magic down upon her wound, he singes her flesh there, cauterizing the puncture, but… it seems the damage is already done. Renee lies near-motionless, breath shallow and skin three shades paler, looking like a ghost of her former self. With what strength she has left, the Sylph places a hand over the one Lucas has pressed to her, transferring to him what was left of Rich’s Fraymotif she’d managed to hang on to. “W-what-, what are you doing? Stop, you need to rest. You’re too injured to be moving, stop!”

“…lu…cas……” She whispers while drifting off, leaving the Mage behind, tears streaking down from his eyes. It takes him a moment to process when she’d left, looking down at the corpse as though waiting for her to move again. When it dawns on him that she’s really gone, his gaze drops down to the lightning channeling around his shields, long and bouncing arcs of mint green charges dance across his forearms, accented by a minor crackling static, not much left of Rich’s power. All alone now, Lucas rises to his feet, turning to face you with a hesitant guard. Seeing his challenge, you start your walk towards the Mage.

“Please… please! Make it stop!” You cover your ears and slam your eyes shut, trying in vain to burying your head in the sand. “No More…!“ But of course you still see. They’re your memories after all. There’s no avoiding this…

“Jason, please! I know this isn’t you!” Lucas tries to reason with him. “You can still fix this! Go back and undo it…! Damn it, Jay, don’t make me do this!” Deaf to his please, you continue forward, streams of temporal power surging down from your form in spiraling plumes. Getting close enough, you lurch out, striking at the Mage. “Don’t-!” He jukes back, summoning a Barrier Glyph before himself to block your advance. A simple spell, makes it so the Chances of you passing through its defenses are One-to-Ten Million. You’d have to be incredibly Lucky to pierce a wall like that. Lucky, or simply have enough time…

-CRASH-

Your fist goes shattering through the Ward with ease, dispelling the light construct and dispersing the fundamental energy incorporated into its borders. Let loose now, the defensive magic reacts with that pouring from your body as you strike Lucas, forging an emulsion of the two, a streaming whirlpool of Time and Light, stretching across your knuckles as you punch through it. And in the ensuing hit, the power rapidly expands like superheated air exploding out, erupting with a coiling force as it crashes into the Mage, sending him flying back. And there you stand, hand steaming with energized death particles as Lucas is left across the room, slumped atop a pile of rubble shaken loose from the ceiling in the chaos. He struggles to draw breath, twitching as he reels from the hit, unable to direct his body with any sort of notable control.

However, amidst all the seizing and convulsion, the Mage’s eyes erupt with a flashing power, cycling through countless colors upon his sclera, Purple, Blue, Yellow, Green, Red, Crimson, Black, Purple, Red, Yellow, Green, Blue, his expression growing more and more frantic the faster the colors spin about his skull, his chest speeding to hyperventilation as the small white dots that are his irises zip about his sockets, moving in rapid response to the information being projected directly into his mind. He mutters something to himself beneath his breath, quiet and hastily, the way he always would while in study, committing a topic to memory. Muddling about his vision, the Mage chitters to himself, until finally, the colors burn off from his eyes like ether, evaporating into a gas that dissipates the moment it leaves his sight. And he is left laying there, immobilized in an overwhelmed stun for the moment it takes him to comprehend what’d happened. Yet once he does, the Mage sits up, looking at you with an astounded sense of horror in his eyes.

“Jason… you-… you have to stop!” He implores you as he gets to his feet, his breathing still frantic while stumbling off the rubble-pile. “That place… that Arena… it’s not just a prison, it’s a Sanctum Realm! A Domain of Preeminence, don’t you get it?!” Seeing he’s still alive, you march towards the Mage, unhearing and uncaring of what he spouts.

“Tick… Tock… Tick… Tock…” You speak in monotone as you approach, the 8’s in your eyes centered on Lucas as though they were the scopes of a great and terrible gun, its ammunition capable of tearing through all of cosmic space till it reaches its target. Unyielding. Unrelenting.

“You can’t accept the Deal! If you do-…! If it gets out, it’ll be the End of All Things!” Lucas shouts, his words falling on deaf ears. “We can still fix this! Please, Jason… just go back… I know it’ll be hard, but… the Intercessor… his Deal, it isn’t a way out, Jason, it's a trap…! There's no Winning their Games, the deck's already been loaded! Please… don’t choose Damnation to evade Judgment…” It’s no use. You’ll hear none of it, too confident in the way you saw the world to consider the words of another. Reaching Renee’s body, you reach down and claim the Bane of All Mountains, the blood painted upon the utensil slicking off and splashing upon your sleeves. It’s then that Lucas seems to understand you’re lost to him. There is no talking this out. The pieces were set a long time ago. “Tch!” He huffs, extending his hand as his shields still crackle with The Finale Rich had devised for you. Summoning a line of countless Barrier Glyphs, Lucas buys himself a few seconds as you slowly step through his defenses.

-CRASH-

-CRASH-

-CRASH-

“Tick… Tock…” You mutter the closer you get. “Tick. Tock.” With what little time remains for him, Lucas conjures into existence a Scroll of Light. Snatching the construct, he takes his quill and tears it across the page, transcribing his dictation at crack-speeds.

“You better come through on this one, Uki…” He hisses under his breath, ripping a page from the scroll to start on a second letter, nervously glancing back as you barrel through his Wards, stomping closer with each glance. Finishing his message, Luc pauses a moment, releasing his quill while summoning to his hand a Shining Glint which floats above his palm. He stares at the little speck of light, a sadness in his eyes, cherishing the thing as though it were a treasure beyond value. “Luck had to run out sooner or later…” He tells himself before motioning the light away, folding it into an Envelope Construct along with the messages he’d written. With a simple gesture, Lucas flicks the Letter away, the magic folding itself up and closing with a Seal before vanishing in a -flash-! With his final affairs handled, the Mage turns back to the encroaching threat, just in time for your pickaxe to go piercing into his stomach. “Fugh!” He grunts as you twist into him. “Aauh… ahh… f…f-fuck…” Peering down at the pick as it burrows itself up into his ribcage, the Mage’s sight soon settles on his empowered gauntlets amidst his anguish, finding he still possesses the crackling power that would liquify your brain, somehow managing to hold on to it through it all, and as he observes the power as it slithers across his wrists in arcing jumps, a small moment of contemplating passes him, time slowing as his life begin to slip away. He could still use it… Avenge his friends and take their killer down with him. Yet whatever it is that he was thinking, whatever it was that he’d seen, he sets it all aside. Gritting his teeth, the Mage reaches over, reconfiguring the magic surging through his spell, stripping away the notes of Decay while weaving his own spellcraft into the thoughtful mesh, amplifying its power and ensuring its fortitude, the purpose of the spell now certain. Pluming outward, the streaks of lighting bloom like the petals of a flower down the length of his arm, collating in spirals around his hand which burns with the brilliance of a Dying Star, and in one final act of defiance, he shoots the limb forward, his open palm slapping around the top of your face, his fingers latching onto the side of your temple in a vice-grip, the 8’s of your eyes peering between the spaces between his digits as he clutches onto your head. And the spell goes pouring into your mind, washing over your thoughts like a flood.

“Guah!” You wail, ripping your pickaxe from the Mage’s stomach as you pry his grip from your face, infuriated by the assault. Reeling back, you thrash your head to and fro, a vain attempt to throw the magic from your eyes, not realizing it’s already burrowed past your ocular nerves, settling deep within your skull. Realizing it won’t let you go, you whip back around to face the one who’d inflicted this onto you, enraged at the curse or jinx he’d placed upon your person, the 8-Balls vanished from your sockets, your eyes flashing shades of Orange and Green now. And as you reel your Bane back to finish the rebellious Mage off for good, you swing the mighty pickaxe, aimed for the very center of his head. “RAAAAH!”

 

STOP!

 

The thought rolls through your mind like thunder, and you freeze in your tracks. Posed like a statue, your muscles seize up before your attack can strike true against the Mage’s Temple, the point of your pick hovering just before your friend’s head, lingering frozen in the air. Even then, as you’re held at bay by your own twitching body, that impulse to strike, to carve your friend up still boils within the intrusive corners of your psyche. The hatred and anger you’d spun thrashing there like a netted animal as it’s subdued, a wave of thought brought over your mind, encircling your Ego. Fashioned like a spider and its web, the spell sweeps upward, accumulating power with each ebb and flow as it creeps towards the roof of your skull, forming a perimeter around your delusions as it continues to grow, weaving over itself again and again in a tangling bramble, ensuring the fortitude of its walls. A self repairing prison from which that You is locked away in.

”g-…g-good luck… my friend…” Lucas mutters, drawing your attention to him as you feel the memories of what’d just happened get pushed down into your subconscious, locked up alongside all that malice and bile in the ever-growing tangle of your mind.

“W-wha… Lucas…?” You try to say, the words shambling from your throat, bloody and coarse. He doesn’t respond to you. He never got the chance… slumping over with a crash upon the floor. You remember seeing him then, falling to the ground with half his insides torn out. You were confused. Just a moment ago, you’d decided to visit Mia on her planet, one last attempt to get her to come to the party with everyone. And then you were here, in this… horror show. Your chest began to shutter when you realized he was dead, seeing the blood pooling out of him as though he’d sprung a leak… “O..oh my god, Luc…!” You drop down to him, facing his body towards you. “Lucas…! W-what is…?” You look over his wounds, thinking of how to stop the bleeding. “N-no, no, this isn’t real… this can’t.. Lucas, buddy, come on!” You frantically tap his face, trying to rouse him from his sleep. “Come on man. You ca-…“ It’s then that you see it. The blood soaked into your sleeves, upon your hands. It was everywhere. Your focus stays there, entranced by the sight as your mind struggles to process what it’s seen staining your palms, until you notice down by your side is the Bane of All Mountains, its teeth dipped red as it lies among the wreckage. With an idle hand, you claim the pick, baffled at what’s happened to it. The armament stares back as you inspect it, its sheen of blood reflecting you in elongated renditions along its curve, patiently waiting for you to realize what actions have been done with it. Looking up, you gaze out at what remains of the room, your breath growing heavier as you see past the destruction, finding corpses in the wreckage. It was Rich you saw first. You’d almost missed him, blending in while tucked away amidst the piles of debris. There was relief when you saw him. A momentary spark of hope as you recognized the shape of his silhouette, but that soon faded as you made out the details of him in the dark. Dismembered. Mutilated. The horror and the shock sends a jolt through you, and you rush to your feet before holding still as a statue once you’re up. “Ha… ha…” You puff, the words caught in your throat as your chest heaves dry breaths, unable to control the spasms in your lungs. You search now, frantic, looking for someone… anyone! Your friends… your friends are hurt… you need help! Someone… someone, please help!!!

But help would never come. All you’d find in the room with you is Death. Renee and Milo were just nearby as well, deep gashes like claw marks torn out of them, leaving them drifting in a sea of their own blood. There was no sign of Jess, leaving you a slim hope that she’d survived, that maybe she’d escaped whatever it was that’d attacked you all. Yet those silver-linings fall to the wayside when you see her, body placed on its side as though carefully laid to rest by a gentle hand. Lexie… Everything fades away as your attention begins to slowly twist in a spiral, as though the world was turning upside down for you. Stumbling forwards, you nearly topple over with each step, feeling a drift pulling to your right. You only get close enough to see that she isn’t moving… isn’t breathing… It’s then that you notice the cavern burrowed into her neck. A deep puncture wound, stabbed down with a great force…

You try to deny it, to force the idea out of your mind, but there was no mistaking it… you’d seen those same wounds in the enemies you’d felled on your journey. Unmistakable Injuries… inflicted by a Pickaxe. Once more, your attention had fallen down to your Bane, finding the blood-stained spike of your weapon shimmering up at you, reflecting your crimson visage back as though trying to tell you something. It begins to dawn on you then… exactly what had happened. Faster and faster, you draw breath, looking back to the rest of the room, the mangled bodies of your friends exactly where you’d left them still. It was impossible… you couldn’t accept it. This couldn’t have been you, it couldn’t have! You wouldn’t have done this, you wouldn’t have hurt your friends!

And yet… there they were… scattered… in pieces. The room was spinning then. Spinning and spinning and spinning. It didn’t make sense. How could something like this happen? You were supposed to make it in the end, weren’t you? You were the Heroes, you’d survived so much, you were supposed to beat the game, to find your parents, to rebuild the world again! There had to be a reason… a reason why? But a reason never came. Your mind was faltering as it attempted to process everything before you, it was like it had shut off entirely, refusing to understand, but you kept pushing. Kept trying to comprehend it all, attention shifting from place to place in the room, searching desperately for that reason. Until finally… something broke, deep down inside. In a panic, you came to the conclusion that you had to escape. To get out of this place before it could become real. Frantically equipping your Rocket Gear, you take off out the door, blasting off far, far away from here…

That just leaves you now… curled up with your face to the floor, pretending like you don’t exist as the world around disappears into inky blotches. You lie there motionless, waiting for it all to end. For this hellish illusion to cease, but you drift still, out in the dark. Out in the nothing. For what feels like an eternity. Until a voice finally calls for you.

“Get up.” It boredly orders as you whisper dismal prayers into the void, pleading for all this to be over. “…Alright. If that’s how you wanna play it.” They say as you feel a boot shover into your collarbone, pressed against your shoulder.

“Ah!” You yelp as the person pushes you further back onto your knees. Wincing as you’re forcefully propped up, you look to see who’s discovered you out here in Nowhere. Looking down at you with their foot still stepping into your shoulder is… You.

“Hey there, sunshine.” He greets you with a malicious smile before kicking off of you, throwing you back on your ass. “Wipe your damn face, for Christ’s sake, you look like a fucking mess.”

“You… You can see me?” You ask him as he’s turned around, surveying the void you’re both in. “Are you a… doomed version of me?” Your question seems to catch his attention, turning the You back around.

“Version of you…?” He lazily raises his eyebrows at you, his jaw falling slack in unimpressed disbelief. “You’re. A Doomed Version of You. How long has it been since you were cast out from the Alpha Timeline? And you still think you’re important? Get with the program. You stopped mattering a long time ago.”

“T-… then… you’re the Alpha Jason?” You grasp at straws, a cold and shivering unease in your entire body, like you’ve been decompressed all at once.

“In a ways.” He shrugs, slowly strutting around you as he walks about the void, taking momentary interest in the various patches of nothingness he comes across. “Although, I imagine I’m present in most Jasons, regardless of where they are in spacetime.”

“I don’t… I-I-I don’t understand.” You follow him as he creeps around you in a circle. “What is this, w-who are you?”

“I’m hurt, Jason. Not too long ago, we were the best of pals!” He glances over at you as he strolls along, squinting his eyes as though recalling a quaint memory. “Whenever you’d have a problem, you’d always come running to me, asking what to do. Even the smallest of shit, you’d always ask-“

“What would Jay do…” The words are spoken like muscle memory, like you’ve said them a thousand times in that order, fluttering from your lips before you realize what you’re saying.

“You do remember.” He smiles. “Seems you forgot all about me when Poindexter in there locked me away.” He sneers, glaring towards the space Lucas had fallen when the void last recalled his shape.

“What… what are you…?” You mutter, causing him to stop and watch you now.

“I’m the You strong enough to take what he wants.” He answers, an uncaring stare peering out at you through the dark. Judging you from where he stands in the void. “The You who isn’t afraid to say what he thinks. The You who isn’t afraid to Fail.” He takes a step closer, as though presenting himself for you to witness more clearly. “I am You Uninhibited.”

“No… no, y-y-you’re just… just the monster Mia put inside my head!” You deny him.

“Is that right?” He asks with an amused smile, holding back a laugh. “Well it’s always her in the end, now isn’t it… Mean Mia, Hateful Mia. But don’t be so quick to give her all the credit, Jason. I was here long before that girl brought me out of you. Waiting for when I was needed, offering advice when consulted, your trusted council. All that girl did was give a little push. You ran with it after that.”

“You’re lying.” You tell him in a shaky voice.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you. If this were all a lie. If you were still a good man.” A smirk comes across his face at the idea before he shakes his head just barely enough to tell you ‘no’. “That’s not how this story plays out. The fact of the matter is that girl was trying to help you, Jason. What she gave you was a gift. She made you see the strength she always saw in you herself, gave you the will to act on it. And what did you do with it?” As he speaks, another flash of light comes from out within the dark. Yet instead of the shape of a Horrorterror looming just beyond, the shape of a new Horror all together finds you. Illuminating for only a fraction of a moment, you’re brought back to the room where everything transpired. The corpses of your friends still there, forever entombed within the ruins of that living room. You find yourself short of breath as it all fades to black once more, leaving you alone in the void with him. “That's one hell of a thank you!” He chuckles, shaking his head in amused disbelief. “Not only that, haha… but then… you pin it all on her!” He begins to outright laugh now, shaking a finger at you like you’d just told him a funny joke. “It was the Maid of Rage! She was the one who sent you into that blind fit!” He mockingly tells you, throwing your own thoughts back into your face. “She made you a Doomed version of yourself as revenge, was it? Oh, too good, too good.” He starts circling you again, his walk pushing forward with an uncanny glide, as though he weren’t really walking at all. “Remember when you first reunited with her, Jason? You thought she was using Sara’s dead friend as a way to mock you! You! Like you were the victim in all of it! I bet that really killed her inside, don’t you think? Every time, always acting like she was at fault. Like she was the monster.” He runs a hand back through his hair, exaggeratingly puffing a breath of air past his lips, pretending to be astonished by the idea. “What was it you called her, Jay? Something like… ‘the one who sent them to their deaths’? Oh that’s rich, no I-, I like that. Really rubs it all back in her face.”

“It… it wasn’t like that.” You try to defend yourself. He stops again.

“Wasn’t it, though?” He asks back, tilting his head at you with a curious list. “Wasn’t it exactly like that…?” He takes a step forward towards you. “Maybe take a little responsibility for yourself, Mia.” And another step. “Why aren’t you using your powers anymore, Mia?” And another. “What are you so mad for, Mia?” Another. “It’s not like you didn’t cause all this, Mia!” Another. “Not everyone likes killing like you do, Mia!” He shouts in your face now, lurking directly above as you sit upon the ground. Finishing his rant, he takes a few heavy breaths before the frantic look in his face dies down, and he eases away from you, composing himself again. “You spent so much time convincing yourself you had nothing to do with what happened… Who are you gonna blame this time, Jay?”

“…” You don’t have an answer for him.

“…Well? Go on, then.” He insists anyway. “You were always so eager to pass the blame before. Who is it now, Jay? Who caused all this mess?”

“You…” You quietly growl, your hands gripping tight into fists. “It was your fault!”

“Ha… ahahahahahahaha!” He bursts out into laughter, nearly doubling over at what you’d said. “Me? I did it? Oh, well newsflash, buddy! I am You!” He creeps in, lingering just before your face to emphasize his words. “Every sweeping blow, every killing strike. Those all came from right here.” He jabs a finger center over your heart. “Home grown, all from you. At least, the You who wasn’t scared of the consequences. The You who was strong enough to bring his desires into the world.”

“No… I never wanted this…” You shake your head as tears begin to stream quietly from your eyes, rolling down your cheek before falling off in raining drops.

“Save your rationales for someone who isn’t in your brain, dip shit. You can’t lie to me.” He sneers at you as he reels back, standing up straight again. “I know what you really thought of them.”

“They were my friends… I-I loved them like a family…!” You try to tell him.

“You resented them!” He snaps back. “You hated that they were able to get stronger and you weren’t! Hated that you couldn’t show off the way they could. You were just too weak to admit it to yourself, so you hid those feelings away. Buried them deep down someplace where you didn’t have to look at them!” He gestures to his own stomach, miming the act of forcefully lowering something with both hands. “And when you inevitably caught up with your friends, you weren’t glad. You didn’t celebrate that you were finally on their level. You were still bitter. Because deep down… you knew you never wanted to grow stronger alongside them… You wished that they never succeeded at all to begin with. That they were the ones who stayed weak while you became the hero all on your own. And no amount of power could change how small you felt compared to them…. That’s why you killed them. Not because of Mia, not because of some monster in your head. Because you couldn’t leave the past behind.” You grit your teeth at his words, and try as you might, you can find no rebuttal. All you can do is hang your head and gaze off into the void below you.

“…What do you want from me…?” You whisper out into the dark as the void stares back, a feeling of numbness overtaking your face. “I’m sorry… god, I-… I’m so fucking sorry… I-“

“I want you to stop lying to yourself, Jason.” He says, cutting you off in a calm, level tone. “I want you to stop pretending that you’re sorry for what you did.” It’s beginning to melt away now. Everything has started to fade. Your breath lingers in your chest, unable to exhale as you hold on to every last thing you have left in this world. “Sure, they were our friends, but it’s only natural for the Strong to eat the Weak, don’t you think? Green is a bad color on us, Jason. You shouldn’t envy them. They just had a head start is all. But us…? We possess actual power. The world bends to our will. They couldn’t see that… and so they got caught in the blast. Collateral Damage. That’s all it was.” A quiet moment passes as you begin to drift away with everything else, taken by the current alongside the fragments of the world. Unrendered. Made a vague shape in the deep nothing. Not long after, you hear footsteps, as You begin to walk away. “I’ll let you chew on that for a while. Let me know when you’re ready to be honest with yourself.” He says before leaving. It doesn’t even register for you anymore. You don’t try to fight it… don’t try to understand… none of it matters anymore… it never did from the start… how could you ever think you were worthy of going home? This is where you belong. This is where things like you deserve to be…

 

***

 

Easing off the battery from your shoulders, you set the hundred and fifty something pound box down with a huff, rolling the kink out of your neck totting that damn thing around the ship gave you. Blasted box nearly pulled your arm straight outta its socket! With a grumble, you get to work hooking the auxiliary power into the port-side thrusters, amplifying what little remains of the propulsers after the beating they’ve taken in this scrap. You’re running errand-boy for the Doc at the moment, aiding in keeping this rig trucking alongside that Frankie boy. That’s about all you’re good for in this fight, it seems like… Though Colt Action has seen you through the darkest of nights, your range is seriously stifled when you’re going this fast so high in the sky. You tried taking a few pot-shots when your group first caught up with this band of thugs, but your bullets couldn’t keep up with the windspeed after it left your ship’s slipstream, got nowhere close to reaching the other side, let alone hitting its target. You’ve been trying to keep useful ever since, scampering around to help with repairs.

“Heya, got everything hooked up over here. How’s it lookin’ on your end?” You ask into your phone when you hear the line connect.

“Performing_within_acceptable_margins;” Doc answers back with that weird autotoned voice she speaks in whenever she’s on the phone. “On_a_related_note</> however</>One_Eighty^seven_has_reported_a_sizable_fire_has_broken_out_along_the_bridge_tower;”

“Yeah yeah, I’m on it.” You sigh, already understanding your next task. “I’ll be in contact.”

“Appreciated;” She chimes back before the line cuts out. Checking your equipment one last time, you ensure your work will stay put before taking off, hurrying your way through the maze of passageways that make up the lower decks. Thankfully, you’ve gotten decently proficient at navigating the halls down here since you’ve been hustling place to place. It only takes a minute before you’re topside, greeted by the sight of a great pillar of fire, the entire side of the command center’s tower engulfed in flames. It’s almost like a painting, shades of black and red intertwining in long brushstrokes, dancing their way into the sky.

“…How in the fuck am I supposed to handle that?” You ask yourself as you gawk at the blaze. Before you can fully get a grasp on the best way to tackle this shitfire, something comes crashing down behind you, snapping your attention around to find Mia just rode that Knight feller like a flying squirrel down into the front deck, bouncing off the boy’s chest and flipping over, landing just past him, crouched low like a tiger. You watch a confused moment as the girl crawls over to peer down at the poor sap, finding him passed out not long after. Not giving him much mind after, your girly moves on to Ryder, checking on his status bombarding the enemy ketch.

With bigger fish to fry, you turn your attention back to the pressing matter at hand, but just as you’re about to tackle the barn-fire on deck, you notice something just over yonder. A thick smokescreen conceals a small pocket on the enemy ship, right near where you’d enter into their cabins. Spotting it drifting there, almost unbothered by the whipping winds around the ship, you think you can make out a vague few shapes in the mix, but it’s too concealed there to see properly. Staring at the drifting haze a moment longer, you know you have better things to be doing right now, but… you don’t know… it’s like something’s drawing your attention there. Like you can feel some kind of a disturbance just beyond that veil. Someone is… giving up… but, how… how could you know something like that?

Oooh, Leah, you better not be going off your rocker, girl… With an unsure idea brewing in your dome, you raise your hand up before yourself, holding your palm out like you’re ready to grab for something or other. Parallel with the smokescreen in your sights, you kind of… aim your hand next to the swirling patch of darkness as though it were just before you where you are. Letting instincts kick in, you suddenly swing your arm, snatching for the fog across the way. Inexplicably, you watch as the veil lifts from the cabin entrance in an instant, revealing the scene it’d concealed. However, when you look to see, your blood runs cold, finding dear Jace collapsed to his knees as he’s surrounded by three hatchet men on the deck of that ship.

“please…” The Page whispers too far for you to hear, his hands shakily pressing to the ground as he drifts in and out of the past that’d gotten so balled up in his mind. “…make it stop…” He pleads, the tears falling from his face pooling into a sea below him. Kneeling down beside the boy, that ghoulie-looking girl in green places a tender hand against his cheek, tilting his chin up to look at her.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright, my sweet boy.” She soothes with the gentle touch of a mother. “No fight, just rest.”

“Renee…” Jace calls as the two other bandits exchange confused glances. “Renee, I… I’m sorry… I-” He grabs hold of the ghoul’s hand as she softly holds his face, desperately clutching onto her as though afraid she’d slip away any moment.

“It’s all okay now.” She assures the faltering, tearful boy. “Lay down your arms, little soldier. The war is over.” This isn’t good. Looking around, you search for the best help you can get for poor Jace.

“Yeah… yeah… I don’t know, he just decided to take the shot for me, how should I know?” Mia talks into her phone while looking up at the bridge. “Just tell Sara to get down here once she’s done with her dance thing, see if she can’t do anything for the idiot… Okay… right, hey you know your spire’s on fire right now, right?”

“Mia!” You shout for the gal, turning her attention towards you.

“Yeah Ess, I’m gonna have to call you back.” She mutters into her phone before hanging up.

“What’s wrong with Jason?” You point her towards the scene across the way.

“Chronic Idiocy, why?“ She softly sneers, like the answer was obvious. Though that glib attitude doesn’t last long when she walks over to better see what you’re trying to show, stopping in her tracks when she spots Jace all crumbled down the way he is. “Ah shit.” She sighs in annoyance at the sight, however her perturbed look suddenly turns serious when she sees the Sylph hovered over her friend. “…oh shit.” She mutters, a look of recognition in that gal’s eyes you’d say verges on being worried.

“What’s she doing to him?” You ask her, seeing she’s familiar with the creature.

“Nothing good.” Mia says back, briskly marching to one of the last few turrets still intact on your junker, peering through the scope to get a better look at the scene. “Oh you unbelievable dumbass… don’t tell me you really locked it all away…” She mutters while surveying the situation before pulling back to view it as a whole. She’s thinking of something. She has a plan, but you can sense hesitation in her resolve to enact it. You’ve got no earthly conceptions what it is going on in that girl’s mind right now, but you can only imagine the wickedness that it may be if it’s enough to make that Maid hesitate. You don’t think she’s had a second thought in her life. And right on cue, your compatriot seems to muster up the will to act, awakening the turret before her with a biting power as she takes hold the triggers.

The Killing Shot is Aligned.

“Sorry, Jay… Time to take your medicine.” She laments just before firing. The bolt of power leaps out like a shooting star burning through the atmosphere, a blistering force coating the condensed blast of energy as it rips for its quarry. However, instead of the three targets surrounding your companion where he lies, it seems Mia was aiming for Jace himself when she fired, striking the Page upon the side of his head, knocking him to the deck of the ship with a concussive impact. The Sylph who’d been not even a foot from the boy springs back while looking at his collapsed form, a visible shock on her face before she turns to search for where the shot had originated.

“Jesus, Mia, Friendly Fire!” You shout, pushing down the barrel of her cannon before she can pelt the boy any further. It’s a pointless move, though, as the turret begins to malfunction, sparking like it short-circuited before going dark, depowered.

“Yeah…” She quietly replies, peering above the target scope at her work, an uncertain concern posted across her face. “I know.”

A Rook Positions For Checkmate.

“The hell’s going on over there?” Ryder glances over at the commotion you’ve kicked up. In the brief moment he’s looked away from his station, a shooting explosion comes rocketing into his gun from the other side, detonating like a fireball, destroying his turret and sending him stumbling back a step, coughing from the smoke that sizzles from what remains of the gun. “Mother Fuck!” He shakes off the hit, infuriated by the surprise attack. That’s all the guns on this side of the ship. Your offense is down to just Perses then. Though you can’t imagine he could provide much cover-fire without completely dismantling their ship while Jace and Doll are still on it.

Mia doesn’t seem to notice any of this as she’s busy staring down the scene by your Page as it plays out on the enemy ship. The Sylph looks back at her, a confound squint in her eyes as she tries to comprehend why you’d attack your own ally while he’s cornered. It isn’t until Jace himself starts to rouse from his place on the deck that the ghoul’s attention is taken away from you both, looking down at him as he props himself up again, hands pressed against the deck floor with shaky unease, a dazed look on his face as he tries to shake the stupor from himself. Head swaying randomly, eyes blinking rapidly, twitching all over as though in the midst of a conniption, something's happening to the boy. His back strains, the muscles there flexing out larger than his frame would suggest. As his struggling fit continues, however, Jace seems to come too more and more, shaken awake from the Sylph’s influence by the hit. Sitting up once more on his knees, he looks down at his arms, observing himself as though unfamiliar with himself, at first confused, but then… his expression tightens and his hands close into fists. Before he can come to any further, the Ghoul Sylph lurches forward, snatching Jace by the side of his head with a clutching grasp, his eyes erupting a pale green power as she tries to force some hypno nonsense into his mind again. And just behind her, now unsuppressed from Ryder’s covering-fire, the rest of the enemy crew rally, ensuring that the bombardment has officially ceased before closing in on your boy’s position.

“That ain’t good…” You say as you, Mia and Ryder all watch the mob descend upon the Page. Before the incident can unfold any more, a sudden explosion rings out behind you, as an entire section of the bridge tower is blown out, something fuel-related likely getting too hot in the inferno. “Oh shit, the Fire!” You turn back to your boat as it continues to go up in flames. Damn! This really can’t wait, can it? ‘Good luck, Jace!’ You think as you hurry towards your objective. ‘I believe in you!’.

 

***

 

“Where… where am I…?” You rasp, struggling to breath as it feels like a fucking Mountain is pressing down on top of you right now! Deeper still, you’re pushed lower and lower into the dark, an endless abyss below you trying to swallow you up. “Who’s… doing… this…?!” You struggle against the enormous weight, pushing back against it. Forcing yourself to look up, you can see it. A world just above you, the world that rests on your shoulders, pressing you flat. A vast portal, an entry way, it hovers over your crushing place in the dark. It’s as if you were looking up at Heaven, while you’re stuck here down in Hell. A girl looks down on you from the lip of this portal, her hand pressed against your face, flooding your mind with numbing agents and thoughts of sleep. It’s her. She’s the one keeping you here!

“Shhh! Shhhh!” The Dwarf hisses, trying to force you down into this pit. To relegate you to an eternal damnation, never to leave again.

“Who… the hell… do you think you ARE!?!” You burst forward, forcing yourself from the hole as you reach out, seizing the insolent bitch by the wrist, forcing her filthy fucking claws off of you.

“Nh…!” She struggles as you bend her hand back, unable to break free from your grasp.

“Fuck Off.” You snarl at her before slamming your free hand into her chest above her heart, sending her shooting back, the bottoms of her boots scraping against the deck as they drag underneath her. Coming to a stop, the bitch is only barely able to keep standing, her stance collapsing under the damage your hit inflicted, an injured wheeze coughed as she tries to recenter her guard. Returned to the world again, you’re reminded of what you were doing just before being so rudely interrupted. Invade the ship. Get back what was taken from you. A simple task. Surveying your environment, you find things have changed since you’ve been gone. You’re surrounded, and unarmed. Seven of the pricks have gathered for you, weapons drawn for Strife. They’d need sevenfold more if they wanted to stand a chance. “You’re all already dead…" You announce, waiting for one of them to make their first move on you. "…Your bodies just haven’t realized it yet.” A quiet murmur fills the ship. Though cautious, the pathetic flock of chicken-shit fuckwits continue to slowly creep forward, encroaching on your grounds. “Tick, Tock… Tick, Tock…” You mutter, growing impatient. Until finally, you are alleved of this anticipation, the Knight springing forward, axe drawn back as he aims to cut you in half across your elbow-line. You crouch down just as his blade is passing through your space, watching as it flashes past above you, a gleaming moonbeam refracting off a mirror’s surface. You see through it in an instant, a deliberate move to get you low as the Life Page swoops in, his steel beam reeled over his shoulder, ready to swing at you. They think they control your placement on this battlefield, that you’re too encumbered to dodge their attack this close to the ground. They don’t realize how truly mistaken they are.

Leaning forward, you shoot your foot back, extending your leg out as you kick the back-end of his beam before he can throw the hunk of metal into a swing, knocking the ignorant prick back and killing his attack as it’s sent off-kilter. Springing up off the palms of your hands, you ram the back of your head into the Knight’s face before he can take another swing with his hatchet. He reels, but isn’t staggered, the stubborn bug. He’ll require a little more then. Accelerating the chronology around the tip of your thumb, you extend your nail out into a small claw, arming yourself with Fgnailkind before driving your digit into the Troll’s eye, missing the plump of your target by no more than half an inch as you plunge your finger into the side flesh of his socket.

“Dah!” You evoke a cry from your prey as his eye spurts his chill blood, pulling back away from you enough for you to get through to the cabins. Juking past, you only get a step towards your goal when something stings you from the side, biting into your shoulder with a force powerful enough to shove you stumbling to the right. When you look, you find an arrow lodged in your arm, and directly across from you on the deck is the Seer of Breath, a freshly fired Longbow in her grubby little mitts. So she was one of the Rogue’s pets after all. Reaching over, you rip the arrow from your shoulder as the Seer nocks another onto her Bow, and you feel a sizzling fury boiling up inside of you. New plan… Everyone Dies.

You’ll need a proper tool for the job. Spotting Grandpa’s Bootstraps across the deck, you dive for the pick, knowing the Seer will take another shot. She can see movement. Momentum. She knows where you’re going. But not how fast. Speeding your timeflow, you burst forward, the fired arrow swiping past you, missing the neck-shot she’d aimed for on your throat. Landing into a roll, you seize your weaponry in time to block her third arrow, the projectile bouncing off your guard like it were nothing. You rise up, your sights set on the troublesome bitch. And by the look of realization in her eyes, you can tell she knows you’re on a crash course for her now. Though before you can charge, the Life Page comes swinging in again, flinging his girder at the side of your head. You perry the arrogant fuck’s attack off the shaft of Bootstraps, pushing him a step away from you. In a pathetic attempt at a followup, the Life player twists around, trying to build up inertia as he strikes for your collar. Bored of his incessant buzzing like a fly about your space, you back step from his swing before closing in again, placing your pick into his side just beneath his armpit before tearing a gash down into his stomach.

He stays upright a moment, alerted that damage had been inflicted, yet too dull to realize where. Taking too long. You snatch the Page by the back of his head, slamming his skull down against the deck floor, breaking the planks there with his face. Scanning the field for the next contender, you spot as the Knight recovers from his near-blinding as the Prince charges your flank. Easy. Claiming the Page’s steel beam from his corpse, you grab hold of the chunk of metal with your free hand and fling it as hard as you can towards the Troll, the crude weapon spiraling through the air before cracking him in the head with a satisfying -thung-, taking him down. With your full attention now, the Prince seems to realize his error, skidding as he slams his heels into the ground trying to break.

“S-shit!” The sniveling coward yelps, all that boldness rushing you gone in a flash without the Knight to back him up. Don’t run now! There’s no Getting Away! You chase after him before he can fully retreat, Bootstraps tailing behind. Just when you’ve caught up with your prey, the slippery weasel drops, narrowly avoiding your swing as he falls into a void rift.

“Hmhmhmhm.” You quietly chuckle to yourself as you search the deck for the Void Thief. Where are you then, Blueblood… There’s no point in trying to escape. It’s only a matter of Time, after all. “Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.”

“What the fuck are you pussies doing?! He’s just one guy!” The Heart Page barks out at the rest of them, two felled, two fleeing, while the Seer searches for somewhere high to perch away from you. Stepping up himself, the boastful halfwit faces off with you, waving some pansy-ass flag as he charges. Okay, you don’t mind a detour.

“Don’t be a fool, Archie!” The Sylph calls, racing across the deck to intervene, but it’s too late. Blurring forward, you reach the idiot faster than he can anticipate for, seizing the staff of his weapon in an ironclad grip before he can even think of taking a stab at you with it, forcing his hold on the item to the side as you encroach on his space, standing face-to-face with your fellow Page, no more than half a foot between you. Pulling with all his might, the Heart player struggles with laughable frustration to wrench the flag free from your grasp, but you remain steadfast as you watch him try and fail to reclaim his weapon. Without his little stick to swing around, the small fry, in all his genius, tries putting on a scary face to spook you off, his nose scrunching up as he bears his teeth, thinking he’s some kind of fucking lion. Oh… it’d be too easy to kill him quick. He’ll be Last. Resting Bootstraps upon the Page’s shoulder, you hook your pick around his back, pulling him closer towards you.

“Wanna see something really scary?” You ask him, that mean-mug of his quickly washing away into a look of barely contained fear as you lean in close. Before the washout can give you an answer, his backup arrives, the Sylph swinging in to break you up. Juking downward, you brush the Dwarf’s fist off of you as you weave out of the attack, taking the idiot’s flag along with you while dipping away. As you reposition, the Sylph stays on you, an axe-kick striking down for your position, forcing you to juke back another step. Throwing your captured flag back, the enormous banner billows out in the wind, forming a veil between you and the Dwarf. The moment you’re out of her sight, you blink back through your chronology, appearing behind your opponent before she can figure out your play. She seemed to have an inkling to what you were doing, beginning to turn to her rear guard as you appear there, but it was never a competition as to who the faster draw was. Dragging Bootstraps with you as you whip around, the pickaxe goes slamming into the Dwarf’s back, a wet -slap- echoing out as your pick stabs into her lung, a sizable length of your weapon piercing out through her other side.

“Grh!” She winces before you tear your pick free, tossing her to the ground before you in the process. You send a boot stomping down into her throat for good measure, finally getting back to your original target, spotting the Seer as she’s climbed atop what remains of the mast, three arrows nocked on her bow this time as she takes aim. You aren’t anywhere near where her projectiles land by the time she fires, appearing behind her in the split of a second as she lets her string loose. Following you rather well, the Troll tracks your path behind her as soon as little head can comprehend you’ve changed places, quickly turning around to face you, drawing an arrow from her hip-side quiver. The top of Bootstraps slams into her chin before she can do anything with it, however, casting her off the mast, down onto the deck beside Sylph. Startled by the sudden body landing at his feet, the sorry excuse for a Page jumps, his flag reclaimed as he clutches it to his chest.

“Whaddaya say, sheriff. If I'm just one guy, do you think you can protect your friend from me?” You ask him as you hop down from the wreckage, slowly approaching their place on the deck. “Because when I get over there, I’m gonna put my pick straight through her Heart.” You aim Bootstraps at the Seer, catching her attention as the gold planks of the ship are stained rust red by her. “Try and stop me. If you think you can.” The two pissants look to one another for help, both asking the other what to do. Unsure of what else, the Page actually steps up, placing himself before the Seer while holding his flag like a spear. Though whatever points he gets for nutting-up go out the window as the chickenshit can barely stand there without quaking out of his elf-shoes! Yet even still, the mousey-looking fuck still manage to scrape enough bravery together to charge forward towards you.

“J-just try and get by m-me!” He cries. No, actually cries as he rushes in. You don’t break your stroll, allowing the lesser Page to meet you first, taking a lancing thrust for your face. You lean out of the way too easy to describe. A look of terror flashes across the kid’s face, as apparently his big move falls flat. Hopping back like a rabbit, the Page buys himself a little more space for a second attack, this time aiming for your torso, likely hoping a larger target will bear more fruit. You knock the tip of his flagpole spear away with a wave of your pick, and the rabbit goes hopping away once more. Back a step, he takes another poke for you. You don’t even really have to dodge that one, his spear pushing past into the space between your elbow and ribs, prompting you to move your arm out of the way. Again and again, he misses his attacks and repositions, a frantic and desperate look on his face the closer to the Seer you get. Having your fill of this little game, on his next attack, you knock the Heart player’s staff down, pinning its point to the ground as you lean back and send a kick straight across the weakling’s face, knocking him hands and knees on the ground. Walking up to him, you reach down and snatch the whelp by the throat, wrapping your arm around his neck with your free hand, throttling him in a stranglehold as you hoist him up, walking him forward as you reach the Seer. “W-wait, stop!” His hands pry at your forearm, barely scratching you as he tries to claw himself free. "Don't-!" He tremblingly cries.

“Last chance, tough guy.” You inform him as you raise Bootstraps up over your head. “No…? Okay then.” Writhe as he might, the pushover is powerless to stop you. And as a man of your word, you send your pickaxe swinging down at the Seer, aimed straight for the Heart.

 

-SWOOSH-

 

However, before your attack can hit, a rushing force arrives before the Seer, your strike clashing against a circular shield that suddenly appears in her defense. Raising an eyebrow at the unexpected guard, you’re met with a bushy head of rose petal-red hair poking out the side, a set of black eyes with glowing orange irises staring back at you. Shooting forward, the shield collapses into a single point, revealing behind it that Thief of Breath has entered the fray, stabbing you in the shoulder with her pointy Umbrella thing to break your hold on the Page of Heart. You go to pull back, but something stops you as it latches around your foot. You don’t have to look to know the Sylph of Mind is still alive, her gauntlet anchored around ankle to keep you in place. Obvious why, you spot the Knight charging in to capitalize on the Sylph's hold, his face half coated in the blood pouring out from his head, that gargantuan axe ready to swing as soon as he catches up with you. Forced to hold your ground, you prepare a guard for the Knight’s attack, though just before he arrives, the Sylph kicks up, her boot slamming into your side, breaking your defenses enough for the axe blade to slash past, carving into your shoulder. Gritting at the pain, you’re quickly struck once more in your stomach below the left ribs, two arrows pierced into your torso, right in the organ-hoard. Okay, THAT’S ENOUGH!!!

Reaching out, you conjure a forth a Time Knot, locking the Knight in a Snare, allowing you to turn your focus on the dreg hanging on your heels, swinging Bootstraps down into the underarm of the Dwarf, hooking her on your pick and tossing her away. Before you can turn back to finish off the Knight, three more arrows come flying for your head, and though easily swatted away, it’s not without annoyance that you’re pestered by the Seer once more. However, looking the Bow-Woman’s way, you notice the Thief who’d just been by the Troll’s side is missing. Immediately put on alert, you search your surroundings, finding the plant-thing floating directly above you with a gnarled claw channeling the air around her. Bad move, bitch! You’re still in swinging distance!

“Rah-!” Reeling Bootstraps down by your side, you go to cleave the filthy Thief straight through her face when your entire body is jolted to a halt mid-swing, the sensation slamming into you all at once as though sandwiched between two crashing chunks of cement. What the fuck…? What the FUCK!?! MOVE, damn it! Why won’t you-… Son of a bitch… That damn whore swiped your Mobility!

“Somebody, quick! Cut his Roots while I’ve still got a hold on him!” The overgrown leaf shouts to her dismantled team. You’ll turn the Bitch into FERTILIZER!!! Struggling against her hold, your muscles thrash against the magical binds holding them, barely able to push forward more than a millimeter with all your strength! But… even if it’s next to nothing, you can still move… While you’re busy hatching your escape, a void rift reopens once more, the Prince of Light strolling forward as though he didn’t turn-tail just a moment ago.

“It’s as easy as that.” He scoffs while slashing his hand out, invoking a Saber of Light to burst to life forward from the tips of his fingers with a flick of his wrist. Strolling towards you with his butcher’s hand, the Prince takes his time, flaunting the victory he thinks is assured to him. He takes his time… As Though They Have Any to Spare!

Faster… You’ll go Faster! Ten… Twenty… Fifty, Ninety, One Hundred! Two Hundred, Four, Five, Seven, Nine Hundred! One Thousand! More… MORE! Kick it into gear, Jason!

(10,000 sec. augmented time =1 sec. local time)

Bursting out from the constraints the Thief had shackled around you with the force of a Fucking Freight Train, the swiping attack you’d thrown goes carving through the air, snatching the ignorant bitch from her place above you as your pick cleaves into her stomach, taking her to the floor at Mach Fucking 5, crashing like a falling star into the deck. The strike breaks her concentration as though it were an afterthought, freeing you from the hold. And just like before, all that swagger the Prince had strolling up to you is gone. Another miscalculation. You won’t let him get away again!

Launching yourself at the bastard, you take a swing for his head missing as he jukes back, pivoting his stance before lancing forward at you, his Saber scorching as he stabs for your throat. You shove the bottom shaft of Bootstraps up to knock his lance off-course, his attack stabbing past just to the side of your face as he over extends. Capitalizing on how close he is, you slam your head forward towards his to knock skulls against him, staggering him back. In the prefect range again, you take another swing, your pick clashing at his neck, the Luck Fuck barely able to parry the swing off the edge of his solar blade. Quickly recovering, your opponent swipes back, sending a chopping hand cutting out at you, the length of his Saber overextending with unexpected reach, pushing you back out of his fluctuating range. Again and again, he takes chop after chop for you, the edge of his construct weapon buzzing with a -woom- on each of his swings, trying to get someone sued with those copyrighted Sound Effects. Behind you, a stirring comes from the grass clippings you left on the curb.

“Ah…” The Thief moans, struggling to roll onto her back before peering down at the trench carved into her torso, accursed hands trembling while unsure what to do.

“Hey, Aellocy.” A voice calls to her, catching her attention. Glancing over, the Elf is met by her teammate, Ignatius, lounging upon the deck just beside her. “Welcome to the incapacitated club.”

“W-wha- Iggy… you’re still alive?” She weakly asks the boy. Noticing the two still moving around out of the corner of your eye, you curse yourself for not being thorough enough with putting these freaks down. You’ve really lost your touch at killing things, you think.

“Yeah, I healed my stab wound when he took his spike out.” He nonchalantly explains, showing off the completely restored side of himself you’d torn out.

“T-then why… are you still laying here?” She chastises the Page at his inaction as strongly as she can while still bleeding profusely from her everywhere.

“Eh… don’t really feel like fighting right now.” Ignatius shrugs, resting his head upon the deck without a care. “Might take a nap. Hey, you want me to heal you too? You aren’t really supposed to sleep with head injuries.” Confused, the Elven girl stares at her companion, the innards of her lower stem barely kept in place by her fronds as she covers the wound in her thorn-shaft, the damage there vastly overshadowing the minor head-wound she’d received while being slammed into the ground.

Still creeping back across the deck as the Prince continues to press your defenses, you take care to keep him between you and that damn Seer, the uppity bitch strafing from place to place trying to get an angle on you, her arrow notched and with your name on it. You’ll be sure to return the favor once the time arises. Though who you’re really interested in has yet to show herself in this Strife. Their Thief of Void has disappeared somewhere, and you’re just itching to find her again. Growing tired of humoring this moron as he tries his luck cutting for your throat, you rewind yourself a short burst in your own Chronology, Displacing Time as you blink just behind his defenses. Reacting just in time to realize what you’ve done, but too late to do anything about it, you lock the gullible fuckwit behind a Time Knot, holding him still as an unsuspecting target. Holding Bootstraps out, you bring the pick level with his neck.

“Alright, Sneak Thief!” You call into the Void for your hidden contender, curious what games she’s up to while the others fight. “Come on out, or Skywalker gets it!” With nowhere in particular you have to look for the Thief, you instead set your sights on the Breath Seer, watching her from over the Prince’s shoulder, seeing her eyes search about the space around you, likely anticipating a myriad of possible movements you have to make before you make them. However, her search finds pause, her attention darting behind you. What is…

 

-ch-ch-ch-ch-

 

Before you can follow the Seer’s gaze, the hands of your clock construct keeping the Prince in place begin to tick faster, burning laps around its face. Though catching your attention, alarm-bells don’t start going off until you realize the hands are turning counterclockwise on the construct. Looking out to the Doom Knight still frozen where he is, you find the hands of his clock are being pushed back as well. Something’s rewinding your Knots.

 

-crnnnk-

 

Scratch that, something just undid your Knots, like it were winding a clock. What a shame, because that something is about to be a smear on the sidewalk! In the meantime, you really ought to deal with the newly freed Prince before he can get his bearings again. Reeling back, you go to swing into your prey, however, just as Bootstraps is about to rip into him, the form of the Prince jukes back, your swing going wide and burying into the deck where he stood. You’re getting real tired of this shit, you’re not gonna lie. Turning to follow after him, you watch as your target jerks away, his movements unnaturally placed, stepping backwards at uncanny speeds. Pulled back through Time…

The realization hits you the same time his club does, the blunt force shattering into the left side of your skull. The impact flings you around, nearly completely spins you out as you fall to one knee after stumbling a few shambling steps, losing your grip on Bootstraps in the process. Blinking a few times, you get nothing back from your left field of view, the socket completely destroyed along with the eye itself. You hear him come rushing up as you shake the hit off. Turning to face the insolent upstart, you realize he’s approached in your blinded flank, striking you once more before you can get your eye on him, your skull nearly splitting with a -crack- that rattles your brain. Gritting your teeth to keep yourself pressed together, you don’t have enough time to compose yourself before you’re struck once more, this time the fucker swings his club upward, crashing into your ribs as though your bones were made of glass. Forcing yourself to spin around, you finally get your sight on him, that Dead Man who thinks he can strike you without rebuke.

“How ya like me now, Bitch!” The Heir of Time shouts, not bothering with introductions, the two of you already familiar with one another. “Not so fun being on the Beating End of the Stick, huh!?” Zipping out of view in a red blur, the Heir appears behind you, unseen but more than felt as he cracks into your swinging arm, likely breaking something there in the process. One… two, three… four, five, six, seven… eight… nine, ten… You’re struck one after another, the speedy bastard zipping around you like a fucking mosquito. Well, he’s certainly more… energetic than last time. “LJ says you’re the Grim Reaper… yeah, well you don’t seem so tough to me-!” Enough! “Tuh…? Let go ya freak!” Clutched before your face, you hold the red crystal sphere the Heir’s war club is crowned with, stopped just before it could smash your teeth in. Amidst your grapple with him, you observe the jewel weapon, peering inside past its transparent walls as though it were a crystal ball, the strike-sphere revealing an etched likeness to you as though it were an augury, the holographic image of a Sundial suspended motionless within its amber. It strains against your grasp as the Heir tries to pry it free from your palm, though you remain transfixed on the object. Funny… the longer you hold your one good eye on the sight, you can’t help but think that it looks to be in the likeness of an 8-ball… “I said Let Go!” The Heir rips his armament free from your claws. Yet your attention remains transfixed there, where that Billiard had been. Not long, however, your face is struck by a dull sensation, a blunt impact as though someone were tapping you there. Once more and again, that blunt force pushes further into your cheek bone, feeling deeper each hit. A final hit comes, though this time, you feel your jaw go slack, slinking down on your left side, as though the muscles themselves have loosened too greatly to hold itself up anymore. While you try to comprehend the phenomenon befallen your mortal form, you notice as the Heir walks out directly before you, the sphere of his War Club coated crimson, the vision within its walls hidden behind the Red Veil. He says something, though your ears are ringing too loud to hear him. You stretch the segment of jaw muscles leading up to your ears, thinking you might readjust to hear him better, but as the right half your jawbone is jostled from its resting place, you feel it drag behind much lower than you’d realized. It takes a moment to process, but you realize then that your facial structure has come unhinged, hanging limply before your throat. Oh… you think you get it now… He was gloating, the Heir… He bashed you up real good and things that’s the end of it…

“Mh… Mhmhmhmhmhmhmhmh…” You can’t help but chuckle through what remains of your jaw. He must’ve thought himself a fierce warrior just then. A Destroyer paralleled by No Other. But a simple beating is never enough to put someone like you down. Guys like him should really know better. Although… you just love it when the other shoe drops. “tc… tk… tc… tck… tch… tck…” The squelching noises leaving your throat clue you in on the severity of the damages you’ve sustained so far, the mental image of yourself enters your mind, face half-torn from your skull, muscle and skin and bone all a pulp mess, a living massacre. It’s no matter, however. You’re just about done putting yourself back together. “tich… tck… tich… tock… tick… tock… Tick… Tock… Tick…! Tock…! Tick! Tock! Tick! Tock!” As your sight returns to you fully, your eye Rewinding back into place, you enjoy the confusion on the Heir’s face twist and morph into fear. Seems he finally realizes who he’s up against.

“W-… w-what the hell are you?” He mumbles out, that familiar timidness you’d seen in him the last time you’d sparred returning.

“Your End.”

 

Jason, End him.

Notes:

I hope you are all well this coming 4/13

Chapter 89: > What is a Page to an Heir

End him? Why the hell would you want to do that?! You are Him!

That’s right, chump! You’re Kai Masters, the Heir of Time! Try and keep up, why don’t you! What, you didn’t see? Oh, it was beautiful! In a stunning display of bias, the POV leapt from the Page to the more fitting Heir, rightfully lending its intrinsic plot armor to the more worthy contender in this Strife. Reality is playing favorites right now, and your boy Kai is God’s Favorite Idiot. Not that you’re complaining, you’ll need all the help you can get! That’s not an exaggeration either, because you pretty much fragmented the entire left side skull of the Page dude kneeling before you and now he’s currently… regrowing his face.

You don’t get it! You’d caved half the fuck’s brains in, you damn near lopped his fucking jaw off, so how the hell is he getting back up!? And don’t you dare say Time Shenanigans! Time Shenanigans don’t apply if you’ve got a crater blown into your grey matter! There’s no way he should’ve been conscious enough to activate any powers! Not forgetting the mallet of your Ball Club, Dynasties Deferred, has a destructive aura. It should’ve torn down any ability he was concentrating on in his dome while it was embedded in his bicuspids. Forget it, then! You’ll just have to start from scratch, be more thorough about it this time.

Cocking back, you take a swing at the dickhead’s gourd for the umpteenth time. Maybe if you get deep enough into his head, he’ll stay down! And- Fuck! He’s gone. Disappearing in a blurring drag, the fucker springs back, hopping out of clubbing range, backing up across the deck. Speeding up using clock manipulators. Fast, huh? Okay… okay, you can do Fast. Exciting the timeflow within you, the world slows to a crawl, catching you back up with your opponent, his form unblurring as you enter the same timeframe. Extending his hand out, the dickhead summons another pickaxe while staring you down. There’s… there’s something wrong with his eyes… Flashing different colors like they’re strobe-lights. The hell is with this guy?

Launching forward, Disco Face comes flying in with his spike-prongs faster than you’d anticipated, apparently shifting into a timezone above you before charging. He’s already swinging before you realize how close he’s gotten. Jerking away in a kick response, you practically slip backwards as the metal claws go swiping directly in front of your face. Jeez, that was close! Counter attacking, you fling your club up, knocking him against the side of his head. It wasn’t heavy enough to do major damage, but damn if that confused look on his face after the hit doesn’t feel Good!

Quickly following your attack, the dumbass takes two more swipes for you, but he must be dazed from your hit because he whiffs like he ain’t even aiming for you! His first attack goes wide as you lean back, the second one he slashes down at you, the point of his weapon crashing down past your right leg, embedding in the deck. Slashing back at him, you nail the bitch with a three piece combo! Slapping your club back and forth like you’re painting a masterpiece! So he was all talk after all! Or maybe that Sylph’s Boon really tricked you the fuck out! Whatever the reason, buddyboy just can’t keep up!

Stab after stab for you, you bob and weave your opponent’s attacks, the Page not even able to put a scratch on you! It even looks like he’s slowing down, too! That idiot probably used up all his clockwork energies making himself as fast as he did in the beginning of the Strife. What, did he think he could finish you off before he ran out of time or something? Ha! Fat chance with how he’s been fighting! As you school this fool on how a real Time player Tool throws down, your team regroups on the sidelines.

“Ah…” Hekter moans, pressing a hand against his head to ease the swelling, his face still caked in deep blue blood. “Don’t suppose you could aid me with this, Ignatius?” He asks your residential battery heal-pack as he shambles up.

“Get in line, Shaded.” Aellocy orders as the Page slowly mends her vegetable flesh. Standing just beside them, Iris watches as you dance circles around the opponent that’d been giving them all such a hard time just a moment ago, a skeptical look on her face. Noticing the wind-tunnel she had punched through her chest about the size of a tangerine and the tattered remains of her arm, Hekter turns towards the Dwarf.

“Iridosa. Are you sure you’re well enough to stand?” He asks her as she follows the fight with great interest, your opponent still flailing as he’s practically swiping at the open air now, unable to keep up with your Strife Prowess. He’s gotten so worked up, it looks like he’s burning out now, some kind of magic melting out of him like a faucet.

“I’ll live.” She bluntly replies while seemingly unbothered by her injuries, crossing her arms as she continues to observe. Seeing her intrigue in the fight, Hekter turns to watch alongside her.

“What exactly did you do to him, anyway?” He asks, his face still bloody from the Page’s last attack.

“I reopened a few of his memories he had tucked away.” She answers while seemingly trying to understand why the Strife is going the way it’s going.

“And that’s how he reacted?” Hekter scoffs in astonishment.

“…I may have miscalculated.” Iris mutters as though she were speaking only to herself.

“Well, at least Kai has things under control now.” Hekter lets out a quiet sigh of relief, attempting to look on the bright side.

“No.” The Dryad disagrees. “From the looks of it… the Challenger has our comrade right where he wants him.” Hekter turns to her a moment, deciphering the seriousness in which she’s declared her prediction.

“…Three for Three, huh?” He asks, unsurprised.

A bloody mess now, the Page struggles to stand, yet this dumbass keeps coming at you, his attacks practically aiming for everywhere you’re not at this point. You almost feel bad, haha! Almost! This prick dug his own grave, though. You’ve got no sympathies for someone so cocky yet brainless, and you don’t mind teaching the painful lessons!

“Quick… reflexes…” He compliments while staggering from your last hit, holding himself with a limping leg while trying to catch his breath. “Impressive… if it weren’t a cheap trick.” He taunts now, his head falling to one side while evoking a series of cracks from his neck, those spiraling eyes transfixed on you. “How unfortunate… that I’ve seen right through you…… You keep slipping, don't you…? Won’t last much longer… What a shame…” Taking another clawing slash for you, the battered bastard lurches forward.

“Pretty big talk!” You huff while mid-parry, batting his measly attack away. “For someone who hasn’t landed a single hit!” You counterattack, slamming into his swinging arm, breaking the bone at his bicep. It’s a solid hit… though he doesn’t react to it. His arm goes limp, and he stares down at it, but all he does is look. Not in pain or anger or anything, only a mildly annoyance as he observes the wound.

“Hm… Hmhmhmhm.” He starts to chuckle, reaching over and resetting the bone singlehandedly, echoing out a cringe-evoking -crack- from his arm. “You haven’t realized… the benefits of your Title, have you?” He asks, removing his hand from the broken limb but keeping it there, letting it hover over the injury. “You think you’re this good in a Strife…? A nobody like you…? Don’t make me laugh.” Summoned before his palm, a cog device appears, his finger sinking between the teeth of the mechanical symbol as he grabs hold and begins to twist. As he does, the section of his arm you’d broken begins to shutter, your damage being undone as he turns back the clock. N-… no, wait… he isn’t rewinding his injury. He’s fast forwarding it, speeding up the months required to heal the bone. But… why? “The only reason you draw breath is because Dear Old Dad is playing favorites.” You’ve seen him rewind before, it’s not like that skill isn’t available to him, and how the hell is he pulling something like that off, anyway? Wasn’t he running out of energy just a moment ago? It would only take a small amount of clockwork to undo the broken bone, so why the hell is he wasting multiple dozen weeks worth of energy to go forward? “I thought it strange… how harder it suddenly was to channel my abilities… but it all makes sense, doesn’t it…” Unless… he’s trying to send a message. He isn’t actually running out of power…! “Time is on your Side, after all…”

“What the hell are you talking about?!” You demand to know, on guard now, knowing he’s got some kind of trick up his sleeves. Why would he fake running out of energy just to show you he had more than enough to be wasting months of it?

“A Heir’s Aspect will protect them… the best it can.” He explains while testing the mobility of his reconstructed arm, rotating it a few times around his shoulder as he speaks. “Dampening my powers… leaping back the timeline whenever I get my hands on you, even through the Gridlock.” He laments, a snarl forming beneath the shimmering colors of his eyes. “My own Aspect… betraying me for someone as pathetic as you.” He spits a mouthful of blood to the deck before him. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been stabbed in the back… Oh well…” Crouching down, the Page presses his hand to the deck like he’s prepared for a sprint, his swinging arm holding that damn pickaxe back, ready for his next attack. “It won’t Save you in the End, either way.” Bursting forward, the psycho lunges like a fucking cheetah, his 2xProng Axe swinging over his shoulder, down at you. Easily, you deflect the center of his attack off the side of your club, leaving him to swing past, stabbing down into the floor beside you. However, you’re left confused as your opponent continues on after the parry without stopping, rushing past your flank like he wasn’t even paying attention to you, like his attack missing meant nothing to him. Hurrying to turn back and face him thinking he’s trying another angle of attack, you’re confused to find the Page standing even further back than from where he came rushing in from, completely uninterested in you now. Is he… searching through his inventory? By the time you realize what he’s doing, you watch as he deploys a set of Armor to encase his outfit, Red Metal decorated with Time’s Crest, fortifying his defenses. His cape billows out as it equips, and you can’t help but admire how cool that was. O-okay, but whoop, he’s got armor. You’ll… you’ll just have to hit a bit harder is all! “So I’ll make due without it.” He assures you, captchaloguing his rock-splitter back to his Strife Deck. Before you can question why he’d disarm himself in the middle of a fight, you notice he’s stood just before his other pickaxe, the thing still embedded in the deck of the ship. Placing his hand upon the handle with methodical pace, your opponent reclaims his item, prying it free before turning back to face you, armed again for battle.

“Huh?” You only have a moment to inspect the weapon before its owner appears before you, slamming the top of it against your stomach. “Hng-!” You grunt as the force fully hits you, struggling to keep your lunch down as you go stumbling back. Wincing as your teeth clench, you manage to spot the utensil you were just hit with, confirming what you’d thought at your first glance. “W-what the hell… where did a shitheel like you get a Juju?!” Pausing a moment upon hearing your demand for answers, the Page loosens his stance, glancing down at the item in his hand, casually inspecting it with passing interest, as though a magical artifact doesn’t require reverence or care in how it’s handled!

“Juju, you say?” He asks, surprised at what he’s got. “I found it, more or less. Though where I got it isn’t nearly as interesting as what it does-!” Jabbing the head of his weapon at you once more, you’re struck this time upon the bride of your nose, an immediate gush of blood pouring from your nostrils as the cartilage there breaks. Sneaky Fucker! Pretending to act casual just to set up a cheap shot! “Hmm. I thought so.” He hums to himself as you grip your face.

“Gah! Fuck!” You shout, looking down at your hand as blood stains your palm. Tightening your dirtied mitt into a fist, you look back up at the self-pitying asshole with grit teeth. “All that bullshit about Time protecting me… that melodrama about betrayal! How do you explain this then, smartass?!” You show off your crimson palm to him, spitting the blood pooling in your mouth before it goes pouring down your throat.

“You still can’t tell, huh?” He sneers, laughing at you. “Father Time is still attempting to intervene on your behalf, but Grandpa’s Bootstraps has a rather special property to it. It took me a while to figure it out myself.” He continues, holding his Juju out before him as though to show it off, his fist pointed forward towards you. “It’s a Temporal Vacuum. It draws all forms of Time, naturally occurring or otherwise, into itself. Any sort of tampering to the timestream while in its proximity gets caught in its pull, negating your little intervention trick. In other words;” Suddenly lurching forward at you faster than he’s been attacking up until now, your opponent slashes his Juju out at you with a backhanded swing. You go to bring your guard up to parry him once more, but his movement is too quick to keep up with, you barely even follow it in time to realize he had attacked. Before you even get your club halfway up into a defense hold, you feel it. His attack landed. Your eyes bulge as you feel the point of his 2xProng pierce into jugular, at first like a great pressure pressing into the side of your neck, but that pressure soon pops, snagging into your flesh, gorging your windpipe forwards like you’re about to vomit before tearing out through your adam’s apple, completely ripping open your throat with his slash. “You’re fucked.”

Clamping over your wound, your hands immediately clutch at your neck, covering what you can in a desperate attempt to close the enormous gash torn from your flesh, a sickly warmth pouring over your palms as blood goes flooding from your body like a waterfall. You drop to your knees in your weakened confusion, panic and anguish clawing at the surface of your brain as you try to figure out what to do! Fuck, holy Fuck! You’re… a-are you dying!? Oh g-g-god, it hurts! Every breath is like razor blades shredding down your throat, your neck itself burning with radiating fury. Coughing spasms bellow through your chest as you begin to wretch, your lungs sucking in blood with each breath, drowning in your own ichor. Turn back…! Y-you’ve got to Turn Back! With the little focus you can muster as your entire body flies into adrenaline fueled hysteria, you channel your clockworks to the palm of your hands, a dull glow peering out from beneath your grip.

“Gaghga… guhhng…” You gurgle up through your ripped out throat, slamming your eyes shut as you try to focus on restoring the injury. Dumping more and more energy into the gash, you feel it slowly peel back, opposing sides of your neck-flesh mending back into place until completely knitted together again. “Guh-“ You gasp out with your healed windpipe, taking several deep breaths to assure yourself the life-ender has been completely recalled.

“Hahahahahahahaha! First time you had to do that yourself, huh?” The fucker laughs as you try to get ahold of your trembling hands. “Don’t worry.” He sighs, stepping forward towards where you’d collapsed, rotating his shoulder as though warming it up. “You’ll be getting a lot more practice at it, soon enough.” He’s going to hit you again… He’s going to kill you…! Club… Your Club! You need to defend yourself! “I’ll make sure of it-!” Scurrying to your discarded aggriever, you reclaim Dynasties just as the Page has reached you, his Juju already raised up, about to plunge down into you once more. You can’t block that… The point of his spike will slip straight past, right into your gut…! Freeze… You can freeze him! Reaching out, you grab hold of a Fist full of Timeline, its numerous strands tearing from the Tapestries of Existence like the Staves of sheet music for you to use. Yet before you can direct the raw temporal presence over the area the Page stands, the disco-faced psychopath comes swinging down his Juju, the artifact crashing through the Strands of Time as though they were your shield. Everything freezes in that moment, the Pointed shape of Death the Page uses not a full inch from your chest. You… you got him! You got hi-

 

 

 

 

 

-̷̧̬̘̲̄̏̅̒̇̈́̋̌̕/̴͉͐̊͛͌̈͋̅͋̊͆̈́̽͌̚/̶̼̫̰́̀̂̿̀͊̂̃͝/̶͇̩̮̮̒̓̈́/̴̨͚̖̟͖̱̻̗̯͉̠̖̍̉̓̅͛́̐̾̍̊͌̐̒͜ͅ/̴̫̭͇͈̯̗̟̞̤̤͖͇͇̰̀̉̿̔̂̇̈͋̀̾̎̔͝ͅ/̸̛̘̳̣͈̙̉̀̒̊̾̃̓́̈̅̔̕͝͝/̷̙͕͗̽͆̀/̴̞̙͔̘̭̻̝̙̭̟̝̺̙͚̂͆̈̊̽̃̽̌̑̾̄́̓͊͠/̶͍̘͔̦̞͚̌̾͝/̶̡̞̰̰͇̙̳͑̆̂̄̈́̾̒͒̌̄̌̚͝/̶̢̨̫̼͉̲̰̭͔̑̑̅̃̎̅̓̎̀́̈̕͜/̵̳̫̖̐͂̾͊̔̏̀̈̆̃̌̏́̕̚͜ͅ/̶̠̹͔̰̦̯̜̈́̾̐̾̑͛͗͂̌/̶̛̜̰̼̯͍̻̩͖̮͈͙̍̄͂̅̊̿/̴̯̠̭̟̟̞͓̰͚̪͇̟̙̫̙̂̋̒͐̅̕͘/̶̨̳̹̜̙̯̬̱̈̽͐̐͗̏/̷͎̮͚̻͈͈͔̒͌̎̓/̴̬̫̠̞͒̌̃̓͛͗͛̾̋̋̈́͒͘͝/̴̧͎̲̦̩͎̣̥̞͙̘̬͍̽̈́̄͐́̋́ͅ/̶̰̰͉̳̤̈̄̌̎̽͆̆̈͊̅͌͑-̴̛̝͉̪͆̉̍̿͒͑

 

 

 

 

 

 

It hits you like an Avalanche, like the full frontal force of an entire Blizzard barreling down on top of you. Your recently healed lungs go crumbling into flattened balloons and you feel yourself black out for a moment. By the time you come to again, you realize you’re face down, head half-buried in the ground. Pushing yourself upward, you rip your head back, a heavy layer of dust clinging to your face, hindering your ability to orientate to your surroundings. You try to speak, but find your mouth full, a coarse substance packing your gob to its absolute brim, drying out your tongue the moment you realize you’re gagged. Spitting up all that clots your chew fold, a stockpile of sand goes spewing out of you, pouring into the crater your face left in the ground. Staring down at the pile of fine powder that’s just left you, beyond confused, you realize you’re no longer on your ship anymore. Looking out at the entirely new horizon you’ve found yourself before, you’re met with a skyline of half-sunken skyscraper ruins peeking out from the dunes of a vast desert.

“Wha…?” You mutter while gazing out at the expansive terrain. “W-where-?”

“The Land of Rust and Hourglasses.” You hear the Page answer your question before you can ask it. Quickly realizing you’re still in the middle of a Strife, you twist around, hand gripped tight on Dynasties. You see him there, stood upon the dune, looking out before the constructed tower of some player’s home reaching high up into the sky off in the distance beside him. He gazes up at the enormous structure, a vague look of amusement or curiosity in his flux eyes. “My Land.” He turns to you now, though your focus falls to the Juju lingering down by his side, a nervous caution of it now. “Looks like Time is still trying to keep you kicking. It tried sending you back to a safer point in your Chronology, but… seems there was a Snag in the Plan, and we ended up in my time-stream.” He laughs under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief while carelessly tossing the Juju into twirling spins within his grasp, slowly beginning to circle towards your left flank. “This Pick is more than meets the eye, don’t you think? Guess I lucked-out finding this thing.” He swishes it back and forth down by his side, carelessly swinging it like a fucking easter basket. Cocky mother fucker… a mental case like him doesn’t deserve to have an Artifact of such Sacred Consequence!

“If you actually believe the shit you’re saying, then this Strife is already over!” You shout at the freak, his strobing glance following your every twitching move as you aim your club at the approaching adversary. “Fate is on my side, you don’t stand a chance going against our Aspect!” Stopping in his tracks, the Page pauses a moment, contemplating your warning, yet he doesn’t back off. Instead, his attention drifts to the ground, flashing eyes suddenly gleaming with an idea.

“Yeah, you have a pretty big player in your corner…” His focus flicks back up to you. “But I’ve got the home field advantage.” Shooting his swinging arm up, the Page holds his Juju to the sky for all the desert to see, its glimmering crimson reflecting off golden rays of light before he sends it slamming down, the pointed prong of the pick piercing into the surface of the dune before you. Brought into existence upon the Juju’s decree, the ground itself suddenly splits, a great ravine shattering into reality under your very feet. The sand falls first, the precursor pouring into the vacuous gap summoned before the world swallows you whole.

“Shiiiiii-!“ You yelp before falling through, partly smothered by the plummeting sands as you’re brought deep into the underground. You’ve got no idea how far down this pit goes, but you’ve already been falling too long for the landing not to be fatal. You’re screwed if you don’t do something fast! What was it that fucker said Time was doing for you? Leaping back the Timeline? You aren’t in the Arena anymore… which means there’s no holds on Time Travel! That dumb prick’s got no idea the can of worms he just opened up for himself! Kicking your Clockworks into gear, you summon your Gears to your hands, readying a Jump! Haha, it’s been too Long! Surging into the Past, you shoot through the time-stream like a fish finally returned to its river! Let’s see how smug that asshole will be when an Entire Army is there to meet him on his ‘home field’, see how much of an advantage he has then- “ACK!” Ramming to a halt, you feel as though you’re smashed on the head, as if flying head first into a concrete ceiling. Suddenly flopping down, you hit the sand once again, your torso thumping against the slanted side of a dune, the ground beneath you beginning to sift and slide you down once more. Shit! You’re back on the surface, but you’ve only jumped back to the lip of the ravine, you’re falling back in again!

“Here.” You hear just as a biting fang tears into the mid of your back, hooking you and hoisting you up by your spine. “Let me give you a hand.” The Page maliciously laughs as he drags you from the pit.

“Aah…Aagh!” You wail as the crook of his pike grinds against bone and organ alike, the most briefest reprieve coming as you’re settled on solid ground.

“Y’know, I always wondered where this cavern came from.” The Page begins so speak while admiring the chasm, his words barely registering with you as the radiating heat eating at your back sends your brain into a pounding scramble. “It just showed up out of nowhere one day without notice. There are catacombs at the bottom… I always wrote it off as a timed event revealing a new dungeon. Funny that, right?” As the freak continues to chew your ear off while lingering above your proned station, you feel as he suddenly begins to twist the Juju, its spike gorging on your flesh with reckless abandon, ripping and tearing… Ripping and Tearing! Fuck…! Y-you’ve got to get him off of you…!

“Do you ever… shut Up!?” You growl through gnashing teeth, shifting your clockwork configuration into Reverse as you try to pull the Page’s weapon back to a point it wasn’t fucking impaling you! Summoned around the spear stabbing into you, two Gear illusions glow to life, a whining -whirl- as they spin, grinding against the point of the Juju’s prong as they attempt to invoke a reversal to the force grinding it down into you.

“Oh?” The Page hums, curious wha-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

-̸͖̤͈̯̮̥̩̓̊͆̀̉̐͋̈̿͝\̵̨̠̬͕̮̆\̴̬̠̟̦͇̯̲̼̫͚̌̽͜ͅ\̶̼̑̓̈́̌̂́͐̉̾͗͝\̸̧̛̥͙̘͈̘̖͇͉̩̭͉̱̰̮̊̔͗̎̇͊̐̽̀̇̽͝\̶̙̅́͊̓̽̀́\̵̨͇̥̋͑̈́̊̓̿̑͗̂͂͘͘͠͝͠\̵̨͚̫͕̰͎̜͙̙̫̥͈́̌̃͐̓̉̄̈̚\̵̧̜̞̹̈́̋̈́̏͗̄̕\̵̖͈̮̤̀́̎͆̃̕͝\̶̧̩̗̞͚̣̺͖͇̀͐̅͒̐̈́͛̓̒͛̾͑̀͑̃\̶̛̼̦̟̫̹̖̅͒͐̔̆̽̋͒̌̈́̽͂\̵͉̐̈́̅͝\̵̧̧̛̹̞̱̟̖̫̯͚̦͍̲̓̓͂̇̒͗̓̈̄̕\̶̝͚͕̜̪́̃̒̋̅̊̌̀̉̄̂̈́̔͘̕͜\̴̢̨̧̨̢̱̤͙̩̬̱̟̑̀̈̔̿̒̒̆\̸̝̺̤̥̺͓̘̍̈́̈̅̍̊͛̆̈́\̷̯͊̂͋̕\̸̬͔͔͇̌̊͋͛̂̍̈́͂̏̅̇͘͝ͅ\̶͓̑̔̿̎\̴̧̧̛͈͚͉̖͉͚̀̑́͂̄̅̑͘ͅ-̸̢̹̼̙̬̱͓͇̞̟͕̘̟̱̠͂̓͝

 

 

 

 

 

 

Struck with a sudden burst of force, you go flying back, launched with a backlash of kinetic propulsion that damn near breaks a rib. Landing on your back, you touch down a lot softer than you were expecting, your fall broken with an unusual amount of cushioning.

“Hu-! Hu! Ho-fuck…!” Panicking a moment, you look yourself over in search of any lingering injuries still inflicted upon your front and back, calming enough to get ahold of yourself when you find your form completely rejuvenated once more. Assured that your bodily health is not in direct peril, you look around, finding yourself transported somewhere new in spacetime yet again. Wait… you’ve seen this place before. You’re back in the Arena, on one of the Space planets, a nighttime sky hanging overhead as a gentle atmosphere fills the air.

Glancing down beneath you, confused what’d softened your fall, you find you’ve landed in a bed of flowers beside a garden wall. A whole nursery, in fact, oh wow. These are… dang it, what strand are these ones again? They’re in the Iris family, you’re pretty sure. What did Sheila call them, something like… Ah! Gladioluses! They’re Gladioluses. Red ones, and they’re being strangled by an invading strand of Red Hyacinths, faint hues of purple staining the bottoms of their petals as they stage a full frontal assault on the nursery. There’s also a strand of short-stemmed Black and Purple Dahlias tucked beneath each of the Hyacinths, some kind of mutant fusion of the two separate flowers. Cross breeding, maybe? There’s a perimeter of Beige Orchids surrounding the whole flowerbed as well. What is all this anyway? And where did that Page g-crack-!

“I don’t stand a chance, was it?” Your opponent asks, the dull sting of his boot still biting at your cheek after clipping you with a kick, leaving you stunned a moment before your head goes banging against the wall behind you. You’re face-down now in the flowerbed, contemplating a distinct, penny-like taste in your mouth right before you’re kicked once more, this time in the ribs, flipping you back over again. “That’s funny. Because from where I’m standing, I’ve got-… m-more…” Hearing a stutter in his insane ravings, your attention focuses through your discombobulated senses to find the Page standing there, a shift in his stance. His stature not quite as high as it used to be as the cycling strobes in his eyes begins to diminish, vacillating slower with each passing change of their color. “…than… enough…?” He trails off, the shifting power completely leaving his sockets, a confused look replacing it as the prick looks himself over, seeming to realize he’s run out of Mojo. “Fuck.” Seizing the moment while you can, you blur to your feet, Dynasties dragging with you as you ascend, knocking against the psychotic bastard’s chin in an uppercut, sending him fumbling back!

“What’s wrong, dickhead?” You ask the Page, strafing into his flank and cracking him in his side. Flailing about in retaliation, the dazed idiot tries swinging at you with his Juju, not realizing you’re already on his other side, striking him thrice more before he can realize. “Run out of Time!?” Bounding around your opponent, you batter the Page in a barrage of hit until finally, taking Dynasties by both hands, you crack him upside the head with the most Grand-Slam, Swing-for-the-Fences, Home-Run hit to the dome you’ve got in you, evoking a shattering -CRACK- to come ringing from his skull. Launched like a missile from your hit, the Page goes barreling through the nearby garden wall, smashing through the ivy-laden stone like it were a stack of cardboard boxes. “Or maybe you just aren’t as tough as you think you are without that Bitch’s power up.” You scoff, following the Page out through the rift in the wall you’d sent him through. Emerging on the other side, you’ve walked out to a large cliffside promenade overlooking a valley with an impossibly steep mountain at its center. The Forge? Didn’t someone blow that bitch up? Whatever, you’ve got no time to contemplate volcanic buttes and their supposed destruction while your opponent still draws breath.

Marching over to where the Page landed, his head hanging back as he lies crumpled upon the rubble throne of the wall you’d sent him through, you hear the idiot mumble something about plans and deadlines. You pay no attention to it. The ramblings of a deadman were never your concerns anyway. Pouncing upon him, you send your Club reaming across the defeated’s face with your entire weight, knocking a few teeth out in the process. Springing out, the Page’s hand lurches forward, reflexively seizing the center of your Club in an attempt to wrestle it from you. Ugh, this shit again. Get the hell off, you smarmy cu-

==========ZAP====>

Huh? Where… where did you go? No, not you you, Kai you. You were just him a second ago, but now you’re an amorphous presence drifting about negativespace, lingering above the battered Page of Time. The hell just happened?

“Keep your distance, sir.” A voice catches your attention, turning your visual sensors forward towards the cliffs. There you see a Purple Hued Sprite floating beside a park bench gazing out at the valley, a confused looking girl sat upon the resting place glancing back. Oh, well would you look who it is. Samantha Goodman and her Maid Ameliasprite, the Ghostly woman drifted before her Ward, index finger extended out, pointed directly for where your non-body floats, the digit still smoldering from the laser beam she’d just fired. Quickly looking back in the opposite direction of her point, you see where the person you were being now resides, crashed back through the garden wall, hitting the ground and dragging upon the floor until he comes to a stop beyond the freshly-minted threshold. Damn. Hit him so hard, she knocked the POV off him.

“Mr Greene, are you alright?” Samantha rises from her bench seat, stepping over to where Jason sits, propped up just enough for his head to hang limply back, allowing for him to watch the upside-down Life Seer approach.

“H-hey girls…” Jason greets the gentlewomen, a shaky tone of discombobulation in his voice as the world likely spins for him. “What are you two doing here?”

“Waiting to see if you could destroy the Forge or not.” She plainly states, staring down at the Page while hovering just above his head. “Is this individual an associate of yours?” She asks, looking out through the hole Kai was shot through.

“The dude almost caved my skull in, why would you think he’s my associate?” Jason squints his eyes at the Seer, a mix of annoyance and confusion on his face.

“Oh, come now. We’ve all had our fair share of attempts on our lives made by close friends.” She tsks, reaching down to grab hold of Jason by under his arms, hoisting him up from the pieces of wall he lay sprawled out upon. “Try not to take everything so personally.”

“No, he’s not my friend.” The Page clarifies with a huff, wiping the blood off his lip.

“Do you require our assistance?” Ameliasprite inquires, slowly floating over to where the two Ascended are by the fragmented wall.

“No, this guy is strong, but I had him on the ropes.” Jason shakes his head, his attention focused on the Heir of Time as he slowly shakes off the hit that separated you from him. “I’m missing something, though. Mia, she… did something. Drove me out of my mind, I think.”

“How absolutely unthinkable.” Samantha sarcastically comments while side-eying her Maid.

“Jason.” Ameliasprite speaks up from beside her Ward. “I take it by your apparel that this Strife is a rather pivotal one?”

“More than any other.” He nods, a determined look in his eyes, fist clutched through the gauntlet that covers it.

“Is that armor even real?” Samantha quietly questions, leaning in to inspect the red metal that encases him.

“Then you needn’t say more.” Ameliasprite simply hums, light and joyful as she floats closer to the Page, placing her hand against his forehead as though checking his temperature. “Take a deep breath, dear.” She instructs before a sudden surge of power enflames her hand, a scorching aura erupting into existence in large plumes of flame, and the Page jerks as though struck in the stomach, a kick reflex as the breath is ejected from his chest.

“HNNG!” Jason grunts as he struggles, an overwhelming force throwing his entire form into trembling spasms that he fights to control. “W-what is… w-w-what-”

“Just a moment.” The Sprite assures him, resting her other hand upon his shoulder to keep him steady. Catching your attention, you notice a stirring coming from behind the Phantasmal Maid as she invokes her spell. Turning, you find Kai has recovered from the beam that’d knocked you out of his head, rising up from the crumpled mound he’d been left in with his war-club by his side. Stepping out through the breach in the wall, the Heir of Time rejoins the strife-grounds, ready for his payback.

“Hohoho, lady, you just made the biggest mistake of your-“ Winding up a swing with his club, the Heir lunges for the Sprite, her back turned to him as he approaches. Though, his attack would never land, a blurring force lurching forward to meet him, gauntleted hand snatching him by the wrist, halting his attacking advance. Reached out from behind the Phantom peaks a Spirit of Death, smile growing across his lips as his eyes burn with a maddening presence. “Life?”

“I sincerely doubt that, young man.” The Maid politely refutes, excusing herself from out of the Page’s way. With his path unburdened, Jason thrusts forward his free hand, clutching grasp seizing the Heir by his throat, and with a turning pivot of his entire stance, he hurls his opponent as though he were an Olympian commencing a hammer-throw. “And I’m technically not alive!” Ameliasprite calls after him as he goes plummeting past the edge of the cliff, her hand at the side of her lips to project her voice so that the Heir might hear her still. Not wasting a moment, Jason moves forward, intent on following after Kai.

“Will you be alright, Mr Greene?” Samantha asks the Page as he goes marching past the Girl and her Guardian, lazily laying claim upon the Juju; Grandpa’s Bootstraps as he travels by, grip draping over its handle and dragging it with him mid-walk.

“I’m more than capable of scraping mud like him off my boot on my own.” He spits, not a break in his stride. Tightening the grip on the Cataclysmic Utensil in his grasp, the biting power burning in the dents of the young man’s skull is compelled to change, spiraling through a series of flashing colors, returning to a more familiar visage before the Page leaps from the ledge, pursuing after the Heir.

“Always running off, that one.” Ameliasprite muses, pressing a hand to her cheek in exacerbation over the boy. “I do hope he stays safe this time.” While her Guardian waxes wishfully, the young Seer is suddenly sent into a panic as an enormous -trembling- overtakes the ground. Looking up, her view is greeted by the Apocalyptic sight of an entire mountain’s worth of fragmenting wreckage being tossed up into the air, left to soar about the night sky as the fireball from the inciting explosion dies out.

“Wh- What?! We missed it?!” Samantha shouts as what remains of the Forge bloom out like the world’s largest firework. “God… Damn it All!”

“Watch your tongue, ma’am.” Her Maid dutifully reminds her.

“It was the whole reason we came out here…” The Seer mutters under her breath, folding her arms in a pout. You gaze out at the scene of shredded volcano as the debris begins to rain down on the valley beside the Girl and her Guardian a moment longer before you remember… wasn’t there something you were supposed to be doing…? Oh Shit, the Strife!

Racing forward, you zoom past the edge of the cliff, diving down into the free fall after the two Champions of Time. Just below, Kai has attempted to save himself by slowing time around him, easing his plummet into a sinking drift. Unfortunately for the Heir, Jason shoots full-throttle like a mother fucking missile, paracausal artifact cocked back above his head, already prepared for his next attack on his opponent. Going as fast as your little wisp body can take you down into the museum valley trench, you stretch yourself juust long enough to reach the scene before the Page catches up, landing upon Kai in a drop-kick to the stomach that folds the boy in half, his Juju swinging down not a moment later, striking true into the Heir’s skull like he’s teeing off a golf swing. In the mix of Temporal Fluctuations, as Time itself attempts to pivot to a more favorable outcome on Kai’s behalf, and Grandpa’s Bootstraps pulls all changes to local chronology into its clutches like an unyielding Black Hole, the ensuing backlash slingshots the duo once more across the vast existence of Paradox Space, and the two Time-Bound Players go tumbling down a local vector in the Timeline.

 

 

 

 

 

 

-̷̧̬̘̲̄̏̅̒̇̈́̋̌̕/̴͉͐̊͛͌̈͋̅͋̊͆̈́̽͌̚/̶̼̫̰́̀̂̿̀͊̂̃͝/̶͇̩̮̮̒̓̈́/̴̨͚̖̟͖̱̻̗̯͉̠̖̍̉̓̅͛́̐̾̍̊͌̐̒͜ͅ/̴̫̭͇͈̯̗̟̞̤̤͖͇͇̰̀̉̿̔̂̇̈͋̀̾̎̔͝ͅ/̸̛̘̳̣͈̙̉̀̒̊̾̃̓́̈̅̔̕͝͝/̷̙͕͗̽͆̀/̴̞̙͔̘̭̻̝̙̭̟̝̺̙͚̂͆̈̊̽̃̽̌̑̾̄́̓͊͠/̶͍̘͔̦̞͚̌̾͝/̶̡̞̰̰͇̙̳͑̆̂̄̈́̾̒͒̌̄̌̚͝/̶̢̨̫̼͉̲̰̭͔̑̑̅̃̎̅̓̎̀́̈̕͜/̵̳̫̖̐͂̾͊̔̏̀̈̆̃̌̏́̕̚͜ͅ/̶̠̹͔̰̦̯̜̈́̾̐̾̑͛͗͂̌/̶̛̜̰̼̯͍̻̩͖̮͈͙̍̄͂̅̊̿/̴̯̠̭̟̟̞͓̰͚̪͇̟̙̫̙̂̋̒͐̅̕͘/̶̨̳̹̜̙̯̬̱̈̽͐̐͗̏/̷͎̮͚̻͈͈͔̒͌̎̓/̴̬̫̠̞͒̌̃̓͛͗͛̾̋̋̈́͒͘͝/̴̧͎̲̦̩͎̣̥̞͙̘̬͍̽̈́̄͐́̋́ͅ/̶̰̰͉̳̤̈̄̌̎̽͆̆̈͊̅͌͑-̴̛̝͉̪͆̉̍̿͒͑

 

 

 

 

 

 

Crashing down with all the grace and dignity of an underpaid dish-boy dumping last week’s trash, you land straight on your ass, a panic in your breath as you feel yourself over again, searching for any death-wounds still lingering about your tapestry. You’re… you’re okay still…! Reinvigorated once more, you search your surroundings for that prick before he can get the jump on-HOLY SHIT YOU’RE HIGH UP!

Looking down, you find yourself some thousand-plus feet in the air, sat upon one of the upper branches of a gargantuan tree larger than any mountain you’ve seen. And while the width of the branch you’re on is as wide as a street, you’ve found yourself startlingly close to the edge, leaving you to scamper upon slipping soles towards the center of your platform. With a bit more footing under your footing, you investigate further, finding an entire landscape of deep forestry saturating the world, the entire planet covered in green. Gazing out in astonishment, you soak in the sight of the horizon as the wind blows through the enormous branches. It appears that while foliage is plentiful on this planet, there are only a handful of these enormous trees about the place, only twelve or thirteen present on the skyline from where you’re standing.

“W-w.. Where the hell am I now?” You beseech the forces that’ve brought you to this point for some kind of an answer.

 

 

The Land of Lush and Roots

 

“It doesn’t matter.” A call comes from above before you hear something drop down behind you. “You’re a dead man either way.” Whipping around, you discover the Page has found you once more, not wasting another moment before he’s tearing at you with the enormous hook of his Juju. You have to dive to the side to avoid being backed away off the ledge of your branch by his assault. Keeping on you, though, you’re still pushed back as the relentless fuck slices at you, seeming even more intent on carving you up than he did during his first round of Psychotic Disco Eyes. Damn it! How the hell is he doing this?! Even as far away from it as you are, you can still feel your Clockworks being sapped out of you by that Juju, and the fucker has it in his literal hands! How is he not bone-dry at this point? Forget it, no time to focus on that now. If things keep going the way they are, you’ll be in serious trouble. You don’t like doing this, but… if it means getting an edge over this fucker, you’ll gladly write an I.O.U. to a You from the neighboring timelines. Taking a heavy swing in his off-step, you clash Dynasties against the side of the freak’s guard hard enough to stagger him a step back, giving you an opening to spring away. At a safe enough distance, you focus your clockworks into a dual set of cogs, their teeth interlinked in rigid unison. Shifting the two back and forth in opposing directions, the metal pieces clang against one another in rhythmic ticking, emitting a telltale chime, signaling to the countless surrounding Strings that Comprise the Flow of Time that you are enlisting aid from an Alternate Self, the added promise that you’ll do the same when called upon intrinsic to the charter. Ha! Let’s see how he.. handles… a 2v… 1… where the hell are you? No, not You You, Alt-You! Other Kai! He should be here by now, but… Oh… oh come on man! That asshole has jumped at every opportunity to have you owe him one, what the hell is he piss-shy for now?! Fine then, he doesn’t want a Favor from you, but what about all the others? You’ve never had a request go unanswered like this before, so what’s the deal?! Why aren’t the other Yous answering?! Unless… you’re the only You in this Reality… Oh shit, you’re not in the Arena, are you.

As the realization dawns on you that you’d completely wasted your time in this maneuver, Disco Freak comes swinging in, his hook clipping you on the shoulder, carving down and bisecting your bicep. You’d strike back at him to retaliate, but he got you in your swinging arm.

“GUAAAH! Fuck! You Fuck!” You spit at the bastard as you abscond from your position, rushing further down the branch towards the trunk of the tree to get away from the stab-happy prick. As you go, you focus your clockworks into retrograde, winding your body like a clock, forcing the hands back to when you were more whole, healing the injury as it’s rewound from your shoulder. With your swing-limb put back in place, you pivot on a dime, twisting around with Dynasties dragging behind you, clashing against the Page’s temple by the time you fully turn, though the hit barely seems to phase him. Swinging on the backhand, you take another crack for his skull, but are parried away by a counter-slash from his Juju, putting you back on the defensive as he presses forward. Falling further and further back, you eventually reach the end of your rope as your back hits the trunk of the tree, leaving you between a cock and a bark place.

“Time is Running Out, you Worm.” He cleaves for your head, the pointed spear of the Juju slamming into the tree trunk at your back as you drop down, bits of bark raining on top of you after narrowly avoiding another spiking. “Cheap Tricks won’t be enough to save you!” Attempting to pull back for another swing, the Page suddenly jerks to a stop, fastened where he stands. Glancing up, you find the moron’s Juju has gotten stuck in the tar-like sap of the enormous tree, anchoring him in place. Seizing the opening while you can, you jab your club straight up into the mouth of your opponent. Pushed back a step, the Page is separated from the Juju as it remains embedded in the tree. Ensuring he stays separated from the weapon, you place your foot against the bastard’s stomach and shove him back, casting him away further down the branch. With him gone, you turn back to the Juju, taking hold and prying it free with all your might, claiming the Artifact for yourself.

“Pretty rich to talk shit about cheap tricks when you’ve got a game-breaking hack like this in your pocket.” You grumble to yourself as you struggle to hold the hefty weight of the item, the thing burning in your hand as you hold it. Recovered from your shove, the Page lingers where you’d tossed him, teeth grinding as he watches you get handsy with the Juju, infuriated at seeing you place your paws all over his weaponry. Seeing him hesitating to rush back in, you can’t help but laugh at his helplessness. “Not so fearless without your Juju, huh?!” You shout across the divide as you wave the Magical Artifact in his face. As you do, though, you feel a twinge of pain start to cramp its way up your forearm. Jesus, holding this thing is like dipping your hand in battery acid. How the hell does he use something like this? Completely in your possession now, it crosses your mind to just chuck the thing off the side of the Tree and be rid of it for good, but… damn it, you can’t! Sure, it might be dangerous to keep, but an Arcane Antiquity as powerful as the one in your hands, you can’t just cast a thing like that out to the wayside! That’s like a sin or something! To waste such an opportunity and let Fate decide where it’ll end up? Ridiculous. No, You will be the one to decide where the Juju ends up, and it’s high time an Entity of this caliber has a proper owner.

Resolved in your decision to claim ownership on your new Juju, you face off with the disarmed Page once more, and-… and he’s not looking at you… Turning to your opponent, expecting him to be ready for another Round, you find the asshole not even paying attention! Busy gazing off to the left side of the branch you’re both standing on. What the hell, man! This is a Strife, isn’t it? Just because you got one over on him, he suddenly isn’t interested? What the hell is he even staring at, anyways? Following his gaze you find-

“What’s all this now?” Looking up as well, you spot a figure floating above you just beside your branch, a bladeless hilt in his hand and flowing blue cape blowing in the wind behind him as he slowly lowers down from his invisible perch in the sky. “Where did you two come from?” Lifting the pilot goggles he’s got on, the stranger gets a better look at the situation, a confused expression on his face as he peers down at you and the Page. A Knight… that’s the Knight of Breath, isn’t i-CRACK-

“Awh!” You exclaim as you’re struck across the jaw, the Page having run up on you while you were distracted by the appearance of another Player. Stunned from the hit, you feel as the Juju is ripped from your hands, reclaimed by Disco Face, once again. Okay, maybe you should’ve just chucked the thing when you had the chance. Regretting the actions you’ve taken to end up at this current junction, you wince in cringing anticipation as you see the Page reel back his curved lance, about to bring its spike down on your neck this time.

“Whoa!” The Knight exclaims, suddenly springing to action as he swipes his Swordless Sword forward upon seeing the Page about to behead you. Evoked form the Hilt of his Hilt is a vector of wind, an enormous blade in and of itself which extends the distance between him and the disco-faced psycho, clashing upon the hook of his Juju before he can send it swinging forward. Parrying him back, the Knight swishes his elongated sword towards the Page, sending him gently gliding away upon a powerful breeze, setting him down further back on the branch. Landing between you and him, the Knight faces the bloodthirsty bastard on your behalf, hands up to try and ease him off as he starts marching towards you again. “Easy now, friend! Someone could get hur-“ Shooting forward faster than he can react, the Page closes the distance between him and the Knight, grabbing hold of the Third-Party by his cape and flinging him off the side of the branch.

“Stay out of my way, Blue boy.” He growls as the Knight flips over himself, stabilizing with a sudden stop while midair, returning to a floating hover.

“That’s a bit rude, don’t you think?” The Knight scoffs back, stunned at the brash nature in which he’d been brushed off with. His path unburdened now, the freak charges forward towards you, his form blurring as he accelerates his timestream. Producing the clockworks to match it, you speed yourself up just in time to meet his first attack, Dynasties clashing with his Juju as you block the bulk of the hit. His swing is heavy, though, knocking you off step as you stumble to the side. Before you can get your footing again, he jabs for you, shoving the enormous top of the weapon into your guard, nearly knocking you on your ass. Not quick enough in your recovery, your opponent is able to take an extraordinarily large wind-up before his third strike slams into you. You’d manage to put up enough of a guard to catch the spike before it goes barreling through your chest, but the sheer weight of the hit is enough to send you flying. You actually feel the ground leave beneath your feet as you’re hurled clear off the branch you were on.

“Ooh Shit!” You panic as you look down, seeing the atmospheric fall before you.

“I gotcha!” You hear as you’re suddenly seized by the armpits, the Knight swooping in to catch you, his goggles back down to shield his eyes from the windspeeds. Sweeping down with you in his grasp, you’re dropped off by your savior on the adjacent branch lower on the tree. You fumble forward through the first few steps before you catch your footing again, your grip on Dynasties tightening to try and keep your hands from trembling. Glancing back, you watch as the Knight floats back up, lingering between your branch and the Page’s. “Y’know, you’re very cavalier with the safety of others, pal.” He scolds, looking up as the psycho peers down at you, eyes still shimmering like some kind of fucked-up owl.

“Hey, you tell that freak to stay away from me if he knows what’s good for him, you hear!” You shout up at the Knight, Dynasties brandished at your side to show you mean business. Hearing your threats, the Breath player turns to say something in return, however as soon as his eyes leave the Page, the mental case suddenly leaps out off the edge of his branch into the open air, dropping down on top of the Knight’s shoulders to his shocked surprise, using him as a stepping stone to spring-off from, vaulting the rest of the way down to your branch, landing just across the way. A-ah… fuck. Okay, you got this still. Get your game face on! Readying your club, you rush forward, making the first move in hopes that fortune will favor the bold in this fight! Without needing much persuasion, the Page charges for you in turn, his Juju cocked back like the scythe of a praying mantis. Yet before you can clash once more, the Knight rushes in, setting down between you both, hands extended out to keep you separated. With him in your way, you and the Page halt your advances, lingering at opposing sides of the Breath Player.

“Fellas, please, try and see reason!” He pleads, quickly glancing between the two of you as he tries to broker peace. “There’s no need to fight, can’t you guys just talk it out like civilized adults?”

“We’re like seventeen, dude!” You disregard his appeals, charging forward regardless of who’s in your way.

“You’re only as old as you act!” He declares while shooting back, flying out of your way before you can go through him. Unobstructed now, you accelerate your flow, speeding towards the Page.

“Only as old… as you act…?” You hear his mutter as his eyes follow after the Knight, completely lost in thought as you get the jump on him. Slamming Dynasties across his face, the Page’s head is knocked at a diagonal angle, his neck stretching like its rubber trying to keep up with it.

“How you like them bells, Bitch?!” You cheer, boasting at the solid hit as you watch him stumble away. Twirling Dynasties into a reverse grip, you send your club swinging up, clipping the Page’s chin in an uppercut while he’s still recovering. “Try to get your head in the game!” You laugh as you bring Dynasties above your head, prepared to hammer down on the top of your opponent’s skull. However, before you can send the final blow down into his greymatter, your club snags on something behind you, halting your swing before it can build up any momentum. Glancing back, you find the Knight at your rear, clutching the Ball of your Club, keeping it in place.

“I don’t know who you red guys are, but wouldn’t you say this is going a step too far?” He asks with a stern voice. Closer now, you notice the Bladeless Hilt the Knight had been wielding has been replaced by a set of Riveted Cestus on his mitts, getting a front row seat to the wraps as he palms your armament. Before you can shake the jackass off of you, there comes a sudden burning cut across your stomach, followed by a sudden release of pressure as the Page cleaves open your lower torso.

“Aagh, God DAmnit!” You shout, pushing off of the Knight who’d kept you steady for the freak, already reversing your body’s state to a more intact timeframe.

“Is he gonna be alright?!” You hear the Knight urgently ask in shock as he watches you stumble away.

“You. Who are you?” The Page demands, pointing his Juju at the Breath player, a whole lot that’d do to a non-Time Bound. Regardless, any distraction is a welcome one, giving you a few seconds without that prick on your back. With a little strain, you successfully rewind your opened torso before any of the important bits can start spilling out. Ha! You’re getting better at this healing thing! Back into fighting shape, you turn back, ready to get back in the fight!

“Me?” The Knight points to himself. “Uh, well, just a well intended bystander, I suppos-“

“Your name?” Disco Face clarifies with a growl. “What is it?”

“Oh! It’s-“ You don’t let him get his answer, appearing behind the Page in a blur, you slam your club head into the fuck, full force! Shoved from where he stands, you completely knock the arrogant shithead from the branch!

“Ha!” You can’t help but celebrate as you see the exact moment it registers on his color-strobing face that he’s about to take a dive! “Enjoy the f-“ Before your sick ass one-liner can fully grace the world around you with its presence, you feel as the curve of the Page’s Juju hooks behind your neck, and you are suddenly pulled forward alongside him. “-uuuUUCK!” Ripped from the branch of the Gigatree you’d first appeared on, you and your relentlessly Undying dickhead of an opponent go tumbling off into a free fall, leaving the Knight of Breath to watch in confusion as you drop.

“Enjoy the Fuck?” He repeats your ill-formed words before he realizes that you had, in fact, both fallen off from a very high place. “Oh Shoot!” He exclaims before diving off the branch as well, zooming after your plummeting pair. “Hang on, Fellas!” He calls after as he races to catch up. You barely hear what he’d said, your entire collection of higher motor functions too focused on trying to think your way out of this mess. Wait! You aren’t in the Arena again! All you have to do is Jump Back Through Time! Clashing Dynasties against the Page’s forward guard, you fence the Juju from off your back, freeing yourself from his grasp before beginning to disincorporate, falling back into the Timestream and leaving your opponent to his own devices as he continues to crash to the world. Yet even as your fall slows and his seems to grow faster and faster, a sly smile forms on the Page’s face, and the scheming bastard reorients the grip on his Artifact, twisting the Juju around so that the spike protrudes from the bottom of his elbow. Just as you’re questioning what he’s trying to accomplish, the gap between you growing all the more greater, your opponent reaches back and grabs hold of his cape, wrapping it around his off-hand and extending out his arm. In the second it takes you to comprehend his maneuver, the Page’s Makeshift Wingsuit suddenly catches on the updraft he’d been falling through, and he goes barreling towards you, taloned elbow swinging up as he closes the distance. “I’ve got-“

 

 

 

 

 

 

-̸͖̤͈̯̮̥̩̓̊͆̀̉̐͋̈̿͝\̵̨̠̬͕̮̆\̴̬̠̟̦͇̯̲̼̫͚̌̽͜ͅ\̶̼̑̓̈́̌̂́͐̉̾͗͝\̸̧̛̥͙̘͈̘̖͇͉̩̭͉̱̰̮̊̔͗̎̇͊̐̽̀̇̽͝\̶̙̅́͊̓̽̀́\̵̨͇̥̋͑̈́̊̓̿̑͗̂͂͘͘͠͝͠\̵̨͚̫͕̰͎̜͙̙̫̥͈́̌̃͐̓̉̄̈̚\̵̧̜̞̹̈́̋̈́̏͗̄̕\̵̖͈̮̤̀́̎͆̃̕͝\̶̧̩̗̞͚̣̺͖͇̀͐̅͒̐̈́͛̓̒͛̾͑̀͑̃\̶̛̼̦̟̫̹̖̅͒͐̔̆̽̋͒̌̈́̽͂\̵͉̐̈́̅͝\̵̧̧̛̹̞̱̟̖̫̯͚̦͍̲̓̓͂̇̒͗̓̈̄̕\̶̝͚͕̜̪́̃̒̋̅̊̌̀̉̄̂̈́̔͘̕͜\̴̢̨̧̨̢̱̤͙̩̬̱̟̑̀̈̔̿̒̒̆\̸̝̺̤̥̺͓̘̍̈́̈̅̍̊͛̆̈́\̷̯͊̂͋̕\̸̬͔͔͇̌̊͋͛̂̍̈́͂̏̅̇͘͝ͅ\̶͓̑̔̿̎\̴̧̧̛͈͚͉̖͉͚̀̑́͂̄̅̑͘ͅ-̸̢̹̼̙̬̱͓͇̞̟͕̘̟̱̠͂̓͝

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You?” The Knight finishes as you’re shunted back into Space.

You come to on your feet this time, feeling as though a heavy force had shoved into your chest. Searching your surroundings, you find yourself amidst a dense black forest, the space around you too dark to see much more than a few feet away. Wait a sec, you’ve been here before! This is the Land of Grove and Veil, you’ve back in the Arena again! You keep ping-ponging across existence, what the hell is going on right now!?

“Jesus… again?” You sigh in exhausted exacerbation, feeling a knot forming in your neck from all the cosmic deracination. Finding the Z-Listers easily enough, you spot the Page as he marches up behind the Knight who’s busy gawking wide-eyed at the forest that’d suddenly surrounded him. Grabbing him by the shoulder, the freak whips the confused boy around before shoving a hand against his chest.

“Fraymotif, now!” He orders the Knight.

“O-okay.” He complies more out of shock from being man-handled than any good-will he has towards Disco Face. Powering up, a sudden breeze emanates out into the forest from where the Knight stands, your hood blowing in the wind behind you from the channeling gusts. It’s then that you realize you should probably do something about that.

“Shit!” You curse under your breath as you rush forward like a blur of red lightning, appearing just before the Page with your club raised back and ready to beat him into the dirt. Yet before you’d ever get the chance, a Wispy length of Runes quickly slithers around his forearm like a coiling mist, shifting across his wrist in segmented increments, as though in rhythm to the tick of a clock. Now what the hell is tha-

==========BAP====>

In the moment you’d intended to swing upon the Rival Time-Bound, the damn Page surged forward, gauntleted fist balled tight, and you were struck center-mass upon the face. However, the hit doesn’t seem to do much, as you haven’t moved an inc- wha… wait… oh come on! Again, Kai?! Turning around, you spot the last glimpse of your vessel as he’s sent spiraling into the dark, screaming while he flies through the night like a fuck-damn Forest Banshee! Jesus, child, get it together! That’s the second time he’s had the POV knocked clean out of him, leaving the Narrative behind yet again! How irresponsible can you get? Doesn’t he know that being left without a host on a planet like LOGAV means your amorphous unbody could get lost, swallowed up by the dark? Where would you be then? I’ll tell you where; Nowhere. And you can’t have a Narrative Nowhere, it just doesn’t work! I’d have to end the entire Novel at that point! Wouldn't that be some shit? 'Kai gets punched and drops you into the Abyss, End of Story, Better Luck next Time. Thanks for Reading, though!' Hell no! If you’re forced to be this guy, the least he can do is not be such a Hot Mess of an Heir and take care of the Reader!

“That’s a mean left hook you got there.” Jacob comments as you hang close to him, his Relevance to the Greater Story like a campfire in a snowstorm.

“Time and Movement. Makes for a whole lot of Force.” Jason responds, shaking his stinging knuckles as though they were hot to the touch.

“He was a bad guy, right?” The Brave Knight inquires, unsure how to feel regarding his involvement in the banishing of that sock-headed kid to the Shadow Realm.

“Don’t know. Don’t care. He was in my way.” Jason scoffs while sneering in the direction he’d thundercunted your narrative host.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you seem to have a few anger problems, friend.” Jacob remarks, plainly stating his diagnosis as though commenting on the dreary weather. “And the craziest set of glasses I’ve ever seen.” A perturbed annoyance creeps onto the Time Greene’s face as he glares over to the Breath-Bound. Though whatever vexation on the Page’s mind seems to dissipate when he takes a closer look at the Goggle-Wearing Wonder before him, that annoyance changing to a skeptical intrigue, as though he’s unable to identify what he’s looking at with mild frustration.

“Listen… whoever you really are, we aren’t done here. Not by a long shot.” He tells the Knight, shifting to face him more directly. “I’ve got more pressing matters to deal with, but this won’t be the last time that we meet. Find your way to the Land of Chess and Foresight and I’ll be there.”

“Chess and Foresight?” Jacob repeats, scratching at the side of his head.

“It’s the planet this Strife first broke out on. We’ll meet there.” Jason explains as he turns to head in the direction Kai was spirited. “If you see the prick with the long hood I was fighting first, stay away from him or his friends. They’re a pack of filthy mongrels.”

“Okay, I… supposed I can play ball on all that.” The Breath Greene breezily agrees with the request. “One thing, though, friend.” He halts the Page with a hand upon his shoulder, a small gesture which invokes a snarled offense as Jason twists around, jerking the grasp from his person, though the Knight cares not for the flailing fit, his face unbothered as he continues. “Where exactly can I find this Chess place? I mean it sounds like a blast and all, but I’m sorta new around these parts to put it lightly.”

“Fuck, dude, I don’t know! Just go planet hopping until you find one that looks like the Battlefield.” Jason sneers, annoyed that he would have to explain his request further.

“Battlefield, got it.” Jacob nods with a smirk. With one last uncertain glance at the young man before him, Jason turns back towards Kai’s vector in the woods, stepping out to run after him. You think it best to follow after as well, lest you be swallowed up by the dark in his absence. “Oh-, wait!” Jacob calls after the Page once more. “What is this place?”

“The Arena!” Jason calls back, glancing over his shoulder. “Contact the White Text Dickhead, he’ll explain everything!” He tells him as you leave the Knight behind in that dark grove. His entire attention on the task at hand now, the Page of Time accelerates into a slip stream, almost leaving you behind as he blurs forward. Jegus Fuck, does no one care about the Narrative being left behind?! Having to push your little wisp form as fast as unlaw will allow, you drag behind Jason like the tail of a comet until finally you see him! Your vessel, as Kai wobbly rises to his feet, the shape of his torso indented into the blown out side of the tree he’s next to. Bending to the side, the tree begins to timber, falling to the forest floor, though Jason reaches him first before it can land, tackling the Heir through the wooden pole, shattering the already broken trunk into splinters as the two Time-Bound go shooting past. After hitting the ground and tumbling a few times across the grassy grove, the two are halted long enough for you to finally catch back up and leap safely back into a narrative vessel.

“Fah! W-what the hell was that?!” You groan while rolling over onto your elbows as you try to breath through the hit, feeling as though your ribcage was just shattered. Though not a moment later, you feel a rush of pulsing energy envelope your chest, easing the pain there, at least enough to recover from whatever the fuck just slammed into you. Pushing yourself onto your knees, you find Disco Face has caught up with you again, twisting his head to the side, his neck cracking as he limbers up for the next bout in the fight.

“Still think you’ve got a fighting chance, worm?” He sneers with a sickly smile, not a single scratch from this entire fight persisting on his flickering visage.

“I’m only getting started!” You grit your teeth, tightening your grip on Dynasties as you rise to your feet, changing for the freakshow. Simultaneously engaging your clockworks with the same idea in mind, you and the Page become blurred, your forms made indistinct as you move faster than the normal eye can comprehend, Time slowed down for the both of you. Only the Fastest Contender can get the upper hand in this Strife. Rushing forward, you clash with your opponent, exchanging a deluge of strikes and parries, blocks and retaliations, an upwards of forty or fifty moves and counters in the span of a second. Though you vacillate between offense and defense, neither of you can gain a definitive advantage as you shred through the surrounding forest, dozens of trees around you severed from their stumps, though have yet to fall as not even a full ten seconds have passed yet. It isn’t until you feel your concentration slipping that you realize you have to back off. The longer you’re in close proximity with that Juju, the weaker your clockworks grow, syphoned away into its clutches. In a decisive move, you bound back, escaping into the dark, using the denseness of the forest as a buffer to separate you and your opponent. He follows after not a moment later of course, but you’ve got a game plan now. Make some distance between you and it, dive in for opportune strikes and don’t stick around long enough to get drained. Be patient, play it conservatively. After all, he’s the one with the damn thing in his hands. Playing a war of attrition when you’ve got an Energy Drainer as your weapon is a losing battle. You’ve just got to wait him out.

Though as you’re focused on evading your pursuer, leaping away on a back-step, you suddenly go slamming into something hard, flattening it like a pancake against the forest floor. Tumbling over yourself, you manage to force your body to a stop after flipping back, stabilizing while down on one knee before the thing you ran into. What the-? Another Time Player? Pushed face down in the dirt before you is another Player dressed in Red Threads, his cape thrown up over his head. Shit, is he alrigh-AGH!

Just as you’re about to tend to the trampled Time-Bound, the Page comes barreling into you like a damn bullet train, carrying you off before the guy you’d ran into can even peel his face off the ground. Caught in a grapple now, you have no space to swing with any power. The most you can muster is a thrashing elbow or knee as you attempt to worm free from the bastard’s grasp, weak strikes compared to the slams against passing trees he flings you into, pinging off the oak posts as though it were a game of pinball as you go zooming through the forest. However, amidst the rough treatment and splintering bombardment, you feel a building force gather strength from down in your core, as the more damage inflicted, the more resistance you seem to muster against your captor. With enough muscle, you eventually pry the hand he’d been using to direct you by off your neck, shoving him back with a hand pressed against his shoulder. A suitable amount of distance between you now, you reel back before sending your head crashing down against his own, cracking skulls with the fucker hard enough to make him wince. Wrestling out of his loosened grip, you manage to free your swinging-hand, and just as the name implies, you send Dynasties swinging down upon the Page’s head, your burst of strength striking him with force so great, it bounces him off the forest floor like a basketball. You, on the other hand, continue to fly through the forest like an owl, the inertia from your race across the dark woods sticking to you like tar until you finally touch down upon the grotto, foot catching upon traction and sending you spiraling through the moss. Eventually rolling to a stop, you have to take a moment to dispel the dizziness from your head, the world still spinning as you get back to your feet. Though as you stumble a few steps forward, you begin to hear a quiet chatter drifting over from a nearby clearing in the forest.

“A new arrival was scheduled for today.” You barely hear muttered through the woods.

“I heard this one was going to be the last before… y’know.” Wait a second… you know those voices! Making a break for where you’d heard them from, you sprint through the brush towards the clearing, the chatter getting louder until finally, you break through the timberline, discovering a small gathering in the open field between more Players. Your attention is drawn first to the brightest of the attendees at the forest powwow. A Troll in yellow attire with enormous Magenta wings, blooming skirt and golden striped socks. The Witch of Hope, sat furthest back from the others as she lingers about before the bottom of a large boulder overlooking the entire clearing. Closest to her, maybe twenty or so yards, a human sits by the northern edge of the field, facing out towards the woods with his back to the others. He wears a long black cape and hood. The Knight of Space. At the very center of the clearing is a third kid, curled up with their knees to their chest. Had the forest around you been a normal shade and not the dark blue that it is, you might’ve missed him. They’re a deep green, their skin leafy and floral. An Elf. Drooping ears like that of a lamb matching the larger sets that make up his Petal-Fur, vectors of white slits running down his right side neck, red down his left. A species of Mistletoe. He’s a Mage of Mind, or Path as his kind call it. He’s a trembly type, anxiously glancing around at the others in the field, muttering something below his breath to himself. Then finally, the two you were looking for at the left side of the clearing. Resting in the same cluster of stones, sat upon the seat-sized rocks are your allies, Hekter the Knight of Doom, and Robin the Rogue of Life. Oh it is so over for that asshole!

“Hekter! Robin! I’m gonna need some backup!” You shout over to the duo as you rush into the field, causing all heads present to turn towards you, interrupting the otherwise quiet gathering with your entry.

“Hey, human. You know this schmuck?” Hekter asks while leaning in towards Robin.

“No, but he seems to know us.” She responds while taking a step forward towards you, placing her hands at the sides of mouth to shout over. “What business do you have with us?” Business? What the hell are they talking about?

“It’s the Page! He’s coming!” You shout back, pointing behind you towards the woods you’d just emerged from, where that Disco-Faced freak resides. “He’s-!” Before you can finish your warning, there comes a sudden pitch drop from behind you, as though the forest to your rear has gone uncannily silent. And that’s when it hits you, a piercing bite into your back, shooting through your torso until it comes carving out through your chest, the cold metal of the Juju resting just beside your heart so close, you can feel it press against the artifact every time it beats. Time seems to freeze as everyone in the clearing stares at the crimson-soaked pick sticking from you before it is so suddenly ripped out from your back, and you go falling to the clearing floor, revealing behind you; the Page of Time.

“Already Here!” He greets the world.

 

Jason, Bring it Home already.

Chapter 90: > Thirty Seconds to Midnight

Jason? Who the hell do you think you are! You’re Kai still, damn it! And you’ve currently got a fucking hole in your lung! Do something about it, why don’t you!

“Gnhh!” You moan while clutching at your chest, struggling to direct your clockworks into retrograde with the Juju so close. Mustering all the energy you’ve got, you overcharge your temporal presence and force the heal through regardless, though it’s not a moment after you’ve closed the wound that the Page makes another, slamming his Juju down into your spleen or liver or whatever the hell organ is at that part of your back! “DAAH, You Fucking Asshole!” Whipping around, you send Dynasties across Disco Face’s jaw, doing little more than sending him descending down upon you, hands clamping around your throat as he tries to throttle you.

“Holy hell...” Hekter comments while watching on at the struggle.

“What’s going on? Why are they fighting?” Robin questions, neither of them helping you!

“Oh god…” The Elf Mage mutters as he begins to hyperventilate, rocking slightly on the ground. “The Roster has been completed… We are all bound to the Dying Wilt! The End is Nigh!” Hearing the mad ravings of the Mind-Bound, the Witch and Knight step closer, intrigued by all the commotion that’s going down.

“What’s he going on about?” The Knight inquires with the other attendees in the clearing.

“The Games have begun! Our Immortality has been revoked and we are all going to die!” Suddenly shooting to his feet, the Mage whips around to face the Witch directly. “You!"

“M-me?” She pulls back slightly, startled by being called out so abruptly.

“You’re about to make your move! Prune us while our guard is still down!” The Elf claims, trembling frond pointed at her in j’accuse.

“What? I would never!” The Witch innocently denies, looking to the others in the field to try and assure them.

“I just heard you think it!” He accuses once more before curling into himself, shaking like a leaf as he glances to the side. “…take their Lives…someone thought it… i-it had to have be you!”

“We need to take her down.” Robin instantly declares, stepping up as she looks between the two Knights present in the clearing.

“Take her down?” Hekter repeats while sounding disturbed by the notion, glancing down at the Rogue beside him. “Why?”

“You guys… g-… get him off me… please…” You plead with them through your strangulation. You tried freezing the air in your lungs in an attempt to preserve the breath you had left, but that seems to hurt more than it helped based on the stabbing pain in your chest.

“You heard the nut-job! She’s gonna try and kill us!” Robin holds a hand out to the Mage as if to provide an example, continuing to ignore your whole Being Murdered situation.

“Please, this is a misunderstanding!” The Highblood Witch holds her hands up to signify innocence, desperately trying to ease the tensions in the field. “It must have been someone else who thought it! I swear on my fins, I’d never do something so despicable!”

“Hey, I don’t know if this is-“ Hekter begins to come around to the other Troll’s pleas.

“She’s lying!” Robin quickly snaps, doubling down on the guilty verdict. “Right through her razor sharp teeth!” Summoning a crossbow to her hands, a notable shift in atmosphere falls over the clearing upon the Rogue’s cue, the anxious panic from seeing others fight morphing into a tense standoff between gunslingers as ire falls to the Witch without warning. “It’s either us or her!” She insists to the Troll Knight, causing a bewildered look to crawl across his face as he struggles with who to believe. Perhaps done without thinking or perhaps to establish a sense of security within himself amidst the panic, Hekter finds his way to his strifedeck as well, summoning to his side the twisted metal Graveyard Axe, Midnight Shift. Realizing she’s lost the fence-sitter to the other side, the Hope Witch cuts her losses, summons up her own arms as a long barrel rifle equips to her hands. Seeing all this play out from the corner of your eye as you’re throttled by a psychopath who, apparently, has impunity to do so, you only get a few glimpses of what’s going on, but… is that a Zastava M72? Oh shit, that was like the more fine-tuned cousin of the Soviet RPK, that thing’s a powerhouse of a machine gun, hell yeah, dude. Fuck yeah.

“A-alright, now. If you all don’t calm down, t-t-then I’ll have no choice but to defend myself!” The Witch nervously warns as she takes aim at the accusing parties.

“She’ll slaughter us all! It’s a sea dweller’s nature!” The Elven Mage cries, looking to his side of the conflict for support.

“W- You’re not even a troll! What would you know about sea dwellers?” The Witch cries back, the offense in her voice more than apparent.

“This one knows!” The Elf points to Hekter as though he were a smoking gun. “His mind ruminates! Remembers you for what you are, Flesh Devil! Remembers how your carnivorous Blood Caste would level settlements on your Garden! He cannot easily respire with you nearby!”

“Ah-!” The Witch looks at Hek, as though unable to believe he’d think this about her. “W-, w-well it’s not like his blood hue doesn’t have its stigmas! Stereotypes are unfair, regardless of your social ranking! Or species, for that matter!”

“Don’t listen!” Robin orders, attempting to take command of the others in the clearing. “She wants us to let our guard down so she can get the jump on us! I’ve dealt with people like this before. They’ll say anything to get you at a disadvantage!”

“Please, if we just let cooler heads prevail, I’m sure this can end peacefully!” The Witch continues to beg for their lives, feeling her options dwindling towards violence one slanderous claim at a time. “There’s no need for this savagery!” Before any more pleas or denials can be made, that Knight of Breath you’d brought with you into the Arena suddenly comes gliding into the clearing from the direction you’d been catapulted from, following your path of destruction through the forest.

“Hey! Angry person! That White text guy won’t answer! Any chance you can- oh! Sorry, I see that you’re busy with something, I’ll leave you to it then!” He greets the Page before backing off when he notices him struggling to squeeze the life from your throat. Raising your arms up, you swing your fists down, slamming them into the wrists of the crazy fuck before your face can turn purple, breaking his grip and allowing oxygen to return to your lungs once again.

“Would someone please get him off me, for fuck’s sake!” You shout as you shove a hand against the Page’s face to push him away from you.

“Blue Blood, go break those two up.” Robin finally orders, providing you with some sense of relief. “We’ll need all the help we can get to take this sociopath down.”

“I-I’m not a sociopath!” The Witch begs for someone to hear her, clearly hurt by the implications of the label she’s been branded with. “Please, just listen to me!” Following after the order he’d been issued, Hekter hurries over towards where you and the Page grapple in the field, a rush in his march to satisfy the whims of his Leader. Though before he can reach you to help, disco freak tears your paw off of him with his Juju, slamming the palm of his off-hand against the side of your head, mushing your face down into the moss of the grotto while the metal of his open gauntlet scraping against your cheek.

“Just try it, you damn lackey!” He snarls at the approaching Knight, the curved head of his Juju pointed towards him, stopping Hekter in his tracks as he sees the threat turned his way now. “You won’t take her from me again! Filth fucking vulture, always circling, always poking and prodding at every little weakness! You’ll pay… You’ll PAY! You think I've forgotten you, Knight? Forgotten what you've done? You’re next... Once I’m done grinding this worm into a bloody stain, neither Heaven nor Hell will keep me from my VENGEANCE!” He slams his palm against your head to emphasize his threats, reaffirming his grip keeping you pinned to the earth. “There won’t be anything left of your mangled corpse when I’m done with it!” Noticing your Leader's attention has been drawn towards him during his melt down, the Page turns his focus to her as well, moving his Juju to the side so that it points at her directly. “Then it’s you, Robin… I’ll take my time with you… Rip you limb from limb, tear pieces off to feed to the fucking Demons! I’ll make you wish for Death… Beg for it! I’ll make you regret the day you were ever born! Then and only then will what remains of you be pierced upon a pike, left as a message for all to see, your corpse a warning to those who would go against me, to those who would follow in your blithering arrogance…!” Hearing his manifesto recited to her personally now, a look of confused fright slowly sinks down your Leader’s face, her crossbow lowering slightly as she stands baffled at the Testament of Hate directed towards her. On the sidelines of everything as it transpires, the newly arrived Knight of Breath wanders over to his Space counterpart, who up until this point has simply observed the train wreck as it unfolds in quiet contemplation of the whole mess.

“Hello.” He greets his fellow Knight with a flat palm held up in a wave at his side. “Sorry to bother, but do you think you could tell me what’s going on here?”

“Dude, it’s been a solid year since I’ve known what was going on.” The Knight of Space replies with an exaggerated exhaustion. “I think we’re supposed to kill each other or something...? I-I dunno, those two seem pretty convinced of it at least.”

“Hmm. Darn.” The Breath Knight simply hums at the response. “Wouldn’t happen to know how to get to the Land of Chess and Foresight, would you?” He pivots to a different line of inquiry seeing his first has come up short. Posed with the new question, the Knight of Space looks straight up, turning around himself as he searches through the dim sky above him.

“Ay, see that?” He asks, pointing up to a faint, nearly imperceivable dot in the sky. “That’s Locaf. Maybe one or two planets out from here.”

“How long would you say it’d take to fly there?” The Breath Knight inquires.

“Fly?” The Space Knight repeats to himself, glancing down to the Breath player to find the young man hovering beside him, retaining his God Tier Flight. Pausing to think while considering this new information, the Space player looks back to LOCAF, closing one eye and putting his thumb up to the sky to gauge the distance. “I’d say it’s about… ooh… Five Hundred thousand miles away? Give or take a few thousand. A little bit further than Twice the distance Earth was to its moon. If you can break the sound barrier, you could probably get there in just under four weeks.”

“Ha, Break the sound Barrier, he says.” The Knight of Breath chuckles to himself. “My usual cruising speed is twice that.” He humble-brags.

“Oh yeah, hotshot? What’s your top speed, then?” The Space player scoffs with a laugh.

“In atmosphere? Hmm… well I can clock in at Mach Ten at my absolute limit, but I don’t think I could keep that up for more than a few hours at most.” The Breath player reports.

“No shot.” The Space Knight nods his chin up at Jacob, unwilling to believe his claims.

“Right hand to God.” The Breath Knight raises his Cestus to swear Oath. “What’s the deal, though? Why’s it so far away?” He glances up at his destination, curious of the divide between here and there.

“Evidence would suggest this place is larger than the average Session.” His Space counterpart glances up along with him with a sigh. “Certainly larger than mine was. I honestly thought our Lands were going to Collide if they got any closer.”

“Hey!” Robin calls over to the pair of Knights, readjusting her grip on her crossbow, pressing it firmly into her shoulder as she tries to compose herself after the Page psyched her out. “Would you two quit messing around?! These woods are apparently brimming with maniacs, and this bitch is about to go postal over here!”

“There’s no need for name calling!” The Hope Witch snips back, her royal angel wings flourishing back at the insult.

“Would somebody get this freak off of me-!” You shout again, reminding everyone that you are still, in fact, being actively murdered. Fuck it, you don't care if you get shredded by the Time Block, you gotta get the hell out of this place! Falling back, you begin to merge with the timestream in an attempt to slip from the Page’s grasp, yet the moment you do, he sics on you like a rabid dog, sending the Juju slashing out across your neck in a straight slash. Oh so̸̞̱͔̝̯̍͂̔͛̌͗͗̍̊̏̚͝n̸̡̢͚͓̜̥̰̭̖͖̂̕ͅ ̵̜͎͔̥̖͎̺̱͚̌̇ǫ̶̛̰̗̙͎̹̫͕̣̭͉̰̫̥͗̈́̈́̿͋̒̿̕ͅf̷̘̪̬̳̫́ ̴͔͇͎͙̓̓̀́̏̔̒͐̎͛͐̕͜a̶͉̞̍̾̄͒͘ ̸̜̱͉͑̍̽́͂̀̃͛̈͒̾́̎͘͝ḃ̴̧̮͇̣̮͎͍̬̩̺̻̱͉̫̾̑̊̿̏̄̕͜͝î̵̧̨͚̩̺̫̠̮̳̝͙̳̬͜t̷̢̥̤͕͔͈͚̺̥͐̚͜-̸̧̢̢̛̩̯͚̠̳̞͖̹̙̳͉̅͐̇̏̈͒̿̏̓͂̽̾͠

 

[-—-]

 

“Th-… t-they’re gone…” The Mage of Path shutters, terrified as he gazes towards your place in the field. Wh-, oh god Damnit, Kai! Again? He left you behind again!? Mother Fucker! “She… she willed them out of existence!” The neurotic Elf shrieks as your vessel is left adrift in the wind, his words spurring on the aggressing parties in the forest clearing. Taking aim, Robin Hodei levels her crossbow for the Witch of Hope.

“Get her, before she-“ Before the Rogue of Life can take her shot at the Crown, Junipr Meruwn opens fire, unleashing a stream of lead against the entire forest. Ph-Ph-Ph-Ph-Ph-Ph-Phew! The hail shreds through the trees in a shower of bark-shrapnel.

“Ahhhh!” She cries in defiance of the forces converging on her point. “Ignorant troop of lockstepping jerks! Why can’t anybody listen to reason like normal fucking people! The color of my blood defines not the content of my heart! Judge me not for the manner in which I bleed, for it is only blood! Can’t you see! I didn’t want this to happen, you forced my hand you crazy war-mongering degenerates! Simple minded brutes! Blood-hungry fuckasses!”

“Scatter!” Robin orders those under her command in the clearing, diving away behind one of the larger stones scattered about the field. Caught by surprise, the Knights Duo of Jacob and Kota are thrown into a scramble as they dodge, duck, dip, dive and dodge their way through the shredding torrent of bullets hurled at them.

“Whoa, look out!” Jacob warns as the two zip through the shots at blurring speeds. “Hey, smooth moves, Ace!” He laughs, seeing his Spacial counterpart keeping pace with him through the storm.

“Not so bad yourself!” Kota shoots back as the two spring upward out of the bullet spray, leaping up into the treeline to take shelter in the high branches of the pines, hidden from fire behind their needles. Out of the bulletstorm, both young men exchange glances as they breathe out the adrenaline. “Hell of a way to kick off the Survival Games, right?” The Space player asks with a relieved laugh while standing across the adjacent tree to where Jacob perches, the two Knights turning to watch through the branches as the Witch of Hope retreats into the forest, the sound of her gunfire getting more and more distant.

“It’ll get your blood pumping, alright!” Jacob nods in agreement as the flashes through the treetops grow further away. “You were pretty quick out there, Citizen. For a second there, I was worried that Villain might’ve gotten the best of you!”

“Eh? Citizen?” Kota glances at the Breath player, confused at the moniker he’d bestowed him.

“Haha, sorry, force of habit.” He laughs off while extending a hand out between trees to his fellow Knight. “Name’s Jacob.”

“Takashi.” He accepts the offer, shaking mitts with the young man. “Now what’s this noise about Mach-Ten you were saying?”

“Aaah, another speedster, I see.” Jacob nods with a sly smile, slowly lowering his pair of goggles over his eyes. “Looking for a friendly bit of competition?”

“Please.” Kota scoffs with a smirk, folding his arms at the Rival Knight. “I just don’t believe you can really move that fast.”

“…Betcha I can beat you to this planet’s equator.” Jacob issues his challenge. Kota narrows his eyes at the goading claim before a veil suddenly shoots over his crown, a metal cowl descending from overhead and encasing his face as a Suit of Cold Iron forms around him.

“You’re on.” He declares with a synthetic voice, Shoulder Thrusters flaring to life behind him, shooting him off towards the horizon, partly shattering the pine tree he’d been standing on as he takes off.

“Hot Dog!” Jacob exclaims, flying off his branch after him. Huh… You don’t have a narrative lens to form an opinion on what Breath Greene just said as he flew away, but if you did… you think you’d be confused by it. Hotdog? Honestly, it would’ve been less off-putting had he had simply said ‘Up, Up and Away!’ Regardless, you’re in a bit of a bind here. Kai’s dumbass left you high and dry in the middle of a Desert of Obscurity and all the other narrative vessels nearby just went barreling off into the woods like heartbroken teens in an After-School RomCom Special. We can’t exactly wait here until someone important comes along to host the Narrative, we’ll be here all day! There’s a Past Jason wandering around these woods somewhere, isn’t there? You could link back up with him, but… unless you want to start this shit back from Chapter 2 again, I don’t see that as a valid option. I’d pull you out to the Character Select Screen, but you’re so deep in the weeds right now, I can’t guarantee your weird little non-body will make it back in one piece. If we could just… Hold on, I think I might have an idea.

I’m hooking up your terminal directly to the Foreshadow Generator. Typically, this bad boy only spits out the occasional cryptic omen or piece of symbolism alluding to future plot points which don’t come about for another 20+ chapters, but a little known fact about this fine piece of technology; if you crank it up high enough, the Foreshadows are basically produced in Real-Time. It’s sort of like real shadows, if you get the Light close enough to the Object, the shadow behind them is basically 1-for-1 with the actual thing it’s being cast from. Have you ever read Plato’s Allegory of the Cave? Well this isn’t anything like that, but that also involved shadows so it’s probably relates. Basically, I’m weaponizing the Allusions the Foreshadowing produces to get us a window into wherever the hell Jason and Kai wound up. It’s a bit avant-garde, but trust me on this one, I know what I’m doing! The Foreshadow Generator produces the allusions as a kind of Mist, so I figure if I flood your terminal with them directly, that should do the trick. Hang on… the connecting port isn’t venting properly... It’s just kind of letting out steam along its exhaust tube. Man, it’s really smoking like crazy. You know, I originally got this Generator second-hand, but… I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to Print out predictions instead of smoke them into the air, leading me to believe this might just be some kind of grandiosely modified Humidifier or Mega-Church styled Fog Machine. Its Foreshadowing has been vaguely religious in the past, after all. Did you know that pretty much every Numerical Time mentioned is a Bible Verse? Yeah, the Generator kept spitting them out and, like… I’ve got no idea what to do with the things, so I just stuck them in the chat logs and any time a clock face is mentioned. Okay… okay I think I got it… Alright! Now all we need is to figure out where the hell those two got off to. Let me see if I can’t do a little sleuthing here… and… um… huh… wait, what…? What are… Where the hell? The middle of Act 5? Really?

Okay… Tad further along than I’d anticipated, but we’re in business! It’ll take some imagination, but we’re in luck! That Witch left more than enough Pixie Dust behind in that rampage she dropped on the valley. Those aren’t just any old chunks of lead embedded in those trees there, those are Hope Bullets. The perfect medium for which we might gleam what Fate has come to pass for our dear Players. Chekhov's Gun meet Chekhov's Spent Casings, a la fait accompli. Now all you need do is take a closer look at all that might be hidden beneath the surface.

Drifting closer to the torn up remains of the forest’s edge, you find several pine trees cracked open like the bones of a Fortune Teller’s Augury, jagged vectors split into the bark by the Gunfire of a Princess. Growing near, you notice the bullets lodges beneath the rigid exterior begin to give off a strange glow. Looking at the scene as a whole, you notice something... odd... It’s as if all the cracks in the wood are connected, their reach extending beyond the divide between trees to interlink with one another, streaks through the bark aligning in perfect order to form the lines of a map… No… not a map… a painting. A work of art splattered across a greater canvas than you can comprehend! The world itself has transcended in this very moment, collated into a single cohesive procedure folding over itself. They’ve been arranged in meticulous order. The bullets, that is. Lodged there in the bark. Each one placed with exact precision, like the stars that make up the Constellations. You see them… move… See them shift and sway. They dance upon the wooden stage before you, their shapes too vague to be considered anything but a thought. A Feeling. A hazy sense of familiarity that you’ve seen this very moment a thousand times before… And for the briefest of moments… you see someone there, amidst all the fog and tangle. A Person. A Young Man, caught in the midst of war in a cold, dark place. You’ve taken a liking to him for some mysterious, perhaps even narrative-related reasons. Focusing in on the Fantasy you’d seen peeking out through the cracks in the bark, you begin to wonder who it is beyond the Constellations of the Forest, caught in a daydream of where someone like that might be.

 

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝

 

Shifting into place like the pieces of a puzzle box, the lines and shapes of the constellation take on the form of a window from which you see him more clearly. That Young Man in the cold, dark place. You see him now, in the shadows dancing upon the wooden walls of the forest, him and his Pickaxe as they barrel down the corridor of a mineshaft. You think… you think you’ll be him for a little while…

As previously mentioned, you’re a young man barreling down the corridor of a mineshaft, storming after that pansy-ass fuck of an Heir as he tries to scamper away from you! Fucker has been trying to keep you at a distance, thinking those hit-and-run strategies he’s been tapping you with will do anything other than piss you the Fuck off!

Catching up with the slippery little weasel, you swing Bootstraps slashing for his dome, aiming to sink it into the soft sides of his head. He slips you, your pick continuing on and crashing through the cave wall in a shower of stone shrapnel. Through it, that dinky little club of his comes swinging through the spray of rock fragments, cracking against your cheekbone. You eat the hit without flinch, using how far the Heir’s overextended to get your retaliation in, cleaving a chunk out of his left-side ribs.

“Guah!” He screeches like a cat who’s tail’s been stepped on. “You fucking prick!” He whimpers before shooting back to evade your next attack, springing off his right foot while gritting through the gash you’d left in his torso, choosing to channel his temporal presence into a shell-like shield around him instead of healing the wound. He’s been getting tougher, you’ve noticed. Tanking heavier hits with less problem, allowing his natural regeneration to heal his wounds instead of doing it himself. Before he was a sub-par fighter only able to keep up because of his power kit, but now, he’s finding his footing as a brawler. It’s as if his progression is being fast tracked mid-Strife. Weeks of growth, all in a handful of swings. You’ll actually have to get serious before things get out of hand.

As you contemplate the next myriad of ways you’re going to be taking this upstart apart, the time jinx he’d channeled around himself sinks into the cave walls, and suddenly coming down around you, the entirety of the mineshaft begins to collapse as you chase your prey down the corridor. Stone and bolder alike breaking free and crashing down upon your path, the way forward closing off with you in it, threatening to crush you where you stand. You let none of it slow you down. Casting your pickaxe forward, you shred through the stone as though it were a thin fog, pouncing upon the Heir as you both go flying out the exit of the tunnel. Immediately hit by a biting cold, you’re nearly blinded by the sudden white-out that gets thrown into your face, the back of your corneas tingling at the sensation. Too busy reeling from the flash-bang, you botch the tackle on the Heir and the slippery bastard is able to tuck his legs up under you, shoving his feet into your stomach and kicking you off as you go tumbling overtop of him, soaring past where he lands. You hit the ground hard, rolling over twice before coming to a complete stop, your face pressed down into the freezing blanket that covers the ground. What the-

“Snow…?” You growl as you wipe the flakes from your face, a shifting array of colors from your eyes reflecting off the white sheet below you. Looking up, you find yourself… nowhere. There’s a blizzard pouring down on your location, making it impossible for you to see past a few feet in front of you. It feels like you’re high up, on the side of a mountain somewhere. Meaningless. The only thing you need to know is where that weasel went. Glaring back, you spot the collapsed entrance to the mineshaft, the wooden support beams responsible for keeping the threshold up snapped like toothpicks. Yet the Heir is nowhere to be seen. His tracks in the snow, however, are more than present for the party. Rising to your feet, you begin to trudge through the knee-high snowfall, peering through the grey veil falling all around you. “Tick… Tock… Tick… Tock…” You speak aloud, knowing it’s only a matter of time before you track him down again. Slowly marching forward as you follow his trail through the cold, you scan from side to side in search of your prey. He’s plotting something… he thinks he can ambush you… Continuing along only a few more steps, your stride comes to a dead stop as you just make out through the white the distinct ledge of a cliff, one you would’ve walked straight off of had you taken another step more. He seriously can’t think you’re this dumb, can he?

“RAH!” Suddenly behind you, you’re struck by a ramming force that sends you forward, the brainless fucking moron tackling you off the cliff. Twisting around, you send your elbow ramming into the fool’s face, but before you can drive your pick through his brain, you slam down, your back barreling through the layers of snow to the stone face of the mountain. The Heir rewinds himself just enough before the fall to land over you, his club swinging down into your jaw before you can even brush the snow off. You feel your jaw disconnect, slapped out of place by the crystal sphere of his weapon. You swing back before the pain reaches you, carving him across the chest and sending him staggering back. Rising up, you take your stance, holding Bootstraps out before you, a Blade of Disaster, ready to carve up all in its way. Touching the gash you’d taken from his chest, the Heir sneers. “You’re getting slower again…” He tries to taunt, pointing his club your way. “Seems you’re losing more than you’re gaining with that damn Juju. Might just be the death of you if you keep it up.” Your knuckles begin to crack as your grip on Bootstraps tightens, and you focus your temporal reserve at your tongue, Turning Back the damage to your jaw, putting it back in place to speak.

“Let those words be your last, y-“ Snapping forward before you can finish your decree, the Heir summons a pair of cog constructs before you, the shape his snares take. You juke back before the time trap can spring, evading the freeze effect as the ability reaches for you. Clever dick tried to catch you off guard! Surging back, you swing Bootstraps barreling through the constructs, shattering the solidified time as you cleave for his eyes! Instantly, the coward starts retreating, skipping back as you swing forward, summoning snare after snare in your path, a pathetic attempt to trip you up. You pass through them like glass.

 

-CRASH-

-CRASH-

-CRASH-

He won’t escape. Reaching him, you swing Bootstraps down as he flings his club up, your weapons clashing as you gain the advantage over leverage. Pushing him down, the sniveling little wretch struggles in vain to force his guard back up, and while he busies himself trying to overpower your hold, you send a knee striking into the underside of his jaw, slamming his smart mouth shut. Wincing from the hit, you take your time to build up power for your next hit on the worm, reeling back Bootstraps before ending it arcing over your shoulder with all the Mangrit you’ve got! Yet even still, Time tries its damnedest to keep the roach alive as the moment slows just enough for the Heir to notice his usurper’s attack. You see him there, drifting through space faster than light to avoid you, Time frozen around him as he crawls at a snail’s pace out of reach of your strike. Returning to real-time, your attack misses, slamming straight down into the ground, burying Bootstraps up to the hilt of its prong. Your first instinct is to continue with your assault, to pull free your pick and relocate its point into your opponent’s spine, but… there’s a static in the air. The moment Bootstraps is buried into the ground, you’d felt it. Your attention flicks down in the few milliseconds you have before the sensation boils over, and in that fraction of a moment, you see it. A million strikes. A million shattering clashes of Pick against Stone. It goes pouring out. A torrent of raw, cascading timeline flowing like water into the very spot you’d struck, all opened up at once. Unleashed in the blink of an eye.

 

|

C

R

A

C

K

|

 

The stone that you stand upon disappears from beneath your very feet, an incomprehensible level of power thundering into the void beneath you as the mountain itself is cracked open like a walnut. The timeslip your opponent had escaped into is abolished in the flash, and the imbecile goes fumbling backwards, his sock-hood trailing behind him as he tumbles, plummeting into the rift alongside you. An opening. Aiming yourself down, you plunge into a dive, your Time Dilating until you blur yourself into a slingshot at the Heir, launching down into the chasm after the fucker before he can escape. He sees you, even as he spins helplessly in his fall, summoning another set of cogs in the space before himself as he tries to trap you one last time, as though a physical threat would ward you off. You strike through his trick, the force of which cracking a bone in your wrist. Your pick carries through to your true target, and the attack cleaves him in two, bisected the Heir’s torso from his legs. It won’t stick. You already feel the flow of Time shrieking in horror at the blow you’ve dealt, panicking as it attempts to rewrite events in his favor.

 

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̴̢̺̻̠͔̻͎̞̜̑͜*̴̢̺̻̠͔̻͎̞̜̑͜*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝

 

You’re getting real sick of this shit.

Setting down, you find yourself somewhere familiar. You’re… in your living room. Your original living room, down at the bottom of your tower. No time for nostalgia. You search the den for your prey. Put back together again, you spot the Heir gasping in panicked breaths while strewn out across your couch. He seems to snap out of it when he sees you charging for him, flipping over to the other side of the love seat and kicking the furniture out, the thing flying out at you as it scrapes against the floor. High jumping in place, you leap straight into the air, over the upholstery as it goes shooting past beneath you, slamming into the television across from it. That was a 70’’ Plasma Screen TV!

Dropping down, the Heir’s already pressing forward, his club reeled back and swinging for your head. You juke back and that crystal sphere on his stick goes shattering through the end table. Mother-! You send the top of Bootstraps cracking against the side of his ribs, the impact launching him away, crashing into the wall and shattering the glass picture frame of that art piece of the waterfall your Dad won in a raffle. He really loved that painting! Rushing for him, you meet the Heir just as he’s prying himself out of the wall, sending a slash down across his chest, your pick clashing against the side of his club as he pulls up a guard in the nick of time. Shoving himself into you, the spindly fuck shoulder-checks you away with an abnormal strength, sending you back to the center of the room. Following after, the Heir blurs into a scarlet bolt that shoots past where you stop yourself. You don’t realize he’s behind you until he sends his club swinging into your back, launching you like a rubber ball into the front of your fireplace, shattering through the brick and mortar into the chimney shoot. You aren’t down for more than a second before you launch from the crumpled brick pile, the soot from fires past trailing off behind as you throw yourself back at the Heir. He back-steps as your pick slams into the ground where he stood, embedding only halfway up the length of your prong. At first, you think that once again the world beneath you will crack open like that snowy mountain. However, no such fate has come to pass. It’s then that you remember the entire length of the pickaxe’s prong was embedded into the ground before it let loose whatever it was you did. That’s how you activate it. It’s like a Key. It won’t do anything unless all its teeth are in the latch… You wonder what something like that would do to someone if you were to pierce your pick into them directly…

Before you can find the Heir and test it out, you’re suddenly struck in the side, the uppity fuck having thrown a chair at you, the seat falling to pieces as it clashes against your shoulder. Staggered half a step, you spring out of the way as the Heir zooms at you, his club crashing down, smashing through the floor. Tumbling off your upper back, you roll to a stop while down on one knee, regaining a proper balance while watching the idiot flounder with unjamming the weapon he’d gotten stuck in your floorboards. Successful in prying it free, he nearly flips himself over as the club flies into the air. Recomposing himself, the Heir turns his attention your way as you rise to your feet, charging the moment he sets his sights on you. Reaching a hand back towards the table behind you, the Heir is struck as you toss the lamp beside you at him, your light fixture smashing into his face and shattering into a thousand pieces before he can reach you. The impact takes your dumbass opponent off his feet, falling flat on his back. Perfect. Lunging forward, you aim to send Bootstraps completely through the fucker’s chest.

“Tch!” You stop short of your attack as the Heir shifts to the side, jumping to an outcome where he fell a few feet to the left. While a bit pathetic of a change, you could feel he had wanted to jump further back in time than he ended up with, something stopping him halfway, keeping him local to this moment’s proximity. You think Bootstraps is the reason for that, acting as a physical obstacle on the timeline, making passage in its presence impossible, sort of like a clamp on a hose blocking water flow. Whatever the reason, he’s stuck with you here. Hell in a Cell. “Hold still for a moment.” You tell him as you summon a Time Knot over the soon-to-be eviscerated simpleton while he attempts to get to his feet, locking him in place. Though as you make your way to the deadman, your pick ready to swing, the hands of your Knot go spiraling around the face of the clock construct, moving so fast they kick up smoke from the friction, threatening to catch fire. Exploding into fragments, the shards of your ability go flying every which way as the Heir speeds through your snare at record speeds. You really should’ve seen that coming… Fair enough.

“Forget so soon, fuckface?” He asks as he surges forward towards you in a red blur, sending his club crashing up at you, cracking you square in the chin. Flying back, you’re sent across the room, slumping down into the seat of your father’s recliner like you had a long day at work. “Time is on my side!” Paused there in the familiar clutches of your family armchair, you contemplate the situation you’re in. This fight is stagnating. No matter how many times you take him apart, the Heir inevitably gets back up again. You aren’t getting anywhere like this, and as much as you hate to admit it, the smug prick was right. You are slowing down. You’re relying too much on your abilities to keep pace with him, and between Bootstraps and Time itself weighing on you, you’ve only got so much time left before your ticket is punched. You’ve got to think of a way to stop this. Permanently.

“Yeah, I recall…” You snarl through gritting teeth, wiping the blood from your split-open chin with the side of your hand. Crossing the room after you, the Heir appears before your seat, his club raised up, about to swing down on top of you. Reeling back, you Displace yourself backwards through your chronology to when you were on the other side of the den, evading your opponent’s attack as he smashes through the recliner, dismantling the thing into scraps. That fucking prick! It took nearly half your Grist supply at the time to fix everything he broke! Wait a minute… you remember all this… Coming home to discover your living room destroyed… And at the center of it all was… “Huh…” You hum, glancing down at Grandpa’s Bootstraps. Which means…

“Look alive, sunshine!” Before you can fully piece together the scene in your head, the Heir comes swooping in, striking the back of your skull, knocking the idea from your brain as you’re thrown to the ground. “Well… not too alive!” He adds with a laugh as you’re struck behind the head again, your sight suddenly forced forward towards the floor, throwing your thoughts into a fog. “Ha… You put up a good fight, Page…” You hear him compliment as his shoes step out before your face, whatever he’s done to you seemingly giving him enough confidence to believe this Strife over. Must’ve really made a mess of your head, you suppose. “But you forgot one thing… Time runs out for All of Us. Even cocky megalomaniacs like yourself.” He pauses for a moment, the shoes before you turning as the Heir looks around him at where you are. “This is your house, isn’t it?” Struggling a moment, you push yourself up to face the Heir, finding his battered form has partly begun to unravel, glowing scarlet ribbons hanging down from the scaffolds of his body. He turns back to face you. “I’ll leave your body here, then… You’re lucky. Most of us don’t have the privilege of returning home when we die.” He raises his club up, about to send it down on top of your skull again. That doesn’t mean anything to you, though. Right now, you’re only focused on the strands hanging from your opponent, his form unraveling into streams of time as he begins to become One with his Aspect. You feel… enamored with the oddity, unable to take your eyes from them, like you’ve realized something profound. Seeing the physical manifestations of Time hanging slack from his very wrists, you feel your Mind clear in an instant, as if snapping back into place, and you suddenly get an Idea!

“Ha!” Slamming Bootstraps against his shin as hard as you possibly can, the Heir doubles over in pain, yelping like a schoolgirl and giving you exactly the opening you needed. Lunging forward, you grab hold of the raw temporal energy spilling out of the bastard, pulling your fist full of Time from him as the strands hang out like guts of yarn from his body. Quickly wrapping the tethers around Bootstraps, the Pure Presence of Time begins to boil against the metal of your weapon, glowing with a scorching radiance and burning brighter than an inferno, sending a jolt of agonizing torment along the length of tether into the Heir himself.

“AGH! A-Ahh!” He squirms under the anguish as your pick absorbs his essence directly. Before he can try to put a stop to what you’re doing, you cock Bootstraps over your shoulder, and with a mighty swing, you plunge the entire length of its prong into the center of the room. Just like before, unleashed from your pickaxe is a Hurricane of temporal stockpile, rushing out all at once and clashing with the strands of Time wrapped around the length of your pick, spastic fluctuations of this very moment bursting to life as five, ten, twentyfold instances of your surroundings being folding over one another, overlapping each other as they try to occupy the same space in time. “W-… what the hell are you doing?!” The Heir gasps as the worlds around you glitches and vibrates and seizes, struggling to keep itself contained as more and more of Right Now begins to flood in, this Exact Moment in Time repeating over and over onto itself. “Stop! You’re gonna break something!” Until finally, the conniptions reach a breaking point, the strands of the Heir snapping like a cord, and suddenly-

 

-BOOM-

 

A countless number of pickaxes are sent shunting out in every direction surrounding you, launched with all the Force of being contained for so long in that same moment, flung out into the furthest reaches of Spacetime as they disappear into vectors in the timestream. Hurdling out into an unknowable amount of Universes outside of your own. And in the wake of this mighty explosion, a single replica of Grandpa’s Bootstraps is left upon the cracked and shattered floor. Reaching down to claim the artifact, you can tell the moment you feel the cold sting of its metal. This is the very pickaxe you hold in your opposing hand. It’s Younger Self.

Grateful. That’s the word that comes to mind as you lodge the point of this Bootstraps in the center of your living room floor, leaving it behind for yourself to find amongst the wreckage. A sword like Excalibur, buried in the Stone for the King to claim. Both the Copy and the Original. A Paradox. And you are so grateful that fool of an Heir has delivered to you this great weapon on a silver platter. None of this would have been possible without his arrogance. You turn to find him there, watching as he lies slumped upon the broken remains of your window, gaping mouth hung open as he realizes with a growing sense of dread that he is the maker of his own demise. An Architect of the Inevitable. You can’t help but find joy in the despair he shows.

Glancing down, you see a few temporal strands connected to the Heir still bound to your pickaxe, stretched out from the deadman like the ties that connect those Fated to one another. You make it quick, while he still contemplates the idea that he was the one to craft the Utensil of his downfall. Ripping him towards you as you yank the tethers, you pierce into the Heir’s chest with Bootstraps, driving a spike through his heart and activating his-

 

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̴̢̺̻̠͔̻͎̞̜̑͜*̴̢̺̻̠͔̻͎̞̜̑͜*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̴̢̺̻̠͔̻͎̞̜̑͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝

 

Deadman Switch. That's what you think you'll call this little annoying trick he’s got. Seems appropriate, refusing to die the way he is. Looking around, you recognize your new surroundings immediately. One of the Super Pyramids on the Land of Conflict and Repose, and judging by how thin the air is here, you’re more than likely a considerable ways up, close to the top. You need no introduction then. You spot the Heir across the walkway you’re on, set at opposing sides of the rampart you’ve been summoned to. However, though you’re the first to spot him, he is the first to react, his powers growing in potency the longer the fight drags on. He starts with a backhanded swing that nearly throws him off balance with how hard he tries to hit. You juke back, allowing the head of his club to smash through the nearby stone guardrail, lunging forward when his swinging-arm is completely extended out. The strike would’ve carved into his collarbone had he not weaved back, your pick striking down into the platform between you.

As you free your weapon from the stone floor, you’re suddenly struck across the face as the Heir hits you with something you hadn’t anticipated, his left hand punching you square in the jaw. Unexpected. He’s really only hit you with his club up until this point, save for a few thrashing elbows. The hit is heavy, but unrefined. He isn’t using Fistkind, but his attacks are strong enough to deal notable damage. He’s not just wielding Time anymore, it has to be something else. The Rogue, perhaps? Giving him additional powers? No, can’t be. Not after being separated for so long. It has to be something else. Whatever it is, this’ll be a losing battle if you don’t even the playing fields.

Struck twice by the Heir’s club as you reel from his left-hook, you reach forward, grabbing the balled-point of his weapon before you can be hit with a third. Panicking as he tries to wrench free his aggriever from your grasp, the Heir is defenseless as you send Bootstraps across the side of his head, the heavy weight of your pick knocking him off the side of your rampart with a hearty -thump- as he goes tumbling down the side of the Pyramid. With a second to think now, you center your mind, reaching deep inside of yourself to that burning anger boiling up in your gut for some sort of edge in this Strife. Ameliasprite didn’t just give you Rage to fight with, what she gave you is something beyond anger. You can feel it, that foolhardy delusion that you can win regardless of who you’re up against. Those Convictions to see a fight through to the Very End! Use it properly. Don’t let it control you. How did Mia put it? Like taming a Horse. There’s a Technique to taking the Reins. Don’t face it inward, that’s how it consumes you. Face it outward, front toward the enemy.

Channeling this sensation, you feel the power manifest, and before you forms a Purple Cog in an approximation of the Symbol of your Aspect, it’s teeth morphed into pointed spikes while the space in the middle of the construct bear designs of ornamental gaps and curves like the borders of a stain glass window. It hovers just before your chest, parallel to Time’s Gear which sits emblazoned upon your armor. Engaging, the Cog begins to tick, spinning counterclockwise. You feel a difference almost immediately as your anger sharpens to a fine point, standing taller with this power by your side. Like you could take on the whole world. You wield this now, not as a weapon, but as a tool. A pen to write your Decree; Whatever the Odds against you, that Heir won’t be standing by the End of this!

Stepping through the shattered remains of the guardrail, you step off your rampart, sliding down the length of the Pyramid on the soles of your shoes until you reach the walkway the Heir had been cast down to. You find him there, fiddling around with a few gears of his own, a strange ticking emanating out as he twists the two constructs back and forth, like he’s transmitting something morse code. -CKCKCK- -CK- -CK- -CK- -CKCKCK- The cogs clang against one another, ticking with a echo that holds a bass to it, as if whatever he’s doing plucks at existence, the sounds of its strings reverberates out into the timestream. Though noticing you’ve pursued after him, the chickenshit fumbles about, letting go his constructs which -zap- away into the ether as he scrambles to rearm himself, snatching up his club from the temple floor. Marching forward as your opponent readies himself for your arrival, you go to charge for your next clash when-

“Hg!” Something snags on your cape, yanking you back. Turning around with a snarling rage at whatever the hell’s interrupted your hunt, you find…

“Sup.” The Heir greets you with a smirking grin, a double of your opponent having manifested behind you on the walkway, foot stepping on your cape and pinning you in place. Not a moment later, you’re struck with this version’s club, a biting force laying into you that spins you halfway around. Stunned more by the surprise of the Second Heir than the actual hit, you’re left completely open as the First comes rushing in, cracking you back the way you came with a hit with his own club. The Second follows suit, sending his weapon flying into your stomach, nearly folding you in half from the hit. Swinging up, the First Heir uppercuts his crystal sphere into your jaw, knocking you upright. Against and against, you’re smacked around by the Dynamic Duo, caught in an endless loop of being bounced from Heir to Heir, each hit leaving a new bruise as they tag-team the fuck out of you! Ribs, knees, femurs, head, chest, SPINE, they’re battering you back and forth as if it were a game of PING PONG!! Their clubs pummeling you like the bumpers of a fucking Pinball Machine!

“ENOUGH!” You erupt, your form engulfing in a blazing aura as your senses go wild. Turning Bootstraps into a vertical guard in front of you, the incoming club strike is blocked before it can land, and shoving your pick’s grip forward, you smash the end of your weapon into the left socket of the First Heir’s eye. Leveled directly for the middle of his face, you send the head of your pickaxe driving into the Second Heir’s mouth, forcing him away as he nearly eats the metal crook of your arsenal. Extended the appropriate distance back, you then bring Bootstraps swinging over your shoulder back toward the First, striking down into his right shoulder and nearly taking him to the ground. Pulling him back by the hook you’ve embedded into his back, you fling the First behind you, sending him crashing into the Second who’s busy counting to see how many teeth he’d lost from your hit. “Great… He multiplies…” You lament as the cockroaches bicker with each other, fighting to stand up first while pushing the other off of themselves. It wasn’t bad enough that he won’t stay dead, now he’s spawning duplicates.

“You didn’t tell me it was this guy!” Thing 2 snips at his brother, shoving Thing 1’s hand off his shoulder as he was using it to pull himself up with. “Never would’ve shown up if I knew a fucking demon was your bounty!”

“You accepted the summons, didn’t you? Just shut up and help me with this prick!” The First Heir argues back, reaching around to the chunk you carved out of his shoulder blade to probe at the damages.

“Just know you owe me big for this.” Thing 2 informs him, taking an offensive stance beside the Original.

“Whatever, fine. Anything you want, I’m your guy.” He agrees, extending his arm over to the Second, the two Heirs tapping the sides of their forearms together like some kind of arm-length Fist Bump. He set a bounty on you? And the other was summoned here… So he’s calling for help from other Timelines. Didn't know you could do that here...

“No matter how many of you there are, no matter how many times you get back up… it won’t matter…” You breathe through the shuttering sensation of your bones being popped back in place as you Turn Back the damage dealt to your frame. “I don’t care what the odds are… I don’t care if the world is against me… You’re a DEADMAN EITHER WAY!”

Bursting forward with a speed imitating your Time Dilation (20 sec. your time =1 sec. local time), you slash at the both of them simultaneously, your attack blocked only by the combined strength of the two morons as both their clubs fight to keep your prong at bay. Ripping down their guards, you slam the two crystal spheres to the floor before bringing Bootstraps back up, cracking the two of them with an uppercut to the jaw, both twins struck with opposing sides of your pickaxe’s curve. Cocking back for your next attack, you send your pick swinging forward, though the strike is knocked off course as the First parries your hit, recovering quicker than anticipated. Off your balance, the Second Heir comes striking down at you, aiming not for you yourself, but the ground you stand upon, his club smashing down on the walkway where you’re stood and causing the stone there to crumble beneath you, sending you falling back off the platform.

“Ha!” Second boasts as the surprise of being thrown back finds itself across your face.

“Stay sharp!” First immediately orders his double. “This prick doesn’t go down-“ Reaching out as you fall, you snatch the Heir by his ankle before he can take his own advice, yanking him off his feet as you bring him down with you. “Easyyy!”

“No escaping the Inevitable!” You bellow with barely contained joy, an unadulterated smile carved across your lips as you raise your pick back to strike down into the pest! With all your might, you send Bootstraps down on a crash course for his heart!

“Not so fast!” Second shouts out, sliding in above you both while down on one knee, swatting your strike to the side like he’s swinging a baseball bat, knocking your hit off course and sending it slamming into the side of the pyramid just beside the Heir’s head. Burrowing down the entire length of its spike, your weapon engages with the stone like a lock with a key, and from the artifact releases another eruption of temporal force!

 

|

S

M

A

S

H

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Once again the ground under your very feet is shattered, vanishing as your pickaxe separates everything beneath its strike. In an instance, the entire length of the Super Pyramid is split in half, the vacuous fissure left in its wake shooting down through the megastructure like an enormous vector of force. Following all that destruction, the gargantuan stronghold is left like a cross section diagram, showing off the inner intricacies of the pyramid’s labyrinth as both sides of the split begin to crack apart, enormous chunks of stone breaking off and falling into the void you’ve cast open. With nothing of substance left beneath you, all three of your Strife’s Contenders go tumbling down along with the falling chunks of pyramid. Yet all around you, the world begins to grey over, the many pieces of the megastructure freezing midair where they are as both Heirs attempt to rewind themselves back to stable ground, their efforts falling short as Bootstraps nullifies their abilities.

“Kai, help!” The Heir you’ve still got by the ankle cries out for his other as you drag him down with you through the array of plummeting rocks frozen in space, banging and skipping off the few in the way of your descent.

“Coming in hot!” The Second shouts, diving to catch up with where you plummet in the sky. “Hang o-GH!” Just as he catches up with you and the First, you whip yourself around, dragging your captive into a swing as you crack Bootstraps against the uppity double’s head, slamming him back against a chunk of pyramid as you fall past. And as the large piece of fragmented stone breaks apart behind him from the impact, you send your First Heir crashing into the Second with all your enraged strength behind the hit, swatting him away like a game of badminton, a matching set of birdie and racket. “wahddafuck…!” The Second Heir manages to rasp as the wind is knocked out of him, flying off towards the carved open side of the pyramid.

“Damn it, dude, do something!” The First bellows as his rescue is flung away, watching helplessly as Thing 2 latches onto an upper level of the wreckage as he hits the side, leaving you and your prey to continue on into the abyss.

“Fuck you want me to do?! He hit me with Me!” The Second shouts after, looking down from his perch.

“I was there, jackass! Retcon it!” Dumb shouts to Dumber, evoking an annoyed ‘ugh’ from the latter. Reaching out their hands like some brain-dead rendition of the Creation of Adam, both Heirs extend their grasps towards one another, palms radiating with a temporal potential, invoking a creeping sensation to settle in on you as they try to overwrite the events you caused on the timeline. Already you feel the First Heir begin to slip from your grasp, his form shifting and threatening to vanish from this spot in time. He’ll get away if you don’t act fast, but… Damn it, you know where this is going.

Before the weaselly fuck can fully blip out of reach from you, the point of your pickaxe goes swinging into the Heir’s chest, and the recoil from Time’s attempts to revive its favorite incompetent stooge sends you-

 

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̴̢̺̻̠͔̻͎̞̜̑͜*̴̢̺̻̠͔̻͎̞̜̑͜*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝

 

Launching somewhere new. At a first glance, you find around you now is a dark and dreary valley, the two sides of a vast gorge, daggered peaks flanking you from both sides. Carved open like the sides of the pyramid you’d just came from… These jumps through time are starting to seem less and less random with each go-around. Could it be there’s a connection, taking you from place to place? Before you can contemplate the matter any further, a sudden strike of lightning returns you to the moment, illuminating the silhouettes of two sock-headed shitheels, showing off to you with all their bells and whistles the opponents you’ve failed to properly deal with. Seeing the face of that Heir once again, you can’t help but feel slighted by his continual refusal to die. Take the kiddie gloves off already, why don’t you!

The Twins are the first to move this time, bursting forward in succinct unison, one going high and the other low. Ducking the first, you bring Bootstraps to your side, blocking the second as his club slams against your guard. With no interest for another grapple of strength testing the other’s form, you shove the bottom of your pickaxe up, cracking your aggriever upside his chin with your weapon’s grip. Twisting around, you drag Bootstraps into a swing towards the first, forcing him away from you as he dodges out of your trajectory. Where the hell does he think he’s going?! Reaching out, you channel a slew of temporal energy into your hand, grasping hold of the Heir’s chronology and displacing him backwards through his timetrail towards you. Reappearing beside you again, your opponent only has a second to realize what you did before he’s struck full-force against the skull by his double’s club, Thing 2 already mid-swing when his Twin appears in the way of his attack.

“AAWH! Mother… FUCKER!” The Heir curses as he clutches his head, swooping up and down like he can swing the pain off of himself.

“Aw damn, dude, my bad.” The Second apologizes, reaching out slightly to see if he can help in any way. While he’s distracted, you spin Bootstraps into a reverse-grip, nestling your arm's joint against the neck of the pickaxe for an extra bit of force as you slam your elbow up into the Second Heir’s stomach, your pick piercing into him like a talon and taking the bitch off his feet as you lift him damn-near over your head while impaled on your spike. “Ugh!” He grunts, a breath full of blood hacking up from his mouth while he’s lifted in the air.

As you drop the useless sack of garbage to the earth again, his legs immediately buckling when his weight is put back down on them, and the pathetic rat goes stumbling over onto his side, collapsing to the ground. You’re about to finish the job when your own leg suddenly collapses, causing you to nearly trip forward as you jerk down to catch yourself. Thrice more, you’re struck at your ribs, head and base of your spine, the First Heir speed-blitzing you to keep you off his Twin. Bringing up a guard before his fifth strike can land, your pickaxe clashes with his club, keeping him from striking your throat. Always the fucking throat!

“You good, Kai?” The First asks his Second as he tries to keep you at bay.

“Gonna need a second…” Thing 2 weakly replies as he drags himself away to recuperate, blood trail slinking behind him. Juking back, all that force the Heir was placing against your guard suddenly has nothing pushing back against, and your opponent goes falling forward. Lunging back in when he’s at his most uncoordinated, you snag the Heir by his throat, carrying the prick back by the curve of your pick, and with a hefty fling forward, you toss his bloated corpse towards his double, knocking the two idiots together again. “OAgh!” The Second squawks as the full weight of his Twin lands on top of him. Appearing before the idiots in a flash, you don’t waste a second on Indulgences and cut straight to the point, bringing your pick up and swinging back down again, striking into the head of your opponent. Yet even as you do, that damn Double of his shoots his hand out with a panicked urgency, grasping palm blazing with time majyyks as he attempts to freeze your pickaxe before it can devastate his brother. Son of a B-

 

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̴̢̺̻̠͔̻͎̞̜̑͜*̴̢̺̻̠͔̻͎̞̜̑͜*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝

 

Blipping to yet another point in Paradox Space, you find yourself in the hall of a grand foyer this time, a heavy downpour of rain tapping at the nearby stained-glass window. You’re still on the Land of Castles and Lightning? In one of the fortresses. Down the hall from where you’ve arrived, not just one, but surprisingly both Heirs stand before you, the First looking over his Duplicate, ensuring the wounds you’d dealt are completely rewritten.

“The fuck did you get me roped into, jackass?!” The Second shoves the Heir away.

“It’s a Strife, what did you think you signed up for? Don’t be such a crybaby.” The First snips back, puffing his chest out at himself.

“You said it was a rival Time player, not the fucking Grim Reaper!” The Summoned Opponent protests, taking a step back while glancing your way down the hall, watching you march your way towards them, Bootstraps lazily slung over your shoulder.

“Grim reaper this, grim reaper that, what the hell is everyone on about?! He’s just a fucking guy!” The Heir moans, gesturing at you with his club.

“Whatever, dude. I’ve only got a minute-thirty left on the clock. After that, you’re on your own!” The Second nips back, facing forward towards your approach. Seeing you’re still coming, the two burst forward with you following in kind, lunging at one another, meeting at the center of the hall with a -booming- clash. The Second blocks your initial swing, giving the First an opening in your left flak as he holds your guard. With your main armament occupied, you tuck your leg in, kicking out and striking the Heir in his chest like a bolt of lightning, sending him flinging across the foyer, crashing into the stone wall at the other side of the hall. With your full attention now, you reach forward to the Second, grabbing him by the collar and tearing him into a spin, hurling the idiot after the original, slamming him back into the crater he’d left in the wall. “…ugh… why… does he keep throwing us…?” Your projectile rasps while folded across the Heir’s stomach.

“Get the hell off of me!” The First yips, pushing his duplicate out of his lap.

“Your resistance is meaningless.” You announce to your opponents as you slowly approach. “Call whoever you want for backup. Time itself won’t be able to save you now.” Hurrying to their feet, the two morons use the other to claw themselves upright, scrambling to prepare for your advance forward, flourishing your pickaxe as you prepare to meet them where they stand. “I already told you, didn’t I? It doesn’t matter how many of you there are, how many times you get up… You’re a deadm-“

*CHOMP*

Before you can finish your declaration, a sudden force falls over your person like a dense cloak dropping upon your mantle, and as this cowl latches onto you, your head is jerked to the side and a pair of daggers go sinking into your jugular, an excruciating sensation pouring into your neck like hellfire sparking within your soul.

“GAAAAH!” You shout, realizing your throat is being bitten into, a third opponent having snuck up behind you somehow. Feeling the cold, clammy hand that clutches your face, holding your head out to the side to reveal your neck, your reach back over your shoulder to whatever the hell had jumped onto your back, grabbing the thing by the face and tearing it off of you as you pull them over yourself in a judo throw, flinging it to the floor at your feet. “Mother FUCKER!” You shout as what lies there on the ground before you is the god damn Thief of Blood, her hellish maw laden thick with heavy splatters of your blood, licking her teeth as though astonished by the flavor. Earning your ire near-instantaneously, you cock back your foot, sending a kick screaming through space, punting the Nosferatu Bitch in the stomach as hard as physically possible, the bone in your shin shattering as you send her booming to the other side of the hall, crashing into the First Heir and sending the two through to the other side of the stone wall. “GRAH!” You snarl as you Turn Back your injuries, a whole new unbridled fury brimming from your every fucking pore. Turning to the only opponent left in your line of sight, all that rage spilling out of you finds its focus on him now.

“I-I-I’m not associated… w-with whatever that was about…” The Second Heir struggles to get out as you stare him down. This is not a negotiation. Bounding forward, you clash weapons with the stammering simpleton, though when you strike his guard, you overpower his defenses with such ease that it was as if he’d gone limp the moment you swung into him, and the boy is slammed against the break in the wall. With chunks of stone shaken loose from his future-corpse banging against the breach, you strike the top of the threshold, collapsing what’s left of the fissure down on top of him. Shooting his hand up, the Heir freezes the falling pieces in time, suspending them where they hang in the air, though the strain and confusion on his face makes it apparent he’d intended to rewind the pieces back into place, not just halt their fall. With his hands full keeping the rubble in place as Bootstraps stifles his powers, you walk up to your target through the tunnel in the bulwark and crash your pickaxe into his skull, sending him flying after the first two opponents. No longer holding them up, the large boulders that make up the wall collapse on top of you, though none get close enough to do any damage, turning to dust as you lock them all away behind a Loose Ends Knot, the temporal erosion atomizing the debris in a few beating moments.

Entering into the fray once more, you join the gutter trash that’ve gone against you in the chamber you tossed them in, finding the lot all in squabbles with one another amidst the center of a cellar. The Thief has pounced on the First Heir, a toppled rack of broken bottles beside them as she attempts to tear him apart, slashing into his forearms while he tries desperately to guard his face, a pool of blood and wine surrounding them both. Meanwhile, the Second Heir, shaking off the last hit you delivered as another rack goes crashing down into the next shelf, rushes to get the Thief off of his double. Stumbling as he approaches and slipping on the spilt wine, Thing 2 practically tackles into her as he trips, clotheslining the freak with the crook of his elbow as he arrives.

“Guh… About time!” The First Heir barks at his counterpart, weakly sitting up as he fearfully inspects his diced up arms, unsure what to do with the injuries painted across his canvas.

“Quit bitching and help me here!” The Second orders as he tries to choke out the writhing pale mass of a Thief thrashing in his grasp with a headlock. His hold on her doesn’t last long, however, as worming enough space in his grip to free up her jaw, the Thief sinks her teeth into the forearm, enormous fangs shredding and mauling the plump of flesh like the ravenous indulgence of a fat man tearing into a chicken wing. “DUAAAH!” He shrieks, releasing the Thief in an instant. Before the psychotic feral thing can pounce back onto him, the First Heir comes to the rescue of his #2, sweeping his club swinging down into the Thief’s side, sending her flying back towards you. Flipping over, the Thief reorients herself to the ground, dragging her claws into the floor to stop herself, crouching down like a tiger.

“Hgm…” The thing grumbles when it sees you standing there beside her, leaning closer in to position herself in a protective guard at your flank before refocusing on the Heir Pair. Huh… steals connections, does she? Guess you’ve got a new guard dog. Readying yourself, you and the Thief launch forward, your prey startled to find you’ve evened the numbers. Striking first, you swipe down at Heir #1, a bursting plume of sparks erupting as you clash with his club, meanwhile, the Thief gallops into the Second, leaping out as she pounces on the worm, taking him to the ground as her entire weight hits him in the chest. Throwing an attack back, your Heir swings back and forth for your head, missing as you weave back with each step he takes towards you. In the follow through of his fourth swing, you lunge back at him, slamming Bootstraps into the bridge of his nose and snatching him by his collar when he falls back, keeping him right where you want him. Raising your pick, you’re about to drive it straight through the wretch’s skull, no more tricks to spit you out somewhere else, though as soon as you go to swing down, you feel your hand dragging. Looking up, you find your pickaxe sputtering in spastic increments as the Second Heir, amidst being turned into a chew-toy by the Thief, attempts and fails to freeze your attack where it is in time, the after-effect being your swing slowing to a crawl. Mother fu-

*CRACK*

With your swing far behind what you’d intended, the Heir recovers from your last hit and throws his club around your neck, grabbing hold of both sides of his weapon as it yokes upon your nape. And before you could stop him, the uppity bastard reeled back, slamming the top of his temple against the center of your face, breaking your nose in the process. Losing your grip as you wince from the hit, you’re struck twice more by the Heir’s club, once in the base of your neck where it connects with your shoulder, the other at the back of your hand, trying to break your grasp on Bootstraps. However, before the fucker can get any more hits in, your unexpected ally comes sweeping in to your aid, slashing the Heir across the face, leaving three deep gashes from his eye down across his nose to the other side of his cheek, evoking a guttural screech from the bitch as he clutches at what remains of his mug.

“Fucking Cunt!” He snarls through clenched teeth, the hand grasping at his face scorching red as he conjures enough temporal energy to be unimpeded by Bootstraps’ negating effect. And in what you’d thought was an attempt to restore the damage to his face, the Heir suddenly slams his fist down in an unexpected move, a flash of light bursts out from his touch, enveloping everything around you. With the very last second you have before impact, you summon up a Dilation Close Off, encapsulating both you and your Thief behind a barrier of anti-effect as the Heir floods the room with raw, unfettered Time. In the blink of an eye, your surroundings are sent through centuries of aging, and aside from all the wine on the nearby racks probably being quadrupled in price, the ground beneath you crumbles to dust and gives way, leaving the entire Strife to fall through as the floor vanishes in the wind. Falling into a plummet, all Four players are cast to the next level down in the castle, nosediving straight through the banquet table of the mead hall you’ve apparently broken into. Who the hell puts the dining room below the cellar?

Wobbly pushing himself up from the splinters of the table, the Second Heir get’s reamed as the chandelier detached from what’s left of the crumbling ceiling, nearly causing you to burst out into laughter at the sight. Before you can break composure, a few more personal effects from the upper level come crashing down to your lower one, several of the wine racks sliding off what remained of the floor there. Raining down on top of the already damaged mead hall, the sudden weigh hitting all at once shakes loose the foundations of your flooring, causing the whole room to tremble until, just like the last one, the entire level gives way, the ground beneath you breaking through, sending you falling into the unknown.

Unlike the previous level, a majority of your floor is still intact when it shakes loose this time, completely flattening whatever the hell was in the room below the dining area as it lands, slamming down and stacking ground upon ground on your new altitude. The lot of you are thrown to the floor as you land, dropped into the completely eviscerated table remains of the mead hall, though before any participant in this strife has the chance to get to their feet again, your new foundations are shaken loose once more, and the ground beneath you collapses as you ride through the castle floors on a wave of crashing force, taking out levels like dominos at this point. Down and down, the weight behind your fall increases with each floor you take out as you carve a pit into the center of the building. Embedding Bootstraps into the ground, you use the anchor point to pry yourself to your feet while mid-plummet, finding the Thief already ahead of you, attempting to bite through the club of the Second Heir as he tries to keep her at bay. The First Heir, however, seems to have abandoned his double entirely, slowly marching your way, his feet slamming down against the floor and freezing in place, ensuring he remains attached with each step forward, an unbridled fury on what remains of his face. Alright, chucklefuck. Bring it on!

But On it was never Brought. As you go to throw yourself at the arrogant fucker challenging you, it seems you’ve run out of levels to fall to in the castle, as the ground beneath you gives way and you fall and fall, but never land again. Realizing at roughly the same time that you’re in free-fall, you and the Heir begin to drift apart as pieces of the shattered floor start to separate from one another, dividing you all apart as you’re plunged into a dark abyss. Looking up, you watch as the bottom of the castle you’d just been in gets further and further away, its foundations sticking out from the ceiling of a subterranean cavern you now fall through. Oh yeah, Dal mentioned there was an extensive underground on LOCAL, didn’t she? Searching through the fragmenting pieces of castle falling alongside your chunk of floor, you spot the piece of wreckage the Heir has attached himself to, finding him diagonal to the one you’re anchored on. Putting a bit of force behind it, you launch yourself from your platform out at him, slamming into the prick and taking him through his fragment of flooring as you swing for his heart!

Blocking your hit, you take the Heir flying through the debris field, tackling him into a section of stone wall as you try to force through his guard. Latching himself onto the entity, your opponent freezes his hand to the barrier before kicking you off of him, sending you tumbling down through the air as he continues to Wallride above you. It isn’t until your back slams against another piece of wreckage that you’re able to reorient, embedding Bootstraps down into your platform to give yourself enough traction to get to your feet. Looking back up at the Heir, ready to take another run at him, your plans of attack are waylaid as you watch the slippery bastard scaled the section of wall he’s on, navigating to the very top of the stone chunk, standing upon it as if riding it down into the abyss like it were a boogie-board. And before you can realize what he’s doing, the Heir kicks the enormous piece of rock down, imbuing the wall with a temporal jinx, accelerating it through time and launching it down at you like a fucking rocket as the thing speeds through the trajectory of its fall. Coming at you too quickly to react, the enormous disk goes barreling into you, folding you in half over its width while it carries you along in its fast-forwarded fall. Whipping winds filling your ears, you have to grit your teeth to keep yourself from losing it, focusing on the task at hand as you sink Bootstraps into the side of the wall ahead of you, pulling yourself forward to try and crawl out from under the weight of the wrecked bulwark. However, you don’t get the chance to, as you reach the bottom of the cavern before you can pry yourself free, the chunk of wall slamming down on top of you as you collide with the ground.

 

-CRASH-

 

The impact shatters your spine, you’re sure of it. Probably would’ve been enough to outright split you in half, had you not had your armor on. In a complete system shock, you can barely feel anything past the tingling in your face, but a vague sense of sinking under the weight of the wall brings to your attention the fact that you’ve wound up underwater somehow. Prying your eyes open, you find that, indeed, you’re drifting down into some lake or river that’d been at the bottom of the cave. Putting yourself back together again, you grit through the remaining pain and claw your way through the water, scaling up to the top of the enormous building-chunk projectile that nearly squashed you like a bug. By the time you resurface and clamber onto the part of your wall still sticking out from the water, the rest of the castle wreckage comes crashing down around you, striking into the surface of the lake with violent splashes that send plumes of mist flying wildly into the air around you. Hearing the distinct sound of soaring from directly above, you look up in time to see another chunk of wall or floor or whatever the hell is plunging down on top of you.

Leaping out before you can be flattened again, you splash back down into the water, evading the pieces of castle as it collides with one you’d been perched upon. Sweeping below the tide, you feel the vibrations of more objects hitting the water’s surface as you approach a bank at the edge of the lake, and finally getting solid ground beneath your feet again, you shoot up, trudging through the shallows as you head for dry land. Stored water begins to pour out from the slits of your armor when you fully stand up, leaving you a soaked Fountain of a man as your boots finally tread upon ground once more. Unfortunately, you’re not long for solid land before you hear a sudden splashing rushing up behind you, and when you turn to look, you’re struck on the temple by the Heir as he catches back up with you. In no mood for games at this point, you swing Bootstraps back, striking up into the bastard’s underarm, hooking into the Heir before dragging him down into the deep, drowning him in the few inches of water on the shoreline. Pressing your boot down into the prick’s back to keep him in place as he flails to get loose, you think for the briefest of moments that you’ve finally got the cockroach. Yet, in true wood-unknocked fashion, you jinx the fuck out of things as a sudden Dome encapsulates the surrounding area in a radius of ten-or-so feet around you. Looking back, you spot the Second Heir perched on a piece of wall sticking out from the nearby shallows, invoking the construct around you, and almost immediately, time within the sphere begins speeding up, racing what must be centuries into the future as the sea at your feet boils away in a flash and the ground beneath you begins to sink, eroding in real-time as it fits to contour the curve of the dome like a bowl in the beachhead. Gasping for air as soon as the waterline vanishes from around him, the Heir composes himself enough to push you off as he jerks upright.

With a bit of a groan, you go to swing into your still recovering opponent, finding your attack blocked as he brings his club up. Great. Another Round. And as you two fence down in the bottom of your little gladiator pit, the Second Heir suddenly has his concentration interrupted as the Thief emerges from the water like a shark, leaping out and sinking her teeth into his shoulder. And as the bitch cries out from the bite, control over his time bubble breaks, and the wall of water that was held at bay behind the dome comes pouring into your bowl, striking into you and the Heir, washing you away like alligators in the sewer. Punching Bootstraps down as you sweep past the side of the bowl, you anchor yourself again, resisting the current as it tries to take you out into the greater body of water. Spotting just beside you, the vague shape of your opponent goes sweeping past as well, caught in the riptide. Reaching out to the dark figure, you snag the bastard by the neck and slam him against the ground, though it isn’t a second later that he sends the crystal sphere of his club across your face. You shake it off, holding firm to the grip you’ve got around his throat, but a second hit comes flying in on the passing current as the Second Heir goes diving through the riptide alongside you both, practically slamming his entire body into you in the process. Shaken loose from your anchored point, you and the two idiots are taken along with the waves, the water getting even darker as it fills with blood from your collective wounds.

Eventually navigating your way through the murky mess, you reach the side of the bowl, pulling yourself up as you attempt to get back on solid ground. Though as soon as you breach the water, you’re struck in the head, one of the Heirs already making it back on land before you. Taking the brunt force of it in stride, you shoot Bootstraps out, hooking your pick around his feet and sweeping them out from under him, tossing your opponent on his back. Before you can get any further than that, the other comes swimming up behind you, ramming into your back as he throws his arms around you like he’s trying for a bear-hug, choking you as he locks that damn club against your throat. Gurgling through the strangulation, you tear a chunk of stone from the lip of the shoreline and ram it back behind you, knocking a dent into your opponent’s temple and breaking his guard enough to slip from his grasp. Twisting around in the water, you bring your rock against his head once again, finding it was the First Heir down in the water with you when you slam the stone across his mince-meat face! With him somewhat subdued, you begin to crawl out from the water again, but you quickly have to dodge to the right as the Second Heir takes a golfer’s swing in an attempt to knock your head from your shoulders, narrowly avoiding his hit as you slump to the side. Completely exposed there on the ground, the Heir raises his club up, ready to come swinging down again, yet before his crystal sphere can take the plunge, the Thief of Blood comes shooting out from the water, flying teeth-first into your would-be executioner, her jaws sinking into his tattered arm and biting it clean off as she goes by.

“DAAAGH!” He shrieks, gazing in horror at the missing stump of an arm he now has, too stunned to realize he’s still in a Strife. Quickly following up her attack, the Thief suddenly shoots behind the Heir, her arms slipping under his own and locking him into a full nelson, holding him in place. The pansy flips shit while in that hold, panicking as he struggles to break free, and as you rise up from the stone floor of the cave, you see behind the Heir’s head the Thief peaks out, her lips curving into a bloody, razor-filled smile when she sees you stand, goading you forward as she holds your prey steady for you. Seeing what she’s got planned, you can’t help but smile back.

“Okay, freakshow… let’s see what you’ve got!” You mutter through your smirk. Twirling Bootstraps as you approach, the Second Heir seems to register what’s about to happen to him, his eyes focusing on the claw hanging down in your hand. Hearing the sounds of the First Heir scrambling to get back on land, you figure you’d better make this one quick. Reeling back, you go to swing, but right as you do, Thing 2 uses his entire upper body to shove himself out of the Thief’s hold, and in the split second he’s free, the boy twists around, and you watch as your ally is send flying towards you, catapulted in reverse through her chronology, throwing her back towards the water. You weave to the side of the girl as she goes by, easily maneuvering around her form as you remain focused on the task at hand. And just as Second Heir goes spinning back to face you again, your pick goes piercing through into his chest.

“No!” The First shouts as he sprints to catch up with you. Gazing down at the spike embedded through his heart, the Second looks almost too stunned to speak.

“…Huh.” Is all he says before his entire body turns a translucent red, reverting to a pure energy before he-

 

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝

 

Explodes. The Second Heir Explodes in a burst of temporal energy, sending you spiraling through Spacetime for yet another jump across Paradox Space. Figures he was only a Construct. You really should’ve seen that one coming.

With an aggravated snarl, your nose scrunches up like the snout of a rabid wolf and you let out an infuriated shout at yet another failed attempt at putting the Heir down, slamming Bootstraps into the nearby wall you’ve arrived at to vent out a piece of the frustration building in you. Glancing around, you find no signs of the Heir, discovering you’ve been taken to a cramped corridor of pipes and blaring engines. With no other thoughts in your mind while you’re this angry, you march forward through the narrow passage with your only intent being to find your prey, each of your steps carrying with them a furious weight behind their placements, making you sound more a mountain approaching than a single man. It isn’t until you get to a cross section that you find anything of note. He’s down another stretch of corridor of pipes and steam, but you recognize him instantly. Frank. You’re back on the junker then, on one of the lower decks. With an ally in sight, you have a path forward towards your objective. So it’s about time you traverse this motherfucking hallway already.

“Frank!” You shout down the hall as you begin your march to your ally, causing the boy to practically jump out of his skin when he hears you, turning to face your way from his small nook in this mess of a lower deck.

“W-…who’s there?!” He calls back, a tremble in his voice at the sudden call from the dark. It’s dim in the corridor, the only thing visible of you to him aside from the vague outline of your silhouette likely being the glowing colors radiating from your eyes. Walking forward towards your teammate, each step of your march made that much more imposing by the echo of the narrow passage, you eventually come to through the smoke, revealing yourself to the Page. Yet no relief comes across Frank’s face as he realizes who’s appeared, instead the color seems to drain from his face at the sight of you. “J-j-… Jason…?” He asks, as though unsure if it’s really you, taking a step back as you approach with a swiftness. “I-I-I thought you w-were-… were… w-what’s wrong with your eyes…?” He continues to pester with meaningless questions, a notable fear on his face as a chill washes over him. “H-hey, p-please calm down, o-okay…!”

“Where are they?!” You demand to know, your temper growing the longer he stammers through that overly-timid demeanor of his, clutching Bootstraps by your side to try and alleviate the stress.

“W-w-w-where is w-w-who?!” He nervously asks back, his teeth chattering as you march right up to him, towering over the short stature of your young Page. Damn it, you have no time to be playing these games!

“The Mother Fucking Heir of Time!” You snap, getting so close to the boy that the glow of your eyes reflects off the stitched skin of his face, spiraling colors painting the beads of sweat that trail down his forehead.

“I-I-, I dunno! I dunno!” He squeaks, shrinking down into himself. “I’m sorry! I-I’m sorry!” Worthless! With a huff, you turn to look elsewhere for more useful allies to help, but just as you do, a faint glint catches your attention from the corner of your eye. And looking just in time, you see a blurring red bolt zooming down the corridor after you.

“Get down!” You order Frank, shoving him back as Heir goes tearing through where he’d just stood, nearly barreling through the unsuspecting Page. Taking the hit intended for Frank on the chin, you’re knocked back, thrown through a layer of pipes that make up the wall in the passage. In the split second you’re incapacitated, fucker turns back to Frank, club raised up and about to split his head open like a watermelon. Throwing Bootstraps around the neck of his club, you yank his attack back, pulling him away from your teammate. “Get out of here, Frank! Find somewhere safe to take cover!” You bark at the stunned boy as he watches you wrestle over the Heir’s club, keeping it from striking down at him. “Now!” Snapping out of it, your Page gets up, bolting down the corridor for the top deck. Meanwhile, you struggle to get the reins on this bastard, the unusual strength he’s been showing off growing out of control. Fending you off, the Heir throws you back before he summons to his offhand a small chain of three spectral gears, attempting to detonate another Time Bomb in the center of your team's ship! You won’t let the jagoff get the chance! Slipping past his defenses, you roll across the Heir’s guard into his flank, swinging Bootstraps straight through the string of constructs, piercing straight through into the bastard’s lung from the soft spot below his ribs.

 

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̴̢̺̻̠͔̻͎̞̜̑͜*̴̢̺̻̠͔̻͎̞̜̑͜*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝

 

That one was to be expected. Though just because you saw the jump through time coming doesn’t mean you aren’t fucking pissed that did! It just keeps happening! Leaving you all the more frustrated at just how persistent this cockroach seems to be. The Fucker just won’t Die!

Stepping out into your new arena, you take a deep breath in, a strong smell of iron lingering in the air. You’re in a great cathedral of some kind, a hall of stained glass shining down rays of light in segmented beacons through the foyer. Just like last time, the Heir is nowhere to be seen. Your Aspect is buying him Time to recover, it seems. Does that mean… you’re wearing him down after all…? Perhaps it’s just the illusion from the Hope Bullets this narrative is being presented through, but… you can’t shake this feeling of a Destiny guiding your way through these halls. A preordained instinct, like the one that guides a bird to migrate. Leading you to your Finale.

Progressing forward, you pass through the walls of light shining down from the colored glass, a simplified portrayal of several Planets of varying shapes and hues drifting in space, all being broken apart into pieces from their depictions in the window frames. You give them a passing glance, too furious a focus on your task at hand to give any mind to the lore you’re likely bearing witness to. You continue on regardless, listening to what sounds like a raging storm as its winds blow just outside the cathedral walls. While you walk, you notice that the architecture begins to slowly morph to a more roman appearance as you go, columns lining the halls as the corridor curves along a crest to a central hub. It’s at this crossroad junction that you find pause, hearing the distant sounds of voices echoing through the sanctuary.

“Are we certain he can pull this off?” A gravelly voice asks, their words bouncing off the walls to reach you.

“That troublesome girl is enamored with the Page, is she not?” A lighter voice asks back as you grow closer. “Have faith. Our Middle will get us the opening we need.”

“He has failed in the past.” The first voice notes with a dismissive tone.

“Haven’t you all?” The softer voice counters with an audible smirk. “Struggle is only natural, and I am a forgiving God. Let him his second chance.”

“Very well, my Lady. Then please, forgive me if I speak out of turn, but would a direct confrontation with these wolves not yield more forthright results? Surely that Blue Blood and her puppet don’t possess the means to rival your might.”

“Both the puppet and the master are hopeless husks, devoid of any elevated sensibilities. Their minds have been closed off to the glory of a Higher Power. I will not sully myself dueling such philistines.” The softer voice explains as you come to a junction in the cathedral, all traces of its religious themes swallowed up by the more war-like ancient bastion that you now lurk through. The stench of blood has grown as you’ve gone along as well, so much so that it stings at your nose, the pungent metallic notes driving you insane. “Trust in the plan Minimus has given us. No other is as adept at weaving the clandestine as she. Her schemes will bear fruit, all that is needed is patience.” As the two unseen individuals continue to chatter away, polluting the otherwise silent halls with their gibbering nonsense, you round the corner leading to the front entrance of this dump, finding a set of enormous stone doors like that of a great mountain keep. Finding as well alongside this passage are two familiar individuals you’d seen just only yesterday.

“Hm?” The Mage of Rage is first to notice as you round the corner, sitting up from where he leans against the wall. Noticing her lapdog put on alert, the Thief of Hope turns to see where he looks, finding you there, your stride paused as you run into these two vagrants.

“…” Blinking at you like a pair of confusion squirrels, a pause passes over the fortress foyer where you meet their wide-eyed looks with a simmered glare, doing the calculations in your head just how much longer this fight will drag on with those two throwing their hats into the ring let alone the rest of their little troop.

“…And just what the hell do you think you’re doing back here?” The Thief demands, a tone of outrage nagging at you as she stomps your way. No time for this. You march forward. “I’ve told you once, have I not? You are to confront the Saboteurs and signal when her guard is lowest.” You say nothing as you walk, watching as the Thief stops in the middle of the room, crossing her arms at you as you grow near. “Are you finding difficulty complying with your commandment, apostle?”

“Move.” You order as you approach the delusional girl, your mind too drenched in anger and bile to want to deal with whatever the fuck is playing out before you right now.

“Why you insubordinate-! You dare?!” Her posture shoots up like she’s stepped on a tack, an almost physical recoil from the single word you spoke. Meeting her where she blocks your path in the room, you lean in close enough to snap at the girl, forcing her to pull back the closer you press.

“Piss off, bitch.” You snarl at the Pretender, teeth gripped tighter than a vice as the prismatic shimmer of your eyes are reflected back in hers. Left too stunned to speak, you pass the Thief unabated, your path to the way out of this place obscured only by the Mage now, the gloomy freak peering at you with an unsure look, studying you with an intense scrutiny, like he’s looking for any flaw in your stride. If he’s searching for a weakness, you’ve got none to find. You pay the clown no mind as you reach the stone gate, throwing the doors open without break in stride.

Stepping out from the bastion, you’re met with a hellish sight. The crimson skies cloud-over as far as the horizon, raining what you can only assume to be blood down on the surrounding areas. Winds rage at near-hurricane speeds, blowing the tattered banners hung up about the large circular courtyard you’ve entered with reckless abandon. Though more concerning than any of this is the crowd of grotesque monstrosities that stand at attention, hulking figures with unnaturally long limbs and flesh as dark as midnight, scattered throughout the court in slack legions standing in distracted guard, squabbling in beating clashes with one another when they lean too closely into another’s space, barking and grumbling at their opposing guardsmen when they get near. Cutting through the center of the courtyard sits an elevated walkway running horizontal from where you’ve emerged from, dividing the enclosure as it hangs a few steps above the pack of monsters. At the midpoint of the path, directly across from your doors to the bastion, a figure stands, their hand reached out up into the air, and from the tips of her fingers extend five glowing maroon wires, stretching up into the sky where the clouds darken to near-pitch. Seeing those wires gives you an itch in just about every inch of your body, the faint recollection of having them rip your very essence out of you still ruminating at the back of your mind. The Thief of Heart… Is every asshole in the Arena meeting up today or something?

Walking a step forward towards the fray, the wind whips at your clothes as it drowns out the mad ravings of the beast-men surrounding the platform, yet through it all, you notice something rather unusual. To the left of her on the path, a figure draws near to the Thief, crossing the walkway to approach the girl while flanked by the sea of monsters. At first, it takes a moment to recognize, but clear as day, there’s no mistaking him. A flowing red cloak blowing in the wind behind him, you see the Page of Time confronting the Thief of Heart once more.

“I know it’s… it’s been a while, but… I really think we should talk!” The You over yonder tries to shout over the wind as he creeps forward, seeming wary of the surrounding monstrosities hanging just below the walkways, their crowd only growing more restless the closer he gets to the Troll. “Sure, we didn’t part on the best of terms, but if any alliance between us can be forged, I’d be more than willing to try and make it work!” …What the fuck are you doing?! No… No! You can’t seriously be-…!

As you try to decipher what the hell is transpiring in this snapshot in time, a step behind you catches your attention. Glancing back, you find the Thief of Hope and her Mage both just past the threshold of the stone doors, peering out past you towards the You on the bridge as he courts the Enemy Heart Player. The Mage’s eyes remain on the you closest to him, watching your every move like a hawk, however the Thief looks between both iterations, a slow realization beginning to dawn on her face as she seems to put things together in her head of why there are Two of You. Before the ditz can come to a conclusion on whatever the hell she’s realizing, you quickly move to action, casting a Loose Ends Knot over the doorway, the stone slabs slamming shut and locking behind your construct, cementing them in their place in time. You’ve got no idea what’s going on in this place, but having those two out of the equation can only benefit you at this point.

Turning back, you step out from the shadows of the colonnade into the dim light of the Land, and even in the middle of all that noise and chaos, it seems this You notices as an outsider appears at the border of his stage. In the middle of his little speech to the Thief of Heart, You pause, turning to look your way as you reveal yourself there in the court. A moment of confusion passes over your face as you make yourself out in the crowd, but once he understands who it is that’s stepped forward, that confusion melts away, replaced by a bewildered shock, a near-panic as he realizes that another You is here. It seems You can sense the contempt you have for yourself in this moment, enfeebling yourself into some kind of groveling suck-up to that heinous bitch, and for what?! You should be taking that damn troll apart right now! So you ask again;

“What the Fuck are you Doing?!” You shout over to You, slamming Bootstraps through the nearby pillar, attracting the attention of a few nearby mutant freaks in the crowd. “We don’t negotiate with scum like her, you fucking idiot! Now pull out your God Damn Pickaxe and Kill Her!” You order yourself, pointing your own pick at the impotent wimp! Urgently looking to the Thief, this You checks for the psycho’s reaction as if he were praying you didn’t just piss her off with your outburst, sinking into himself like some kowtowing pushover, practically biting his nails in fear! Yet, even with your interruption slapped down in the middle of this humiliation ritual, no changes come to the Thief’s demeanor, the Troll’s head hanging slack, hair drooped down covering her face. Catatonic. Not so much as a twitch from her form as she practically hovers there on the bridge. What… what’s wrong with her…?

“RAAAAAAH!” Before anything else can be said between you, yourself and Irene there, a bellowing fucking retard comes screaming out as he charges across the path, the Heir of Time finally revealing himself as he attacks the wrong you, his club slamming down on your skull as he appears before him in a flash. You bend over practically in half as he reels from the strike, left unguarded as the Heir sends his club flying back up, clipping you in the chin and throwing his gangly body arcing back. Ah shit.

Racing forward before that bastard can get any more licks in on this you, the worlds around you darkens like the stage of a play during a solo act, your convictions imitating the effects of a Full Time Stop as its vague approximation of how your powers function slow reality to a near-halt. Leaping out, you bound off the heads of the monster-crowd until you arrive at the walkway, reaching the platform as you drop-kick into the Heir, all the force of your approach slamming into him and catapulting the fucker across the courtyard, crashing into the opposing pillars parallel to the path. And as the jackass slowly peels off from the crater you left him in, falling into the pit of monsters to subsequently be mauled, you turn to your less dignified self, finding him worriedly looking down at his hand cupped beneath his face as it stains with some kind of dark liquid flowing out of his nose in place of blood. Marching over, you grab hold of him by the collar.

“Get yourself together, asshole!” You shout into the wimp’s face, his nose still pouring with what looks like motor oil.

“O-okay…!” He quickly nods. You have no gauge on whether he’s capitulating out of fear or understanding. Either way, you have no time to be dealing with this right now. No time at all. Shoving him back, you pause a moment, seeing the Thief still stood motionless behind him. Not so much as a twitch from her. Taking a moment to follow the length of her tethers, you glance up into the sky, finding something… staring back at you. One of her soul puppets, its whited-out eye transfixed on you in particular in the crowd. The sight is revolting, what remains of the thing smiling down at you with a crooked grin as it drifts like a sunken corpse. With a disgusted sneer, you turn back to the task at hand, dropping down into the pit alongside the other monsters. You march through the crowd to where the Heir stands surrounded, fending off the legion of beasts, looking torn to ribbons as flesh and manifestations of time hang from his frame alike. You gotta give it to him on this one, he’s keeping these freaks at bay, with a dozen or so lying dead with their heads caved in around him, twice that number frozen in place at his perimeter, suspended in time. Though if you don’t act fast, the hoard just might finish him off for you. Wading through the dark sea of agitated flesh, you speed past the vanguard of the assault, hurling yourself pick-first at your prey.

“He’s mine!” You declare to the mutts, slashing up across the Heir’s torso, leaving a bloody gash upon his chest. Taking him by surprise, your opponent stumbles back a few paces, stunned a moment by the strike before catching himself in time for your next hit, his club clashing with your pick as you go for the neck. Throwing you off his guard, the Heir reaffirms his grip, ensuring he’s prepared for any attack while your crowd goes wild, the beasts springing and beating and raving around you like a savage tribe watching their gladiators fight. Lunging forward, you give no time to your opponent, striking down at the Heir, his club clashing with you once more, yet this time, the curve of your pick hooks upon the crystal sphere of his weapon as it pierces down. And with a quick yank forward, your opponent is pulled off his guard, leaving him open for when you hoist Bootstraps up, plunging its spike into his heart.

“Hugh!” He sharply breaths in as you push your pick just a little further, ensuring you completely skewer his bloodpusher. However, just as your opponent should be fading away into that good night, a determined look crosses his face, and he suddenly throws his hands around the non-impaled half of Bootstraps, the tattered strands of time hanging from his wrists wrapping around your pick, slapping tight along its spike as their intrinsic energy glow red-hot. Clever dick!

 

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̴̢̺̻̠͔̻͎̞̜̑͜*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̴̢̺̻̠͔̻͎̞̜̑͜*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̴̢̺̻̠͔̻͎̞̜̑͜*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝

 

He’s getting smarter. He knows so long as he’s got some form of temporal energy running through his body when you kill him, Time will have just enough influence to overwrite inevitability to keep him alive. You just have to go harder. Strike faster, before he has the chance to activate anything.

Remerging into the world in a blip, you have no time to reorient yourself this go-around as you’re struck upon the back of your head almost immediately upon your arrival. Though… it’s lighter this time. Nowhere near the weight the Heir’s been hitting you with. In fact, if not for the rigid form that’d cracked into you, you’d say it felt like no more than a shove. Glaring back at whatever the hell you were struck with, you find a stocky looking Troll boy dressed in rags, what remains of an oddly shaped bat in his hands split in half with its top end hanging on by a splintery pulp. You and the troll exchange looks, and you witness in realtime as he realizes his weapon just shattered over your head to no damage. Dropping what remains of the bat to the sand floor, the boy backs up, his hands up in surrender.

Facing back, you spot the Heir just across from you in a similar situation, parrying off a Troll girl with a set of hand-scythes with ease. Glancing around at where you’ve both been jumped to this time, you find yourselves in a deep pit, two sets of portcullis gates on opposing sides of the circular arena and a sand floor beneath you. The hell is this place?

“A… a-and as a surprise entry for… tonight’s roster…“ A sudden voice comes booming from above, drawing your attention up towards the roof of this place. There, you’re met with a myriad of piercing yellow eyes gazing down upon you, peering from the dark behind the cage that tops this pit. “We’ve procured a… pair of… aliens…! Hailing from the dredges of the Empire’s outer-ring, all the way to Alternia! For your… Refined entertainment…!”

“What the hell…” You mutter to yourself as you gaze back at the prying eyes all casting judgment down on you. Putting the condemning crowd out of mind, you turn towards your prey, the Heir charging forward in hopes to catch you unaware. Lunging forward and diving down, you scoop the rival Time player up with the crook of your back, shooting back up and flipping him over onto the ground, evoking a -cheer- from the onlookers, a crowd pleaser to say the least. Snapping back in an instant, you swing Bootstraps down for his head, your spike burying into the sand floor as he ducks out of the way. Tearing your pick back up with a flourish of sand thrown into the air, you clash against the strike the Heir threw out while spinning up onto his knees. Continuing, the energetic bastard takes swing after swing for you as he spins around on his knees, circling your position while slowly rising higher and higher as he gets back to his feet, forcing you to adjust your guard to fence his attacks away for every angle he comes at you from.

Finally growing vexed with his pestering-mosquito tactics, you kick the annoying prick off of your guard, sliding him back as his feet drag lines through the sand. Chasing after him with a swing ready, your advance is broken when the Heir glances right, reaching over to the open air and invoking a sudden tear in spacetime, momentarily summoning another Battle Troll as they’re mid-throw of a spear, the metal poker soaring out and striking you in the right ribcage just below your half-plate, stopping you in your tracks. Mother-…! Reaching over, you grab hold of the metal rod protruding from your torso and begin to pry it out of you, discovering the spear-tip is barbed as soon as you give it a good yank. Fucker! Before you can really start to pull, the Heir comes launching in, smacking the end of the spear with his club like he’s hammering a nail, punching the thing straight through to the other side of your body. Right in the liver.

Striking back at him the best you can with the swinging half of your body harpooned, your movement is too slow to keep up as the Heir ducks into your left flank, slamming his club into your side, sending your insides into a flux of twitches and spasms. Turning to chase after him, the fucker kicks the tip of the spear sticking out from your back, tearing something probably important inside of you as the staff jerks to the side. Okay, enough of this shit. Conjuring a Time-Capsule over the spear, the weapon vanishes from your insides, the sudden release of pressure alone nearly knocking you from your feet. Damage Pause to keep yourself moving. You’ll fix it later. And as retribution for the troubles, you cleave into the front of the Heir’s thigh, catching him off-guard as he kicks for the spear a second time, his leg overextending as it vanishes.

“Dah!” He screams, the pussy. Ripping out your pick along with a good portion of the inside of the Heir’s leg, you tear around, striking into his collarbone and embedding Bootstraps into his chest cavity. Yet defying this, the Heir endures the strike despite you being sure you’d taken out a lung if not more from the hit. Pushing himself up with your weapon still pierced down into his collar, the bastard rises through your hold on him until standing toe-to-toe with you in the pit, and regardless of how much force you press into his wound, he pushes right back. The crowd is losing their minds at this point, sounding like a whooping choir of bonobos as they thrash against the ceiling cage. Before you can switch tactics to get the upper hand on your opponent again, you’re suddenly grabbed by the face, the Heir plunging his thumb into your left eye socket as he clutches the side of your head, cutting your sight from that side. “I really hate these eyes!” He growls while forcing you back by your face, his digit delving even further into your sightglobe as his hand beginning to glow, the simmering presence of Time peering directly into your optic nerve as he plans to flood your head with Entropic Forces, trying to turn your greymatter into dust. Full Tilt with a Hateful Rage, you tear Bootstraps out through the front of the Heir’s collar along with all the bone and muscle and sinew that gets in your way, and with a quick slash, you sever the arm the smug prick’s got rooting around the inside of your face with just as it flares with a flood of Temporal Energy, sparking like photographic flash powder. And as the Heir reels from the damage, unable to fully comprehend such a quick disassembling, you shove your pickaxe up, stabbing into the underside of your opponent’s jaw, piercing through to his spine.

 

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̴̢̺̻̠͔̻͎̞̜̑͜*̴̢̺̻̠͔̻͎̞̜̑͜*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝

 

The Heir’s getting more burly. Seems you’ve got to go for more permanent injuries if you want to put him down. And speaking of permanent, your eye is still gouged out. Unlike your opponent, you get no reset after jumps, and judging by the fact that Damage Turn-Back isn’t restoring your sight, your chronology is hard-locked after every leap through Time, too. Looks like you’ll just have to let it regenerate on its own. Not that you mind, though. You’re far too angry to be cognizant of any kind of strategy right now. The only reason you have such introspection at this moment is due to you viewing this all through a psychedelic-like delusion brought on by huffing the Witch of Hope’s gunpowder residue, hallucinating this all on the bark of a pine tree. You aren’t actually Jason, right now, remember? You’re still back in the Forest on the Land of Grove and Veil, getting high in the middle of the woods like the drug-fiend you are. Speaking of which, take another hit, you’re starting to dissociate from the narrative. Plunging your head back into the game, you remember who it is you are. That Young Man, caught in the midst of war in that cold, dark place. And with your Pickaxe in-hand, all you care about in this moment is tearing that Heir of Time in half, straight down his fucking center!

Looking through your one good eye, all you see is red. No, literally. Before you now is a curtain, completely blocking your view. Reaching forward and throwing back the veil, you tear through the fabric in search for your opponent, hunting him down like the dog he is. You find yourself now in the back stage of a theater, the sounds of voices permeating through yet another curtain. Without thinking, you storm towards the covers with a vengeance, however before you can break through yet again, the Heir brings himself to you instead, running in from stage left, swinging down into your forearms as you go to raise Bootstraps. Following his surprise attack, the cheap prick charges shoulder-first into you, sending you flying back, slamming against a rack of knots that lead up into the rafters. Landing in the tangle, you get to your feet immediately, charging back in for seconds! However, as you sprint forward, your pickaxe, still caught in the mess of ropes, goes tearing through the leads holding up the equipment on the ceiling. Crashing down before you, a series of light fixtures and sandbags hit the stage, forcing you back. In the split second you’re on the defensive, the Heir appears behind you, slamming his club down into the nape of your neck, the force nearly taking you to your knees. Retaliating, you send Bootstraps swinging back, the point of your pick carving through the wooden planks of the stages as you swoop up for his stomach. Not fast enough, the Heir’s already side-stepped from your counter, disappearing into your blinded flank.

You whip around to follow after your target, but when you turn, you find no one there, now alone backstage. Your head swivels wildly from place to place as you search for where the coward has run to, yet you find him nowhere, a notable silence in the room with the voices quieting down on stage, likely hearing the commotion your Strife has kicked up. Yet in that silence, you hear the faint sounds of creaking up above you. When you look, everything comes crashing down like the world’s collapsed on top of you, the entire catwalk above the stage falling from the rafters as the Heir unleashes a wave of entropy, aging the entire upper half of the theater to the point of ruin that it all falls apart. Slamming down into your back, the metal walkway takes you to the ground as the rest of the platform scaffolding collapses all around you. Yet still you endure, a frustrated growl escaping your throat as you push yourself up, struggling to throw the wreckage off of yourself.

While you’re incapacitated in this way, you feel a presence appear above where you’ve fallen. You don’t even need to look up to know it’s the Heir before his crystal sphere comes slamming down atop your head, evoking an enormous -crack- that rattles through your skull, splitting it like an egg. Seeing Red once more, this time for a much different reason, you slam your pickaxe through the foot standing just before your face, evoking a cry from the Heir as you push yourself up, throwing the wreckage from your shoulders as your fury bubbles up to the surface! And with a fist cocked back, you split the bastard’s face against the surface of your knuckles, sending your opponent rocketing through the curtains, out onto stage for his dramatic reveal.

Smearing the blood pouring from your head as you try to wipe it from your face, you let a slack hand reach down to grab hold of Bootstraps once more, prying it up from the floor, leaving the tattered remains of the Heir’s foot behind as you pursue him through the veil. Marching out, you’re met with an array of lights all shining down on you as you enter. A crowd of consorts have gathered in the seats of this theater to watch the show, all wearing masks and hoods, a court of eyes, judging you from the dark. They don’t matter. None of it matters. Your eye falls to the Heir as he stumbles to push himself up. You’ll kill him. Nothing will stop this. You march forward.

Someone tries to get in your way. A speaker performing on stage, standing before the Heir and blocking your way. You don’t hesitate as you strike through them, slamming the head of your pickaxe across their crown with all the trembling fury your muscles will allow with, the bone in your arm splitting as you crash through the obstacle, smashing down into the Heir through them. You stay there a moment, your weapon pressed down into the vanquished with a supernatural stillness as your body refuses to loosen. Eventually standing back upright, you straighten your spine, though your posture falls slack, an instance of exhaustion seeping into your bones while you exhale the steam built up in your lungs.

“Jason…?” A voice calls, breaking through the haze built up in your halved-sight. Looking out into the crowd, you see a hooded figure there at the center aisle in the theater, standing between the seats with a hammer in one hand and chisel in the other. Looking back at you from the gallery is Ragnaa Volspa, the Seer of Doom. With the moment of clarity you’ve been granted in this passing instance, your attention slowly drifts down towards the crumpled shape of whoever it was you’d hit, finding a pair of bent rusted wings over the Heir’s torso. Lowering Bootstraps, you hook the tip of your pick around the shoulder of the person, flipping them off of your opponent to reveal Finlus Renfik, the Bard of Blood, his right eye swelled up from your attack as he barely clings to consciousness.

“Huh…” You hum as you take in the entire scene. “Oh well.” You eventually decide, turning your attention back to the Heir as he stirs, his arms turning a translucent red, about to go supernova. Back to work it is, then. You lift your pickaxe.

 

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝

 

You come to this time with a surge of wind hitting you from an updraft, realizing instantly that you are somewhere very high up. Blinking a few times while your eyes adjust to the light difference, you’re met with a scene of rolling orange hills in the distance, and when you look down, you find yourself at the top of a remarkably large bridge stretching across an even larger gulch. As you’re looking down at the long drop just beneath you feet, you notice a set of train tracks built atop the bridge. You’re… on the Land of Ghouls and Bar Cars… no, not just that… you’re on the Bridge you restored on the Land of Ghouls and Bar Cars. Looking up, you find the Heir of Time just across the way on the other side of the bridge, and already you know how this bout in your journey is going to go. Son of a Bitch…

With an annoyed huff, you charge forward for the nuisance, every step a calculated one as you stride across the segmented boards of the tracks, reaching your target with a slash aimed across his chest, your strike clashing with the guard he puts up in defense. Countering your initial attack, the Heir swings upward, throwing your pick along with it and forcibly raising your arms in the process. Damn it, he’s getting even stronger, tossing you around like you’re a lightweight!

Left completely open with your arms thrown back, the Heir tears his club down as he spins completely around, swinging into your right side and clashing into your ribs while you’ve still got a hole punched through them from that Troll Spear, completely -shattering- the entire cage as it caves in like folding paper. On top of that, he knocks out the Damage Pause you had over the wound, springing all that built-up maiming on you all at once, evoking a mouthful of blood to come shooting up your throat as you cough the air from your lungs.

Furiously, you slam your pick down for the fucker’s temple, striking into the boards of the bridge as he jumps back. Not about to let him get away, you give chase as he hops back towards the middle of the tracks, swinging for him with each stride you take. Though, just as you think you’ve got him on the ropes, your opponent strikes low, not at you, but at the plank you were just about to step onto, cracking the board enough that your leg goes shooting through the fucking thing as soon as you set foot on it! Shunting down, you slam against your chest as you damn-near fall through the entire bridge, kicking thigh-deep into the tracks. Immediately, the Heir capitalizes on your position, slamming swing after swing into you while you’re on your stomach. Neck, back, shoulders, whatever he can hit, the fucker strikes you with enough force to dent steel! Covering the back of your head the best you can, you simmer, already knowing what you have to do. Let’s get this over with then. With a roll of your eyes, you grit through the multitude of strikes the Heir rains down upon you as you extend Bootstraps out, hooking around his leg before you spin yourself like an alligator with prey in its jaws, taking you both off the side of the bridge.

In a free-fall now, you reorient yourself into a dive as you chase after the Heir, already knowing what he’s planning. Just below you as you fall, you see him, that smug bastard, hands held out with his palms facing parallel to one another, his three little gears summoned between them, their teeth clashing with one another like they’re fighting to turn in opposing directions. He thinks he can surprise you with another Time Bomb while you’re mid-fall. Jokes on him, then. Accelerating your fall, you shoot forward, speeding into the gulch towards your target as the Heir fires off his attack, striking through his constructs into his heart just as the space around you is aged a millennia.

 

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̴̢̺̻̠͔̻͎̞̜̑͜*̴̢̺̻̠͔̻͎̞̜̑͜*̴̢̺̻̠͔̻͎̞̜̑͜

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̴̢̺̻̠͔̻͎̞̜̑͜*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝

 

Flung through Time yet again, you expect to find yourself somewhere new like every other jump you’ve gone through, however, despite this assumption, you feel yourself continue to fall, with there no ground to set back down upon beneath you. Searching your surroundings, you find nothing, just open air amidst a mist filled sky. Well… this is new. Shit, you’re gonna have to figure something out before you crash land wherever the hell it is you’ve jumped to. More importantly, you need to find the Heir before he can-

“-Tch!” Sprung around while your guard is down, a set of arms cross your neck, tightening as you’re grabbed by the assailant. “Haaah!” You twist around, trying to turn on your attacker while forcing their hold on you off of yourself. Yet their grip holds true as the person stays practically glued to your back as you spiral down through the sky.

“Calm down, it’s me!” A familiar voice calls, easing your struggle against their grapple. Glancing back, you’re only able to see the glint of her owl glasses reflecting back, but there’s no mistaking the girl.

“Sara?” You ask, realizing your fall has slowed into a glide with her around your neck.

“Who else?” She asks back before pinching your cheek in a sudden reprimand. “What the hell are you doing, Jason?! Didja lose your mind, or didja just forget that you can’t fly!?!”

“Ah!” You wince as your face is yanked to the side. “I’m not here on purpose, damn it, I-“ Before you can fully explain, another force slams into you, much harder this time, as you’re smacked on the back of the head.

“Forget about something, shit-lip?!” The Heir taunts as he snags onto your collar before going by, joining in on Sara’s slow-fall aura. Reeling from the first hit, you leave yourself open for the next two that drag across your face, left and right, filling your mouth with a heavy-metal taste.

“What the hell!?” Sara shouts through a voice trembled by turbulence as you’re rocked by the sudden thrashing. Unable to fully swing your pick with your teammate on your back and opponent on your front, you’re left to take a brunt of the attacks the Heir has to throw at you, his club slamming into you nearly three or four times per second as he accelerates himself even through Bootstraps’ effect. Desperate to get this fucker off, you twist to the left, beginning to spiral through the air, hitting your two passengers with a burst of inertia until you can tuck your foot up against the Heir’s stomach, prying his hands off of you as you kick him out of Sara’s passive, sending him hurdling toward the planet you’re on. The Heir shouts while tumbling through the air before disappearing into the mist, though from the sounds of his cries, he lands relatively quickly, letting you know the ground is nearby. Pity. “Who was that?!” Your Sylph barks at you as you drift your way towards the vague outline of a cliffside path you can make out through the mist.

“Heir of Time. Long story.” You explain as you set down on the pathway, seeing just down the road that the Heir has begun to crawl out of the crater he’d left in the ground. “You up for a Strife?”

“Yeah, but-Ah…!” Sara begins, cut short by a wince from the girl. Glancing back, you find your Sylph in a bad way, torn dress and swollen face, cracked glasses barely holding to their frames, blood streaming from her forehead with bruises up and down her entire body, along with what seems to be a broken set of arms. Damn girl looks half-dead, like she’s been through a wood-chipper! Guess it wasn’t just you who got roughed up by the Heir in that scuffle. “Y’mind, Jay?”

“I gotcha.” You nod, reaching to your teammate and Turning Back the Damage to her busted-up body. Cranking back the cog construct you’d summoned, you find yourself struggling to fully heal the girl, having to strain through the ability as it feels like you’re working past your limiter to do so. Strange… You haven’t had any struggles using your powers up until this point in the Strife. You don’t even feel close to running out of Temporal Energy, your Reservoir feeling completely untouched. What the fuck gives? Gritting through it anyways, you rewind the injuries from Sara’s form just in time for the Heir to come stomping up, the ape-brained moron slamming his club against the cliffside in some pathetic attempt to intimidate. You turn back to face your opponent. “You ready?”

“After you.” Sara signals, flicking her Fans open. Bursting towards him first, you take a swing aimed to tear the Heir’s chest open, missing as he jukes back with a counterstrike ready for your head. Cutting him off, Sara swoops forward, pushing him back as she lands foot-first against his chest, twisting into a kick across his face that nearly twirls him completely around. Swinging back, he goes to crack the Sylph as she lands, his attack canceling as you parry his club away, opening him up for Sara to send her blade slashing into his shoulder. Feeling crowded, the Heir goes to leap back, shooting away from your duo. Not letting him flee on his terms, however, Sara throws her hands out, Fans flaring as they summon a gust of wind that reels the Heir back your way, leaving the bastard too surprised to block as you swing down, tearing Bootstraps across his chest.

“Grah!” He growls more from frustration than pain, reaching out to trap Sara in a time snare in retribution, a gear construct appearing over her body as it activates. Without hesitating, you send your pickaxe swinging through the ability, shattering the construct in an instant and freeing your ally with less than 1sec detained. “Fucker!” The Heir shouts, swinging his club over his head for you now. Flicking her Fan back, Sara shunts you back a space, out of the Heir’s attack which smashes into the ground, then summoning a second breeze as she turns the Bladed Wing over, you’re sent into a Youth Roll over your opponent as the wind picks you up off your feet, flipping you into his rear-guard. Looking up to follow after you, the Heir leaves himself completely unaware as Sara slashes him across the face as you land behind him. Growing frustrated, your opponent shifts his attention once again, swinging for the Sylph a third time. Slamming your pickaxe down upon the shaft of his club, you shove his weapon into the ground, prying open his defenses for Sara who collapses a Fan and jabs it stabbing into the Heir’s shoulder. Wincing as the Sylph gouges into his collar, the Heir shoves his off-hand against your teammate’s stomach, and Sara begins pulling backwards, rewinding through her chronology. Reaching out before she can get too far, you snag your Sylph out of the spell he put upon her as you hook your pick around her waist, stopping her where she is. With your arm outstretched so far, you’re completely unguarded, allowing the Heir to send his club slamming into your stomach, flinging you down the road from the impact. Just before you land, you feel a plume of air burst beneath you, breaking your fall. God bless that Sylph.

Pushing back up, you get to your feet in time to see the Heir slam his club into Sara’s arm, catching her while she was focused on saving you, knocking the girl to the ground. In a burst of fury, your convictions flare up, amping your imitation speed to (120 sec. your time =1 sec. local time). Flying forward, you tackle into the Heir at a blinding pace as he raises his club over his head to finish the job on Sara, and you take him with you as you fling yourself down the path, soaring past the edge of the cliff when the road bends right. The Heir tries to shove you off, grabbing you by the collar while he pushes you back. You send your fist crashing through his teeth in response, cracking him again and again as you refuse to let go. However, wrestling you through the pummeling, the Heir forces you around so that you’re below him in your fall, and in a sudden burst of temporal energy, you accelerate at mach speeds through your descent, smacking down with tremendous force on your back as you touch down again. The wind is knocked out of you from the impact, and you lay there upon the ground unable to breath for the few seconds before the Heir slams his club down into your chest like he’s trying to bash his way through your armor. Again, and again, the bastard gives you not even a half-second to recover as he tears into you with that crystal sphere, until finally-

 

~SLASH~

 

Sara comes flying in, a gust of wind cutting through and blasting the Heir back, separating you and him as she sets down practically on top of you. Placing a hand over your caved-in half-plate, a sudden tidal wave of air goes shooting through your body, like a waterfall passing through your very spirit, and you spring forward, reinvigorated.

“Guah!” You gasp, wincing as you feel a sudden stabbing sensation at the top of your stomach. Glancing down to find your armor dented so far inward that it’s compressing your chest, bent into stabbing peaks that push against your flesh. “Damnit!” You growl while captchaloguing the piece before it suffocates you. No time to fix it, you shove your pick forward, clashing with the Heir’s club as he comes zooming back in, halting his attack from cracking into your Sylph. Whipping back around, Sara fans the Heir away, the gust of wind she summons pushing him back, but the persistent fuck fights it, skipping through his chronology as he tries to return to where he was, pushing his way through the gales with an unyielding resolve, thinking his goals inevitable. Not letting him get the chance, you spring forward, charging into him for another tackle as you slam Bootstraps into his chest, taking him off his feet as you carry him lance-first into the side of the mountain to slam him into the wall.

Bringing his hand up, the Heir release a sudden burst of temporal energy behind him just as you reach the mountainside, the destructive forces carving into the stone of the cliff before you can throw him into it, tunneling a cave into the mountain in real time as the rock turns to dust behind him. Running out of momentum, your charge ends as you throw the Heir off of your pick, the two of you now in the middle of the mineshaft he’d created. Facing off, you go to swing for the worm, but the slippery bastard weaves the attack, juking past you as he suddenly bolts for the entrance. Turning to rush after, you attempt to dilate time to keep pace, but as you move to activate your ability, you’re met with a sputtering grip on your powers, unable to manifest them fully. What the hell?

Forced to settle for (2 sec. your time =1 sec. local time), you fall behind the Heir in a matter of nanoseconds, watching as he reaches the cave’s exit and turns back, his hand extending out with a series of cog constructs around his wrist, all turning in opposing directions. It takes a moment to realize what he’s doing, but it all clicks when you turn back upon hearing what sounds like a heavy burrowing, finding the cave rebuilding itself, enormous chunks of stone reforming from the dust he’d carved them into. The fucker is trying to entomb you! Furious you’d let yourself be tricked in such a way, you quit playing on your opponent’s terms, slamming your foot down as you pivot upwards, sending Bootstraps careening up, carving into the stone ceiling of the cave where it buries the entire length of its pick, releasing a surge of destructive power into the mountain.

 

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F

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F

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Shattering the entire face of the cliffside, an avalanche is sent barreling down on the Heir, catching his attention as waves of jagged boulder come crashing down on him! Diverting his attention away from burying you alive, the dumb asshole shifts his influence up, trying to rewind the carnage you’ve brought down on him. However, only able to push back so much destruction all at once, the Heir seems to realize he’s in over his head, pivoting his abilities to a Deferment array, not unlike your Time-Capsules. Summoned overhead of him is an enormous Portal Construct, the same type Skaia uses to deflect meteors, absorbing the incoming boulders and whisking them away somewhere into spacetime. Fuck, that’s clever. You’ve got to hurry on this then.

“Huh?” The Heir glances back as Sara rushes in, collapsing her Fans and jabbing them into his sides while his arms are up, breaking his concentration on his Time Shield. “AAAAGH!” Alright, bold move, Sylph, but not a good idea, what the hell is she thinking?!

“Sara, get back!” You order as you charge forward, bridging the gap before the Sylph can get herself crushed! Reaching the Heir, you slam your pick into his neck, forcing him out of the way as you Displace your teammate back through Time, out of range from the ensuing avalanche.

 

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̴̢̺̻̠͔̻͎̞̜̑͜*̴̢̺̻̠͔̻͎̞̜̑͜*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝

 

You got her. Right? Yeah… You got her. She should be good. You think… You’ll worry about that later. Right now, what’s important is finally putting an end to the Heir. Fucker thinks he’s got you outsmarted, using Time as Plot-Armor. He knows if he puts some form of temporal energy between him and Bootstraps, his protection will still keep him kicking. The answer is simple then. Swap weapons. The only problem with that is Grandpa’s Bootstraps is the only pickaxe you’ve got that’s remotely powerful enough to keep up with your opponent now. What’re you supposed to take him out with? The I-Pick 12? That shit’s a gag-weapon and everyone knows it! Fuck…

Checking your surroundings, you find yourself somewhere rather… strange. Grandiose columns of gold and black marble line the corridor of a near-silent hall, the only sound being the crackling flames of the hanging braziers illuminating the room with the light of green fire, painting the walls with an emerald hue. You have no time to contemplate the ominous nature of this new arena before the Heir comes at you, the footsteps of his approach amplified into thunderous claps by the quiet of the regal wing. Striking at you, the speed at which the Heir attacks is getting harder to keep up with. You’ve attempted to up your Dilation Speeds, but still you find struggle manifesting your skills, like the very power is sapping from your ability as soon as you summon them. It’s Bootstraps. The Pickaxe’s negating effect has intensified. But how? Or maybe… Are you really running out of steam?

No. Forget it. Focus not on the worries or doubts that creep into your mind. Have you forgotten already? You’ve made the declaration that you won’t need Time in this fight. Glancing down at your chest, the Enraged Gear remains plastered over your Aspect’s Symbol, superseding its presence in your arsenal. Don’t be stupid. You have all the Tools you need. Use them.

Gritting your teeth, you press through this trial, your muscles aching as you force yourself to keep pace with the Heir, a false mockery of his temporal powers reflecting in your own base abilities. All those majyyks he needs to move the way he does and you can mimic it in a cinch without so much as a drop of your Temporal Reserves. Your eyes grow sore as they dart from place to place, your attention blurring as you hone your reflexes, countering the Heir at every swing. Your only saving grace at this point is the fact that the spoiled fuck can’t outright Stop Time with Bootstraps nearby. He’s made a handful of attempts to do so, but all he can manage is a few imperceivable bursts of half-second Pauses, harming him more than it helps as it seems to trip him up every time he tries.

With each clash, you and the Heir strike harder, Muscle and Might vying for dominance as you attempt to overwhelm one another, strike and counterstrike, block and parry, each hit evokes larger and larger ripples in the emerald halls. Around you, the hanging flames and pillars are jostled as club hits pick, the force of impact creating booming shockwaves that shake the very foundations of your battleground. With one final clash, the polished marble floor beneath you cracks as your guards cross, pushing against one another to gain the upper hand. This clash goes on, stalemated as you both attempt to force past the other’s form, until suddenly, a third party entering the fray as a Halberd comes guillotining down, cutting between you and the Heir. Surprising you both, you and your opponent are made aware to the fact that you’ve been surrounded, a troop of armed guards appearing in a circle around you, Seven in numbers and each of them covered head-to-toe in metal and ornamental cloth. Who the fuck are these guys?

Striking for the Heir first, the guard who’d divided you goes cleaving for your opponent without a second thought, aiming to behead the bastard as three others pounce on you, all three of their Halberts swinging down on top of your crown. Stopped on the head of your pickaxe, you shield yourself from the simultaneous attack before tossing the blades back along with their handlers, sending all Three Axemen stumbling away. Picking out one from their trio to focus on, you burst forward, cleaving into your center target as Bootstraps tears through his armor like tissue paper, ripping streaks of metal and flesh from his side. Turning to the Guard at his left, you slash into his right knee, completely severing it from its leg. About to finish off the left Guard with a hook to the face, you’re forced to pull away prematurely, raising your pick as the center Guard sends his long-ass axe clashing across your staff, surprisingly still in fighting-shape with his entire left half torn out.

Okay. Somewhat tougher than you’d expected, you back up a step as center Guard advances, surprisingly spry for someone with their stomach open. Pinning his halbert to the floor when he swings too low, you go to kick the feet out from under him, but before you can strike, right Guard comes to the rescue, swinging his axe up, clipping you on your chin when you’re unable to pull back in time. Quick Fucker, he is. Let’s see if he can keep up with this!

Lunging forward, you clip Lancelot back, striking instead for his neck rather than the chin, damn-near decapitating the son of a bitch, his head craning down as it falls to the side, hanging by the sinew of his throat down at his chest. With him properly dealt with, you turn back to your original target, cocking back Bootstraps and-SLASH-

Suddenly shoved to a halt, your attack falls short as the blade of a halbert unexpectedly slams into your chest, imbedding in a few inches, only stopping when it catches on your sternum. Stunned by the strike, you follow the staff of the weapon, finding its wielder to be the right Guard, his head still hanging down from his neck, rocking from side to side from the momentum of his attack. Huh…These aren’t normal Guards, are they?

Pushing the halbert from your chest, you knock the head of Bootstraps into the right Guard’s chest, stumbling him back. Clashing against you while your weapon is extended out, the left Guard reappears taking a hack at your neck, his severed leg crudely reattached and mobile again. Leaning back from his next swing, you feel the spear-tip of the weapon barely trace past your throat as it goes by, too close a call than you’ll allow for. Countering the attack with a swing upward, you embed your pickaxe into the thing’s torso, undoubtably bursting its heart with the strike, but… you doubt that’ll be enough to put whatever the hell you’re fighting down for good. Nothing is dying today, it seems. Let’s change that.

Ripping out the front of the left Guard and tearing a majority of its armor off, a slew of rotten guts go spilling out alongside your pick, the smell alone sending you stepping back in disgust as the rancid sight spills upon the floor. Running into an obstacle unexpectedly soon, you glance back to find the Heir and you back-to-back, his own fight with his four half of this squadron giving him more trouble than he expected as well, scrapes and gashes peppering his frame. Strange… He isn’t healing as fast from these wounds.

“Fuck off of me!” He sneers, pushing you away as he rushes to bludgeon his remaining interlopers. Turning back to your three as well, you find that, unsurprisingly, the one you just disemboweled is still shambling forward, unfazed by being hollowed out like a corn husk. Sneaking up on you first though, the center Guard sends his Halbert crashing down like he wants to split the front half of you off from your back, narrowly missing as you juke backwards, watching the iron of his axe flash before your eyes as its slashes down. Shoving the bottom of Bootstraps against the metal of his helm, you crack the thing back, forcing it away. With the bit of space you’ve got, you wind up a swing on the left Guard as he faces off against you. Lunging at one another, you barrel past his attack and send your pick cleaving through his open torso, completely halving your opponent as you strike through its spine, severing its ribcage up from the rest of him. Splatting down into his own guts, you leave the halved Guard to deal with his intact cohorts, finding the decapitated one charging in, lancing spear-first for you. Readying a counter, you hold Bootstraps back as you go to advance.

“Hn?” You suddenly jerk as something grabs hold. Quickly looking down, you find the halved Guard clutched around your leg, stopping you in your tracks. Oh what the fuck! In the split second you’re distracted, a sudden flaring pain goes piercing into your stomach, as the decapitated Guard plunges the top of his Halbert into your gut. “Ghn!” You grit your teeth as the ghoul twists into you with his spear, trying to root around your intestines like it’s looking for some kind of prize! And while you’re pinned there between the two creatures, the third comes stabbing in alongside them, plunging the point of its halbert into the back of your shoulder. Okay, now you’re pissed!

With your off-hand, you raise your elbow before sending it shooting down through the decapitated Guard’s axe, snapping the top of his weapon off and breaking his hold on you. And with your swinging-hand, you send Bootstraps down through the thing’s torso, severing what little remains of its neck-flesh as you bisect its chest in a slash from shoulder to ribcage, leaving the corpse in thirds. Reaching down to the metal axehead still gorged in your stomach, you rip the piece from yourself, plunging it instead into the head of the halved Guard, seemingly putting it down for good. Left alone now, the last Guard pushes his halbert deeper into your back, trying to force you down to the ground in some pitiful attempt to detain you. Not wasting any more effort on these creatures than you have to, you reach back, placing the ghoul in a Time Knot. It might be a sloppy snare only worth a few seconds with Bootstraps sapping its power, but a few seconds is all you need as you pry yourself forward off of its spear. And once free, you go rocketing around, completely atomizing the thing’s head as you swing through its skull, leaving it to fall limply to the ground as the snare breaks.

Taking a moment to try and heal your injuries the best you can with Bootstraps acting up, your breather is quickly interrupted before any Damage can be undone as you sense something hurled towards you. Reaching your hand out in an almost reflexive response, you catch the projectile as it slaps against your palm. There in your grasp, you hold the severed head of one of the Guards the Heir was fighting, a strange gurgling sound muffled by the helmet it wears, letting you know it’s still alive under there. With a sneering disgust, you toss the thing away as you turn to face the Heir, but when you look, you find the emerald hall empty. It only takes a moment for you to realize he’s distracted you for a sneak attack, but by then, the filthy worm has already speed-blitzed you, his club slamming into your spine, launching you away.

Sent flying, you go crashing through the adjacent wall, tumbling upon the ground as you land in the dark chamber on its other side. Eventually rolling to a stop, you feel your nails dig into the palm of your hand as you grip your fist, struggling to push yourself back up as the Heir’s attack hits a lot harder without Armor to dull the blow. Yet still, you let the fury burning at the back of your eyes do the work for you, pushing yourself back up with full intentions of ripping that fucker’s head off! Slamming your pickaxe against the floor, you rise from your shambled pile with a vengeance, however, a sudden chill runs across your skin, freezing you where you are. You realize then that there’s something in the room with you, a set of dim eyes glowing in the dark chamber focusing in on your place before them.

Looking up, you find yourself at the foot of a Great and Terrible throne, a figure wrapped in robes of dark purple and dirty gold sat upon it gazing down at you, their eyes burning with an unearthly power that leaves their sockets in the form of a mist. It wears the mask of a skull missing its jawbone. You see no mouth on this creature, only a black void between the collar of its robes and its top row of teeth. Upon its head, it wears an obsidian crown, seven narrow points like polished needles upon the band. The only visible parts of this thing are its arms, gaunt and blackened as if rotted away. You think it a corpse or effigy at first glance, but you are soon corrected when the ringed finger of the creature twitches at your presence, making you realize this thing is alive. Another one of those freaks like the ones in the armor.

A moment passes, stretching on as you don’t dare break eye contact with the Abomination, sure that it will reach out and grab for your life just as its Guards had the moment you turn away. It isn’t until that bumbling idiot of an Heir comes galavanting in with all the bravado of one as arrogant as him that the tension is cut, and the creature upon the throne suddenly snaps its head to turn towards the new entity in the room.

“Hope that was as painful as it looked, ya-“ 

 

 

“U̴̖̳͖̯̳͌̉̅̔͂̀̕͘̚͠ͅR̵̨̡̀̓́̈́͌̔̍̀͌̄́̕À̶̡̼͎̫̕̚Ȁ̸͈̖̯̯͕̳͋̑̄̓̈́̀A̵̛̮͓͊̈́́̊̌͒̒̚͝Å̸̛̘̟̻͚̬̯̻̣̞̟̩͚̣̩̋̏̈́͋̓͑̃́̋̉͠A̸̢̙̲̪͈̯̝̱̱̲̪͈͍͇͑̐͆̊̊͂Ả̴͚̭̥̻͙̘̝̿͊̋H̸͔͙̣̝͕̿̂͌̆̏͑̀̔͋͊H̸̜͌͝Ḥ̸̡̤̻̫̪͈̆̿̌̾͠!̵̢̛̽̍!̶̡̓ͅͅ!̴̛̦͕̞̞̝͔͇̦̜̟̘̤̜͕̰͆͂̓͆́̑͛̏̿̚̚͠͠”

 

 

 

“FUCKING SHIT!” The idiot shrieks as the Abomination lunges for him, its necrotic arm suddenly extending out to inhuman lengths as it reaches across the room, snatching him by the throat. Turning back to you, the creature on the throne reaches out its other hand, extending equally long to grab for you alongside your opponent. More than ready for the attack, you swing Bootstraps up into the warped arm of the grotesque thing, splitting it down its middle as you bat the crooked hand away.

 

 

 

“W̶̢̛̯̠̓͐̅́͝Û̵̡͖̝͚̹̳̭̱̝͉̆͆͜͝U̵̥͇̙͇̼͛̊̊̀̈͒̂̃̔̽̚Ų̵̢̹̰̪̤̤̼͇͋͛̀̃̇̓̒̎̓͠͠͝U̸̧̟̯̽̋̓̂͆͂́͝͠Ŭ̴̫̪̹͈̈́̀̉̿̀̈́̀̓̂́̕͝͝A̷̠̟͎̱̟̼͓̪̟̗̣̩̤͓̍͋̌̇̈̚͝A̷̡̨̛̪̦̖̯̫̼̰͚̙͊̽̓̉̑̄͘À̵̗̫̼̭͓̖͖̩͇̱̝͉̓̈́̆̓̔̇̉̽̔͘͜͠͝Â̴̳͉̜̬̲̂̎͐́̆̿͐̽̓̕͝Ä̵̮͇́͋̌̃̈́Ǎ̵̡̟̹͚͎̞͍̳̭̰͉͍̪̮̝̐͆̂͑͂̂͘̕͝R̴̜̪̥͎̭͚̩͗̊́͆́̀͋͗̔͌͗̐̕̚͘͜ͅR̷̨̛͙̠̝͍̭͖͖͂̒́̏̕̚͠͝H̶̗̮͉͙͎̣̤̍̈́̔́͗̈́͘͝!̴̛̜̮͉͒̋̉̌̈́͐̇̐͘!̴̧̭̲̭̚!̶̲̓̕”

 

 

 

Covering your ears as the wretched thing howls from your hit, you feel yourself being forced closer and closer to unconsciousness as the dismal cries thrash from wall to wall in the chamber, hitting you each time with a new wave of nausea at every angle it finds you at. Looking over, you see the Heir writhing in agony beneath the creature’s grasp, his form splitting like a rope under immense tension, strands of him fraying and snapping off in streams of Raw Time from his body as he’s being flayed of his essence, tangles of temporal presence hanging from him like the vines of a tree. Yeah, fuck this.

Bursting forward, you cross the room for your opponent, ducking as the split hand of the Abomination flails overhead when the thing snatches for you a second time. Reaching the Heir, you send your pick slashing down through the wrist of the creature on the throne, severing it from the greater arm and freeing the useless shithead from the oppressive grasp. Not waiting for any other fuck-shit to throw itself at you today, you throw yourself into a spin and with all your might, you send your pickaxe shattering through the Heir’s skull!

 

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̴̢̺̻̠͔̻͎̞̜̑͜*̴̢̺̻̠͔̻͎̞̜̑͜

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜

*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̷̡̬̪̹̮͍̘͈̙̬̭̻̤͙̂̅͜*̶̢̧͈͙̩͇̹̘̮͎͍͒́̎̿̂̑*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝*̸͔̩̦̣̤͉͓͒̀̿͆͌̔̂̌͛͝͝

 

Collapsing to the floor as you land from the Jump, you instantly search your surroundings, unsure if whatever the fuck you just met came through with you. The room is dark, just like the last chambers you’d occupied, but the entity is gone. Good fucking riddance.

Taking a closer examination of your new surroundings, you seem to be in some kind of engine room, dark purple pipes and machinery lining the walls and ceiling around you. Just across the way, you see the Heir as he slumps forward against a control panel, a visible exhaustion showing in him for the first time in this Strife while the Streams of Time hang slack from his form still, as if he were coming undone by the seams.

“T-… thanks, man.” He thanks you as he breathes through the death-chemicals that had flooded into his brain. He hasn’t healed yet. His body is still in ribbons. You have an Opening. “What the hell was that thing?” You straighten your back out as you stand, setting your sights on the Heir once more. You’ve decided already, haven’t you? The Heir won’t see the End of this! “Where… where are we now…?” He asks, looking around the room without realizing the danger he’s in.

“It won’t matter.” You declare while approaching the deadman. He turns back at the very last second, seemingly realizing your intentions just in time to feel the top of your pickaxe slam into his chest, throwing him through the metal walls of this prison, busting your way out one kill at a time. In his wake, you see the break of day peering back at you, a sudden burst of light shining through the void your opponent’s corpse has left in the penitentiary walls. Through their suffering, you shall have your Freedom. You’ve decided already, haven’t you? No Irons shall ever Hold you again. You march on through the wreckage, out towards your enemies. Good Soldier, indispensable Pawn. “Tick… Tock… Tick… Tock…”

Advancing forward, the vision from your left side slowly begins to return to you, at first as a distant light, so far off in the dark it might just disappear again, but soon the world comes back to you in full, your path forward never clearer as you see everything the way it is. The buzzing behind your eyes grows stronger now, the glow blaring from your sockets grows brighter. You see colors reflecting off the prison walls, shifting in faster and faster increments, crimson, blue, yellow, purple, it goes so fast it begins to blur together, orange, red, green, round and round like a Merry-go-Round! It’s an Endless Cycle, one as old as Time. All building towards one Big Finale. Breaking free from the confines of this jail, you emerge beyond the purple bulwark, finding the Heir of Time amidst a quiet meadow, encircled around by a shroud of flowers of all colors and breeds. He struggles there, unable to rise up again as his body continues to fall apart, tethers of him drooping down into the garden like slack rope, unable to tie him again to anything solid.

“Hey, what’s going on over there?” A distant voice calls, drawing your attention off to just beyond this quiet meadow where a crowd has gathered. Ten, twenty in number, maybe more. You can’t tell, seeing only the vague shapes and colors of the onlookers as they watch from just beyond your sight.

“Are they…?” Another voice comes, this time from the opposing side of your place in the field. Turning, you find more there. More of this crowd. More of these Onlookers. Emerging like Termites from the Woodwork. “I-is someone going to stop them?”

“What’s happening?” More pour in, scattered across the entire horizon as they circle around you. Surrounded on every front…

“Is he okay?” They have finally revealed themselves. Those that stalk you, just out of sight. Who prowl through the night in search of an opening, an opportunity to tear your throat out. “S-somebody help!” Enemies. They are your Enemies.

“Anyone who gets in my way will be the next to die.” You explain to the mangy pack as you approach the deadman, not a single one of them stepping up to act.

“Tell me, then…” The Heir mutters as he slumps back, laying on his legs as he barely keeps himself upright. “Who exactly…” Streaming down in billowing waves, your Enemy uncoils, spools of blaring red string falling from his body, revealing the bone underneath. Around you, a breeze kicks up, and you find a sudden plume of sand spinning to life in the shape of a dust devil that encapsulates you with what’s become of the Heir. “…will be The First TO DIE?“ Turning back to the corpse, you watch as he rises up again, the strands that hang from his skeleton reorienting into a cloak that drapes around him, expanding further beyond his bounds until he is something Larger than Life. “Everyone said you were the Reaper… I think not… Or perhaps if you are…” His voice echoes amidst the sand storm, speaking without source or point of origin, impossible to track as the words come from all around you. “I think I am something Far Greater…” Unmade from what he was, reforged into what all inevitably meet in the End. “I am become…

 

Death

 

In his presence, all the Flowers underfoot fall away, toppling over in wilting slumps as they die out, disintegrating into nothing more than a field of sand. From Dust you came, and to dust you so shall return. Time seems to slow to a crawl in this storm, and in that pause, your eyes fall down to the pickaxe in your clutch, its shimmering metal reflecting back up at you as if to pose a question. You’ve hit a dead end with dear Grandpa’s Bootstraps, it seems. It can only take you so far, after all. Oh well. You suppose you’ll wing it, then… Okay, Jay. Do or Die time.

Throwing your Pickaxe down, its spear biting into the sand to stay embedded there, you walk forward, entering into the unfolding mass a temporal reality without fear. Never before have you had so pure of an experience with the raw substance, felt so in tune with your Aspect. The real deal, a True Successor. He sees you move for him, but he takes no action to prevent it. So sure of his place at the Top, so sure that he has you Beat… So with that opening you’ve been so charitably given, you reel your fists back, elbows tucked in by your side as your forearms swell with power, coating themselves in a layer of this Antilife… you send a thrust forward, plunging your hands into what remains of the Heir, seizing him by the sides of his existence with an unshakable claim. That's when it all hits you. That buzzing at the back of your sockets, that build up to the Finale. It all stops on a dime as your eyes are overcome with an unspeakable darkness, taking the shape of two Black Spheres. Even on the lifeless surface of his skull, you see that sudden realization cross the bastard’s face as you grab hold. No more chances, no more rescues. This is the End.

 

(8)           (8)

 

Disembodied screams permeate through the storm as the Avatar form of the Heir is clawed apart by your bare hands, the strands of Temporal Existence that make up his body beginning to rip as you pull them to their absolute limit until finally, the tension snaps. Your hands go shooting out at both sides, fists clutching the Raw Entropy that was your opponent as what once was the Heir is torn in two. Bursting out like the boiling spring of a geyser, all those coiled up strands of time that had composed Death goes shooting out from the space between his pieces. Scattered across the stream of existence, any essence that remains of your Enemy disappears into the Timeline, reduced to nothing more than an Afterthought in History. A distorted scar in the tapestries of spacetime.

As the influence he had over existence begins to dissipate, and the storm winds die down, a lone skull falls to the floor, landing in the hourglass sands at your feet, the sole proof that the Heir of Time ever existed in this pocket of Paradox Space. Immediately, you send your boot through the body part, shattering the crown into shards of bone, ensuring he stays down this time. Standing there, Time Player Victorious in the wake of your Strife, you let out a few uneasy breaths as your body almost refuses to decompress, your persisting injuries keeping your stance rigid and tense. It isn’t until a few seconds pass that you realize you’re being watched. Looking around, you see the crowd surrounding your meadow still there, shocked and stunned expressions all aimed your way like you’ve got something on your face, standing there center stage before them all.

“…Fuck you all lookin’ at?” You ask the Onlookers as you continue to catch your breath.

 

Jason, maybe get out of there.

Notes:

Sorry for the delayed update. I needed the next chapter to be 91 for a Dr Who reference, so this one's a bit longer than the rest.

Chapter 91: > Fiat Ars, Pereat Mundus

Notes:

Some Fireworks for the 4th of July...

Standing there in the sands, triumphant over your opponent, the notion that you need to leave this place crosses your mind.

Get out of here? Why would you do that? There are still enemies abound, surrounding your place in this meadow, jaws snapping and talons bloody, waiting in restless anticipation to pounce. You have to attack before they do, hunt before you become the hunted. No… you’re not done here. Not by a long shot…. So you think you’ll leave when you’re good and god damn ready to.

Shifting your feet through the sand as you step forward, you reach down and lay claim upon your blade once more, fingers cracking as they grip around its handle. Yet, as soon as you place your palm upon Grandpa’s Bootstraps, you feel… clarity. As though all the fog surrounding your mind is blown away in a great wind as the last traces of the Heir’s influence upon Time is absorbed into the Juju. Along with it goes the only thing anchoring you in this moment in existence and the ground beneath you falls away as the Gridlock over Time harnesses to you like gravity, shooting you back towards your proper place in Paradox Space.

 

A Bullet loads into the Chamber.

 

The abrasive forces of Time rip against you as you pass through its river, a Bass reeled in by the hook of your lip. Your ontological existence is being dragged once more against the flow of temporal reality, just as it had when you activated your Checkpoint. Eating at you like an acid until, finally, you’re shunted to a halt, thrown back out into the 3rd-Dimension with all the scrapes and scars to show for it, thrusted down with a tremendous force as you’re thrown to your knees, landing upon a floor of blood and gold.

“Tick tock… tick tock…” The words flutter from your lips almost compulsively, like a record running on repeat, skipping as it passes over a Scratch. Something is eating at you. Burning into your hand. Looking down, you find Bootstraps there in your grasp, the muscles in your arm contorting as more and more of your energy falls into the pickaxe in faster and faster increments, the rate at which you’re drained accelerating the longer you hold onto the weapon, a constant flow of temporal power leaving your already tapped form. “…ah… damnit…” You huff while you captchalogue the thing before it carves hole through your Reservoir. Now unarmed, you feel a wave of relief fall across your body, but whatever ease your form is granted by the removal of pressure is far overshadowed by the twisted state you’ve been left in. Your swinging arm is broken, you’ve got a hole punched through a shattered set of ribs and… you can… hardly… think straight as blood pours from your head. And… you’re… not healing… nothing is going back in place… shit…

“Hey… Hey, over there!” You hear called out from nearby, drawing your attention towards the commotion. Emerging from the haze, you spot a figure dressed in Orange, the Prince of Light peering out from beside the toppled mast. You’re… back on the Rogue’s Ship.

“My god… it’s the Page…” Another voice comes from the left. Lazily drifting towards the direction it’d come from, your eyes glance towards the Knight of Doom as he emerges from the tangle of vines by the ship’s entrance. Rich… that… Bastard…! “Is he… alive?”

 

-BOOM-

-BOOM-     -BOOM-

-BOOM-

 

Behind you, the world is rocked by the sound of thunder, a sudden cacophony of explosions ringing out, rattling your chest cavity even from the distance between you. Glancing back, you witness as your Junker is subject to a volley of bombardments, the Defense Array failing as more and more blasts make it past your ship’s safeguards. Attempting to compensate, you spot Perses casting out fissures into Space off the knuckles of punches thrown, tearing open tattered portals before the port of your Junker, wormholes that snake to the starboard of your ship, the explosive rounds passing through them to the other side as more fire hails from further back on the Rogue’s deck. From your peripherals, you see two more come from the wreckage of the ship, the Thief of Breath and Page of Life, peering out in search of easy prey.

“Tick… Tock… Tick… Tock…” You mutter as you turn forward once again, feeling like you’re close to slipping unconscious, slumping down as your torso heaves with a heavy weight upon it. You can’t… you can’t feel your legs… can’t hardly draw breath, either… Yet… you are still alive… There is Still Time…

“Where’s Kai…?” The Prince searches around your section of the deck, his footfalls growing near as he approaches. No… Time still runs Thin… You must hurry… Can’t… go on like this… can’t move… “Hey… you hear me, bastard? Where the hell is Kai?!”

“…” You try to think of a way out. Think of a way forward. Think of a way… to Buy yourself a little more Time…

“What’d you do with him?!” The Prince demands to know. Reaching over, you summon to your palms the Hands of your Damage Pause, positioning the bottoms of the two constructs together over your right side. And as two pieces meet and the clock face forms around them, you feel your ward take hold, sinking in suddenly as it emblazons upon your skin like a burning Tattoo. Well… that’s new…

“Haaa…” You breathe out with ease for what feels like the first time in an eternity. Shifting a foot out, you set down onto one knee before pushing yourself up, standing before the Prince and Knight as they rally before you across the deck. No more need for conversation. You equip the next best weapon you've got in your arsenal, the I-Pick 12 appearing in your hands as you face down your enemies. Seeing you won’t come quietly, the Prince sneers.

“Damn it… Aellocy, hold him down.” He orders as he slashes his hand out, summoning a blazing dagger from the straights of his hand, raising his arm up to aim his blade at you. “I’ll make him talk…” Overhead, the Thief extends her gnarled arm out, reaching for you as her hand strains, fingers clutching like she’s gripping an invisible ball. Reacting half-a-beat too slow, you go to shoot forward, yet you’re caught in the plant-girl’s grasp, your movements sluggish under her control. Moving forward like you’re shifting through tar, the veins in your arms begin to strain, bulging out of place as you muscle against your slowed moment. “Tell me, asshole. Which organ in particular is your favorite?” The Prince asks while he approaches your place stuck on their boat. Not good. Need to move. Eating into your vitality to do so, you activate a Full Time Stop, only for a second, long enough to break free from the Thief’s grasp and shoot forward, making a break for the toppled mast on the deck. Grabbing hold of the top of the enormous fixture, you launch yourself spring up, leaping into the air just as your concentration breaks, coming back into real-time as you arrive behind the flower creature.

“Huh?” She glances back, noticing your presence suddenly arriving there. Too late. With a forward pivot of your shoulders, you whirl around, swinging the I-Pick into her chest before you fall back to the deck. “AAAAAH!” The Thief shrieks as you take her down with you, hooked like a gasping fish. Crouching as you land, the three other opponents present before you glance back, shocked that you’ve already taken one of their ranks out so quickly. Making the defeat more permanent, you whip around with the flower still hooked on your pick before coming to a sudden stop, hurling the girl away, past her allies and clear off the side of the ship. She’s a Breath player, right? How about she gets some air.

“Aellocy!” The Prince shouts as she goes flying.

“I’m on it!” The Life Page lazily jogs after your discarded houseplant like a Batter running up to the Plate. Without stopping, the boy hits the railing at the ledge of the cruiser, flipping over the side to give chase after the Thief. Huh… you can’t really tell if he’s brave or slow…

“Rah!” The Prince lunges forward while you’re distracted by the Page’s display, stabbing his hand-blade for the side of your temple. Jerking your head back just in time, you feel the heat of the weapon pass before your face, a scorching wave crashing against your skin as it burns by your eyes. Sweeping out, the Prince slashes his hand back, forcing you to lean back as he nearly takes the top of your head off, dodging his attack like a game of limbo. Whipping yourself back upright, you pivot around as the persistent bastard swings back for you, clashing the neck of the I-Pick against his wrist, stopping the Prince’s slash before he can carve a chunk from your side. Struggling to push past your guard, the Prince sneers as he muscles forward, finding your defenses stronger than he’d anticipated, but with a sudden smirk, an idea seems to cross his mind, and not a moment later, the light from his blade overtakes you.

-FWOOSH-

In a sudden swell of illumination, the Prince’s Solar Flare bursts directly into your eye sockets, blinding you in a burst of light. Son of a Bitch! Stumbling back while you clutch your face, you hear the steps of your opponents approaching, the Prince closest, but the Knight is rushing quick, charging your flank for a pincer. Blindly swinging your pick out, you ward the Prince off, forcing him a step back just in time for the Knight to arrive. You’ve got no idea which of his axes he’s using. Depending on the reach, he could already be swinging his blade for your neck. No time to play things safe. You Displace back through Time, shunting backwards through your chronology and ending up mid-air again. Damn it, too Far! Nearly flipping over as you tumble back down, you end up crashing knees-first into one of these assholes, the Prince, you’d say by the sounds of his grunt when you slam him into the deck. Rolling off the fucker before the air can fully breathe back into his lungs, you spring back up, swinging for where the Knight should be based on the positioning of the Prince. However, when your pick slams into a solid wall, you figure you’ve gotten turned around in the mix, striking at the toppled mast instead of the Troll.

While you’re cursing beneath your breath at the blunder, you feel as the Knight’s axe comes swinging in from the void, its edge slamming into the mast just beside you, sending you dodging out of the way from the impact. Striking back in generally the same direction the attack came from, you whiff, your pick hitting nothing as you send it swinging through the air. The Knight doesn't so much as budge from his place hidden before you, no sound of him stepping away from your attack or adjusting his footing. Were you not even close?

“Hah!” Ripping his axe forward from the mast, you feel a sudden cutting blade graze across your chest as he swings outward, barely missing you in his attack. No, he was definitely right there in front of you. You must’ve only missed by a hair, how the hell did he not react? No time to think of the how, you focus on the now, swinging back for where his attack just came from, slamming you pick into the side of something fleshy. “Hn!” The Knight grunts as you sink into him, only… he remains stalwart , unmoving from the attack as he seems to take it on the chin, leaning into the hit and twisting himself upon the prong of your pickaxe. Panicking, you go to extract your weapon and evade back from your opponent, but you soon find that your pick is jammed there in his arm or shoulder, locking you in place. He… he tanked the attack to hold you still… “Now, Dylan!” He shouts. Not a moment later, you feel a roaring flame rip into your back, scorching your very flesh as the Prince’s blade opens your entire shoulder blade area.

“TaAAH!” You cry out as the wounds sink past your Damage Pause. Not good. You’re getting overwhelmed, and with your eyesight still out, you’ve got no way to take the initiative. With no other option, you jerk the I-Pick back, attempting to tear your weapon free with all the might you’ve got left. Snagging again, your prong remains buried within the unmoving Knight, however the rest of your pickaxe goes shattering off from the lodged point, the glass of the telephonic device exploding in a burst of sharp little pieces, leaving you with a 1xprong pick head. Whirling around from the momentum of your weapon being suddenly released, you send the last remaining prong of your pickaxe careening into the Prince behind you, tossing him back as he knocks into something across the deck. Clamping down upon you, the arms of the Knight suddenly wrap around your nape, pinning the shoulder of your swinging-arm against the side of your chin as you’re placed in a headlock, holding you in place. “The-… FUck!” You struggle against the grapple, unable to worm your way out of the Troll’s hold.

“Dylan, are you alright?” You hear the Knight call over to his ally as he effortlessly holds you still.

“Peachy.” The Prince growls back, the sound of something breaking beside him echoing out as he gets up, the young man thrashing with his surroundings as his frustration begins to burn upon his sleeve. “Keep him still for me!” Damn it, you need to act fast, but… this bastard has you in a vice grip! Something else, you need a redirect or distraction, anything to break his concentration! Only problem, you can’t see shit, you’re flying in the dark right now! You just need a-

“Hail, countrymen! I caught her in time!” You hear the Life Page return, calling out from just over the mast. Perfect! With only a vague awareness of where you’re at, you reel a leg back and donkey-kick the fuck out of the mast. You’re only able to shove the chunk of ship a few inches, but the whole mass is shaken loose enough for gravity to do the rest, and with a sudden push, the whole thing goes barreling forward, straight into the Page and assumably the Thief as well. “Woah, Woah, Woah, WHOAH!” Rocking to the side then swinging back up, the weight of the mast rolling across the deck nearly capsizes the ship before the thing flips off the size, shoving the vessel upwards with an enormous wobble back into place. You hear the sounds of your own ship groan under the strain of the mast weighing on it, dipping down on the skyline before stabilizing up again. Witnessing his allies swept away off the side of the ship once more, the Knight’s grip on you falls slack as he looks back, giving you just enough leeway to slip from his hold, pulling out through his arms before springing forward. Your sight is completely fucked still, with only vague shapes and outlines in the dark distinguishable to you, but that fucker’s hand-blade shines through the night like a guiding beacon, giving you a halfway decent idea of your terrain.

Reaching down to the deck while you sprint forward, you snag a branch from the gnarled root that's overtaking the ship, breaking off a makeshift club that you whirl around into a backwards swing at the Prince. Grazing your actual target, your branch catches fire on the glowing blade as it passes through its edge, granting you a torch as you bring your halved pick overhead in the followthrough of your swing, striking for the top of the stab-happy pyromaniac. Though, just before you can take the bastard out, he slips back unnaturally swift, his glowing blade suddenly pulling away through the dark, the hazy shape of his silhouette ducking back as if carried upon by a breeze. No time to contemplate that now, these fuckers still have Dallra! Bursting ahead, you use your torchlight to guide the way through your darksight, rushing headlong into the lower decks and barreling through the cabin doors into the interior of your enemy’s ship. Find her, then you get the fuck off this rig.

“Tch!” You exclaim while suddenly coming to a stop in the hall, remembering that Bane was still pinned to the mast. Y’know, the mast you just kicked off the side of the ship? “Damnit!”

“Hey!” You hear shouted out behind you. Glancing back, you spot the glowing hand of the Prince as he carries his brand through the dark after you, pursuing you down the cabin corridors. “Don’t think I’m done with you just ye-“

-FOOOM-

Interrupting the Prince’s forward advance on his death march, a sudden wall goes barreling through the corridor, cutting off the passage between you and your opponent as it nearly stampedes through him while railroading into the cabins. What the fuck…? Inching closer with your torch to light the way, you make out the vague outline of a curved pillar, pierced through the halls of the lower decks. Blinking a few times with your burnt-out eyes, trying to make out exactly what it is before you, you realize… Is… is that… that Mast? Y’know, the mast you just kicked off the side of the ship? How did it… you know what, forget it. No point questioning why anything is happening anymore. The Mast could’ve just sorta did that for all you care. Call that a Stroke of Luck. Or in the Prince’s case; Misfortune. Guess he’s a little too reckless destroying Prosperity with that little blade of his. Whatever it was, you- Oh shit… Is that…!

“…Huh.” You gawk as you walk a little closer, finding the Pickaxe; Bane of All Mountains embedded in the wall before you, still cross-lacing the harpoon that first brought you to this thunderdome of an aircraft. Reaching over, you grab hold of your trusty pick and pry it free, rearming yourself with your Main Armament once more. Turning back towards the depths of your emery’s ship, you set out, traversing this hallway in search of your Seer. And there ain’t nothin' on this ship that will keep you away from her!

 

***

 

Blinking a few times in astonished disbelief, you replay the scene again in your thinkpan, unsure if you saw things right. Just a moment ago while amidst a scuffle, Jason had thrown loose the nestpillar from atop the ship’s deck, taking one of the Rogue’s men with it as it rolled overboard. It had been the Page of Life, a human boy who, moments after returning on-board during his jump saving his Elven teammate from a terminal splattering, was struck by the enormous fixture, taking him swinging down below your rescue vessel, hanging by the cable thread still attached to the dark cruiser. What would’ve been commendable on its own, the boy had hung on to the severed boat fixture despite taking a brunt of the hit upon his bellowcage, but what’s got you so baffled at this moment is the fact that that Hero of Life, while swaying back and forth down there in the undercurrent winds, had found a moment of stability while clung to the nestpillar, and with a stridepole reeled back, he… kicked… the enormous fixture. Kicked it straight through back into his own ship, taking him with it as he rode the projectile, harpooning the vessel straight through its exterior hull. The aircraft itself now resembles a hunted animal with an enormous bolt shot through its side, speared from port-to-starboard, nearly trampling poor Jason in the process.

Speaking of the Page, your gallant knight has finally returned from his romp through wherever he’d gotten off to, disappearing the way he did. Where that might’ve been, you’ve no idea, but based on the poor state your rescuer’s been left in, along with the fact that the Heir of Time is now suspiciously missing from the ship, you can make an educated guess as to what had happened. Whatever that may’ve been, your mission now is to reconvene with Jason and ditch this creamsicle-stand. Only problem; the ship is crawling with these jerks, five maybe six of them in the lowerblocks alone, moving about the cabins and halls in a scramble, likely looking for yours truly. Navigating through them has been a bitch-and-a-half, with you losing more ground than you’ve been gaining. As soon as one of your kidnappers leaves a way out open, another two come shuffling through, blocking off your escape. Not to mention the four others creeping around the deck. For whatever reason, you can’t get the timing right, leaving you running around in circles, evading detection.

You’re Dallra right now, if you hadn’t figured it out yet. You can tell because your bioluminescence is flicked on, lighting up the walls with a personal glow. The reason being? To stay off that Void Hero’s radar. You don’t know much about the Abyss she’s working in, but you know well enough that a little bit of Light will keep you out of her awareness while you hide, and anything that keeps her from springing a portal right on top of you, you’ll take. It seems Jason’s had a similar idea, scrounging up a makeshift fire-poker to keep the void at bay while he storms through the ship. That’s been the one challenging factor out of all of this, however. Being unable to track the Sneak Thief in your God’s Eye. Because of it, you’re left to make guesstimates on where she’s going and where she’s been based on the limited info you can put together on her. You have a general idea of where the Cobalt currently resides. Every so often, one of your other kidnappers will stop and exchange a few words with the open air, clueing you in on her positioning. It’s been a pan-ache trying to balance all these moving factors, if you haven’t gathered already.

“I don’t care if you’ve already searched the control room, I don’t care if you’ve searched it a thousand times!” Sliding to a stop while slamming on your heels, you come to a halt in the middle of your hall when you hear the faint sounds of voices permeating through the floor. “Get your ass back down there and search it again, Archibald!” Turning your attention upward, you find the Rogue of Life two levels above you as she chastises her two subordinates, the Seer of Breath and that one Heart Page. You can hardly hear what’s being said, muffled by the gold walls between you, but reading their lips fills you in on enough of the missing context. “And you!” The Rogue turns to the Rust Girl, causing her to slightly sink into herself at the attention. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed our Tracker can’t seem to track anything on this damn boat!”

“It’s their Sylph!” The Enemy Seer protests. “There’s so many different breezes coming in from every direction, it’s like searching for a sewing-dagger in a burdenbeast feedpile!” Preaching to the Choir there, sister.

“Speak normal, Auratt!” The Rogue orders, her voice coming in clear even two levels down.

“I track the air. We’re flying… There’s a lot of air.” The Rust explains to her leader in human terms.

“Jesus…” The Rogue grabs her face, covering her eyes. “Just… head to Nav Center, see if LJ can find any use for you. I need to figure out what the hell just hit us and why the hell Tabes didn’t stop it… and Archie, get the hell down to Control!” Storming off, the Rogue heads for the upper cabin area while her two underlings split in different directions. As she goes, the Seer deploys something from her Sylladex, with a small device appearing in her grabber. Giving it only a passing glance, you can tell it’s some kind of transponder, its screen displaying an isometric view of the ship, the hull made of a transparent grid to see its interior where a red dot blinks on one of the upper levels. Before you can inspect the device with any attentive deliberation, you notice that the Heart Page is heading in your direction. Judging by his trajectory, he’ll be passing through your area while on his way to the lower Control Room of the vessel. Gotta move fast then, before you get boxed in. Hurrying down the hall, you make it to the zigzag chasm connecting this bundle of floors, leading up to the three levels above your own. Dodging up the steps, you ascend a level before the Page can reach the passage down, ducking into the crossways just down the hall of your new corridor to take cover while he passes. Your breathing quells as you wait for the adversary to go by, holding the air in your bellowsac like a stress ball.

“GeT tO cOnTrOl, aRcHiE, dO tHiS, aRcHiE, dO tHaT aRcHiE. Feh! Whatever…” You hear him mumble to himself as he stomps down the zigzags, milling about the landing between levels, kicking at the floor. “How about you go down to control if you want it searched so bad…!” What… what’s he doing…? He’s stopped, not going anywhere, just lingering between steps on the inclines… Is he… is he staying there…? No, no, no! Oh, come on, dude! You need to get by there! Mooooove! ......He doesn't.

…Unbelievable. Okay, so that’s another passage cut off. Quickly reviewing the schematics of your immediate surroundings, you find a route to the top deck, but you’d have to cut down then up again, emerging at the back of the ship, which would take you right to the Maid of Doom. No go. There’s a way through the tangle, out to the port of the ship, but you’d have to scale across the outer hull to make it past the Sylph of Mind who’s busy patrolling up and down the left wing of the ship in a surprisingly efficient cyclical route. Yeah… you’re not climbing outside the ship again. Even escaping from prison was barely enough motivation to get you to scale the hull. Ah-hah! There’s a path through the Brigblock that takes you into a crawlspace leading beneath the top deck. From there, it’s just a matter of breaking through the planks till freedom! With a wide stride and swift steps, you bolt down the transientchasm towards lockup, straight for the cells you’d just escaped from. You’d appreciate the irony of it all if it weren’t for the fact that your stepperpoles are on fire with all this bloody running around! However, as you lament the blisters these ruby slippers are probably inducing on your stridepads at this moment, you notice a few floors above you as one of the Rogue’s men bursts through an entry door at the starboard side of the vessel, entering into the commonsblock and booking it to the center flight of zigzags leading to the core of the ship. Their Prince of Light, tearing down the corridors on a startlingly direct path towards your exact position. Oh crap… Does… does he know? Dang it, you need to find cover before he arrives.

Rushing forward at an equally hurried pace, you race towards the nearest hole you can stuff yourself in to wait for the meddler to pass by. Getting close enough to hear the -clack- of your shoes as they tap against the floors and echo through the corridors, you quickly leap into the air before the Human Prince can pick up on your presence down here, tucking your stephinges up against your thorax as your rip your slippers off, landing back down with a silent step before dashing ahead once more, your stride hushed while bare-padded. There’s a door at the end of this stretch of hall that you can make before he arrives at your position. The room there is small, but you should go undetected while he goes by. Making your move as the human practically slides down the zigzags, you grab hold of the latch to the golden door only to come to a horrifying realization. There’s rust coating all along the locking mechanism’s interior, there’s no way you can open this thing without alerting the entire two levels around you with its -creek-!

“Unbelievable! As soon as I’ve got that twerp on the ropes, Iggy has to go an suddenly remember he’s not an actual fucking corpse for once in his life and lampoon the entire god damn ship!” You hear the Prince’s monologue resonating down to your landing as he’s just about to round the corner down. “Where does that leave you, Dylan? Oh, well thank you for asking, literally fucking no-one! That leaves me doddling around this jumbled clusterfuck of a ship because it’s engineers had a fucking stroke while designing its schematics! I get to bumble my way through a detour like some schmuck during rush hour! Man, I fucking LOVE being forced to collaborate with brainlet ape-people when my fucking life is on the line! I love it SO MUCH!” With the tantruming human about to come spilling out into your foyer while you’ve still got no place to redirect to, you quickly search around yourself, looking for a sufficient Plan B. Okay… okay, okay, okay, uh… uuh… Ah! Aha! Above you, there’s a large enough space behind the ventilation system for you to slip into. Reaching your prosthetic to the ceiling, you clamp your grabber onto one of the pipes running above the hall and pull yourself up, tucking your stridepads into the vacant space before sliding the rest of yourself in after.

Put away, you verify that no part of you can be seen from the floor. You’re hidden from sight, but the only problem… ah, drat! Your biolight is still visible, peaking through from the gaps of the rafters, making it obvious something is up there. Okay… timing it right, you wait until the final seconds before the Prince has line of sight on your corridor before -zpp-, the light goes out.

“…” Holding your breath again, you watch the Prince’s every facial twitch with a near-psychotic intensity for any indication he suspects someone’s lingering nearby. He’s completely unaware, continuing on down the way as he grumbles about detours beneath his breath.

“Ah…” You sigh once he begins to drift out of hearing range. Okay, with him out of the way, you should be free to ascend the next level up and reroute around to the starboard wing of the vessel. From there, if you can get to the Incarcerationblocks unimpeded, you can reach the janitorial subblock where the crawlspace entrance sits. Whipping out your palmhusk, you quickly message Jason your plans with coordinates to rendezvous, though you’re unsure if his pan is clear enough to think to check his inbox right now. It can’t hurt to try, you suppose.

“Who we texting?” A sudden voice appears over your shoulder, sending you into an instant panic. No one was behind you, which means it can only be one person there. Deciding the instant you realize this, you go loud. Twisting around, you send the metal fist of your prosthetic crashing into the ventilation system you were laying upon as you punch for the Hero of Void, thrashing through the pipes and ducts as you practically fold the ceiling in half, sending all the rafter equipment collapsing down with you as you fall to the floor. Come on, man! You were hidden less than 10 seconds! How did she find you so quickly!? Catching yourself by the tips of your grabberprongs, there’s only a moment’s pause in the chaos before you’re forced to duck out of the way, flipping yourself over into a Youth Roll as the Thief tries to wrangle her Razor Wire around your stridepole. You can’t see the Cobalt in your God’s Eye, but those cut-strings she’s got are just visible enough to spot when they go flowing through the air, reflecting little gleams of light off their length while undulating like the arms of an eight prong suckerfiend. “Now who said you could leave your cell, beautiful?” Just your luck that some creep was lingering about the very shadows you took cover in the moment you hid in them!

“No jurisdiction, no custody!” You explain once again to these busybodies, equipping your Slingshot; Trebuché as the Prince of Light turns on a caegar, booking it back towards your corridor after hearing the ceiling collapse. Yanking back a piece of the ventilation system you took down in the cradle of your sling, your ammunition crackles with a subatomic power as it rests between your mechanical grabberprongs, coated in a brimming potential that’s ready to burst. “I recognize no authority that limits my power!” Letting fly the shrapnel piece, your shot whizzes past the Thief, striking into the corner of the hall’s edge just as the Prince rushes out into the open, engulfing the area in a radioactive fireball as your Atomic Blast detonates.

“T’fuck!” The Prince yelps out as he tumbles past, skipping across the crossway into the opposing corridor. Hm. Your shot was perfectly timed to catch him in the blast as soon as he stepped out of cover, yet right at the moment of detonation, he’s suddenly shot forward, gliding on a breeze as he was carried a step-and-a-half past your explosion, unscathed by its singing effects. Somewhat baffled by his sudden stroke of luck, you’re nearly caught off-guard as the Thief’s wires come swishing in, nearly wrapping themselves around your ignoranceshaft as you duck from their grasp.

“C’mon, Fangs, don’t you wanna be friends?” The Thief jeers as her garrotes bloom out to grab you again. Throwing yourself back, you take cover behind the half-collapsed section of the air filtration still partly attached to the ceiling that reaches down to the floor, a few of her tendrils wrapping around the pipes and vents as you duck out of their way. Pulled tight, the Thief slices your cover into chunks as her wires effortlessly pull through their frame. Just great! Reaching down as you dive away, you drag your grabber through the pile of mechanical debris beneath your stride, gathering a snagful of ammo in your evasive maneuver. Holding the metal fragments between your knuckles, you roll into a proper crouched stance before firing three quick shots in rapid succession. -SNAP- -SNAP- -SNAP- Your Sling rings out like gunshots, pushing the Thief back into the shadows of the wreckage. Loading another shot into your cradle, you wrench your sling back, aimed for where the Cobalt hides away, slowly repositioning until you can get an angle on her. The Prince has already regained his footing and is stumbling back your way. He’s close, but he’s bumbling, still frazzled from the explosion. If you can knock the Thief unconscious in the few seconds you have left before he returns to your corridor, you still might be able to sneak away. You just need to get a proper-! She’s gone! The gleaming sheen of her wires disappear from your God’s Eye in a flash as she warps away into the dark. God-… ! Where is she?!

“Bah!” You spit, springing off your forepads as you abandon the Strife, absconding before the Thief can bait you into a 2v1. She’s just buying time until the Prince can reconvene, hoping you won’t realize her game. Sprinting for the zigzags out of this mess, you reach the incline and make a mad dash up the steps, rounding the corner at the landing between levels and book it up the next flight, continuing on until-

“Leaving so soon?” The Cobalt asks as you’re jerked to a halt, appearing there behind you through your own shadow just as you reach the top of the steps, too close to react as she wraps her wires around your prosthetic. Tangled in her grasp, your grabber is yanked back as she pulls you down the zigzags, back towards her ally. You pull back, going nowhere as you struggle to break free, all the while the Prince grows closer, distracted a moment as he finds the wreckage torn down from the roof a level below you, quickly moving on when he hears the scuffle between you and the Thief echoing out from the stairwell. Now would be a good time to worry!

Thinking quickly, you reach over to the nearby wall, shoving your grabber against it and digging your grabberprongs into the metal of the ship’s interior, fastening them in place there. Before the Thief can grow wise to what you’re doing, you unhitch from your Integration Port and free yourself from her wires as you detach the limb. In the split-second it takes for her thinkpan to catch up with your maneuver, you’ve closed the distance, sending your biological grabber across her fangfold, CLOCKING the Cobalt in the face and sending her tumbling down the stairs in comical fashion. You warned her. No jurisdiction; no right to incarcerate!

Hurrying back up the steps, you quickly reintegrate with your prosthetic, prying it free from the golden walls of the ship and begin to set out. However, before you can, you hear the Prince call out as he spots the Thief hit the ground from down the hall.

“HEY SEER!” He… calls for you? “TELL ME A SECRET!” The moment the words leave his ignoranceshaft, a sudden burst of wind explodes out from before you as a rift in space is torn open between you and the next level up, the felled Thief opening her portal and closing the distance between you and her ally. Without pause, the Prince comes flying out from the tear, his grabber blazing in a flaming beam that he slashes down at you with, carving through the metal of the zigzags as you dodge to the side of his attack. “You and your group think you’re so damn smart!” The human growls as he blocks off your path. “So damn tough!” He lances forward, stabbing his beam for your sightglobes, forcing you back down the steps as you pull out of his reach. “You’re nothing but a bunch of lucky bastards skimming by the skin of your teeth!” He slashes again, that hand beam swiping out and carving into the wall by your side as you duck beneath its path. His attacks are slow but powerful, with a wide scope. Slipping past him would be a risk. But- “No skill!” He swings again. “No discipline!” And again. He’s relentless, an endless stamina unburdened by the weightless nature of his weapon. With each attack, he pushes you closer and closer to the Thief. Whipping around, you face the Void Hero directly as you grow near, leaving your God’s Eye to handle the Prince so your sightglobes can keep track of your invisible opponent. “Never earning what you’re given!” Chopping down for the top of your thoughtnub, the Prince thinks he has you unaware with you facing away, his attack stopping short as you raise your prosthetic up, clashing wrists with the human and halting his swing above your crown. Ahead, the Thief welcomes you back with open arms, her grabberstaffs extended out while her garrote wires flourish like the wagging tail of a barkbeast. Unable to break your guard, the Prince swings up and around, taking his beam in a full circle before slashing up for your posturepole, forcing you forward another step. “Well guess what, bitch!” He lances his grabber out, stabbing for the back of your nub. The flaming beam shoots by as you lean out of the way, his glowing grabberprongs lingering just beside your face as he overextends. “The Luck’s run Out!”

-FWOOSH-

Realizing the very second his weapon flares, the world around you is consumed in a blinding Flash of Light, cutting out all you see from your sightglobes as your ocular organs are damaged to the point of destroying your vision. Damn, that stings! Jerking away in pain as your face burns from the intense heat, you yank your hood down over your wrecked peepers, focusing entirely now on information from your God’s Eye with its organic counterpart out of commission. Crouched down there on the zigzags, you feign a larger injury than you’ve truly received, rocking as you cradle your face to really sell the act, tapping your prosthetic around like a cane for the blind to let them think they’ve got you at a disadvantage. The Prince smirks, glancing over at his ally with a laughing scoff, the Thief now completely invisible to you with no way to physically see her. This is bad. Like, really, really bad. Okay, think. If you can still slip past the Prince up to the next level, your route is still clear of any other opponents or obstacles, but there’s no way you can go anywhere with the Thief able to stalk you unnoticed now. You’d be a guppy in toothbeast waters.

Do you let them capture you again? Bide your time until you can give them the slip while they think you’re completely blind? No. These two are idiots, but one of your adversaries here can likely deduce you still have use of your powers. They’d likely stick you in a cell again, one without the scenic view this time. No, no you have to run. The answer is clear then, isn’t it? Take out the Thief. Neutralize all Pursuers… Knowing what you need to do now, you watch as the Prince reaches down to lay claim upon you. Kick instinct tells you to evade the grab. To weave out of the way of his grabber just as he’d snatch you up, spring around and introduce your mechanical knuckles to that smug human grin. It’d be easy. But what is easy isn’t always what is needed. Sometimes it takes a level of finesse to get what you want. Patience and Time. That’s all this is. Patience and Time…

“Ah!” You yelp as the Prince yanks you up by your nape, your wings anxiously fluttering as he nearly throttles you while shoving you down the zigzags towards where the Thief presumably stands. “S-…stop!” You continue to play along with the illusion.

“Yeah? Or what?” The jackass shoves you forward, down onto the landing between levels. “We’ve got some questions for you, Seer.” He tells you while posting up a step back behind you. The Thief should be directly to your front then, shouldn’t she? You can’t make your move yet, if you swipe at her too soon, it might give away you can still see. You have to be sure of her exact position before you pounce. The moment they think they have you under their complete control, that’s when you strike! “We’d originally wanted to do this more friendly-like, but then you had to go and make a run for it.” He leans in, speaking directly into your hearducts, so close you can smell his cologne. Close enough to snatch his tastemuscle straight out of his flavorfold. “And so something tells me you’re gonna make this difficult for us, after all. I assume I’m right in this assumption?” You say nothing. The Prince’s smug grin fades into an annoyed scowl at the silence. “Right… well… resist all you like. We don’t need you to talk. Anshal.” He signals the Thief. You hear no step forward, feel no shift in the air as she moves closer, it’s as if she holds no presence on the physical world at all, yet when the Prince calls for his ally’s aid, you feel as her grabbers suddenly slip beneath your hood, pressing against your temple as she appears like a phantom from the dark.

“A Witch…?” The Thief mutters just loud enough to hear, sounding as if she were asking you a question. The statement confuses you enough to give you pause, distracting you from your goal of neutralizing your target. “…That’s who they’re looking for on Logaw… the Witch of Mind.” Your sightglobes widen beneath your hood as the Cobalt elaborates, revealing to you what she is doing. She's gone rifling through your Plans! “A Missing Heir, as well, but… Oh. Oh my. Now what exactly could this be? An item of Insurance-” Lunging forward before the tricky bawd can slurp up anything else from your thinkpan, you seize the highblood by her face, the grabberprongs of your prosthetic clamping down upon her in a vice grip, ensuring she goes nowhere. She likes stealing secrets, does she? Fine then. She can have them All!

 

 

“SEE WHAT I SEE!”

 

 

Connecting her vision with your own, you expand your sight beyond the cramped corridor in this golden ship. Beyond the atmosphere of this checkerboard land. Beyond the Dark Abyss surrounding this Medium. You show her Everything. All that your God’s Eye can perceive in its entirety, every sun and moon, every neutron and electron, and all the void that exists between them, it all goes flooding into her pan in an instant, her mind enveloped with the Totality of Existence.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!” The Thief shrieks, her grabbers tearing back from you as her squawkgaper tears from the strain. “GUAAAAAA, nnNAAAAAAGHHH!!!”

“What the hell…?” The Prince jumps at the sudden screams, pulling you away from the Thief to see what’s been done to her. Before he can figure it out, you reach your prosthetic back and crush the grabber he’s got a hold of you with. “Dah!” He yelps as you duck around him, dodging past and scurrying up the zig-zag incline while he’s busy tending to the broken calciumrods.

“Better luck next time, chump!” You call back as the human looks between you and the howling Thief, unable to determine which problem requires his attention most.

“Damn it!” You hear him eventually decide, turning back and kneeling down as his flame-beam bursts back to life upon a single digit of his non-broken grabberprong, washing the landing in a blaring light and revealing the Thief within your God’s Eye as she writhes upon the ground, her scentreceptacle and sightglobes trickling streams of cobalt down her face. “Hang on, Anny. This is gonna sting…” He coaches the Cobalt as he angles the point of his index-blade level with her right tear duct, slowly pushing the tip forward through her ocular nerve, up into the thoughtsponge of her pan. And with a flashing spark, the Prince’s flame begins to burn all that overloading information from her mind, one galaxy at a time. Lobotomy Purge… Huh… You see something new every day.

Continuing down the golden corridors of the enemy vessel, you hear the wails of the Thief long after you’ve left their area, finally making it into the starboard wing again. Can’t say you feel bad for the Highblood, all things considered, but you’d be lying if you said those cries didn’t hit you right in the sympathy center of your acidtubes. Oh well, no rest for the wicked! Right now, the only thing that matters is getting off this ship. Caution to the wind, then! You race down the halls, making your way to the Page before the clock can run out. The only problem with that is your rescue is headed straight for the Captain’s Quarters, going the wrong way on the entire other side of the fricken’ barge! Dang it, Jason! Answer your Palmhusk!

 

***

 

Waving the makeshift torch out before you as you stumble from place-to-place through the lower decks, you feel your stamina run thinner with each dead-end you find in the cabin chambers, no sign of Dallra anywhere on this damn ship. On the brighter side, you’re getting better at navigating with your vision the way it is, however dark and blurred it might be. Silver linings, you guess. It’s getting better, you think. Your sight. You’re making more out of your surroundings, and you can see a bit farther, too. At least you know whatever the hell that orange-jumper wearing prick did to your eyes wasn’t permanent. Or… at least you hope…

As you continue down the hallway between rooms, the ship hits a particularly large bout of turbulence, pushing you nearly off your feet as you run into the wall. Shit, it feels like your legs are gonna give out from underneath you any second now. What the hell happened to you? Nothing is regenerating right, even your temporal reserves are still bottomed out. Ever since being pulled back to the ship, you’ve been operating miles past your limiter, it feels as if your very bones will split open if you put too much strain on them. You can’t even say you’re running on fumes anymore. You were running on fumes when you woke up this morning, but now? Your heart just hasn’t realized you’re dead yet…

Throwing open the next door in your path, you shuffle into the room on a limp in your right leg. Inside, you find the dorm lit by a bay window at the back of the chambers, illuminating your way enough to see a few feet in front of you. The place is a mess, a toppled desk before the window, spilling an assortment of pages and maps about the floor. There are other shapes and shadows around the room too. All sorts of nicknacks and doodads. Clutter. Too blurred to make out what it is. From what you can see, there are three total passages including the one you’d just come through, making the room a bit of a courtyard, a junction between spaces, where multiple paths meet. This ship is a god damn maze… However, affixed between two of the doors is something very interesting. Something that catches your attention most throughout all those shadows. A thing affixed to the wall, it’s shape like that of an Observation Terminal, like the ones you’d find in the Veil. It’s honed in on a beach, one set on LOFASM where a dingy rocks quietly beside a dock. What is all this…? A command center?

-THWIIIING-

Just as you go to interact with the terminal, an arrow suddenly goes whizzing past, cracking through into the screen, the entire console going dark as it sparks from the damaged point. Whipping back in surprise, you’re met with a figure stood at the doorway leading in, too far in the dark to make out who. It’s as if a Shade had come to life, a nightmare peering in from the thresholds of the ethereal.

“Found you.” It says, the shape of their hand yanking back another arrow notched upon their bow. Flashing before your eyes, your life goes by as you’re caught like a rat in a corner, your mind burning with strategy and scenario in desperate attempt to find a way to escape.

“H-hey, wait, wait!” You call out to the figure, holding your torch before yourself in pleading ease to halt their next attack. You’re too exhausted for any scuffle, let alone a head-on confrontation. You need to figure out a way to deescalate somehow. “Just, j- Seer of Breath! You’re the Seer of Breath, aren’t you?” You clock, recognizing the shadowy outline of the weapon she’d used your last Strife. A Breath Player… likely the most estranged member of the Rogue’s group, spiritually separated from the others… You might be foolish to try, but if you can secure an ally on this ship, you might just be able to get outta here alive. And if there were any member of your enemy’s ranks you could flip to your side, she’d be the one with the least ties to keep her loyal. Poaching one of the Rogue’s lackeys wasn’t exactly on your To-Do List any time this century, but if it’ll buy you a few more minutes to get out of this dump, hell, you’d take just about anyone. Beggars can’t be Choosers, right?

“What’s it matter to you?” She cautiously waits, only the faintest intrigue in what you’re getting at keeping her from letting that arrow fly, unsure of your sudden timid act. C’mon, think Jay. You remember her file, don’t you? Compendium of the Seer of Breath; For those Blessed to bear witness to the Winds, so too shall they Guide the Blinded and Binded towards its Flow. For the Spirit was always meant to be Free, like the zephyr that blows through the tall grass. It is thus that they know the Way, the Shape and the Form that one might find the Self-Reliance to lead themselves to Freedom. An Atlas through the Clouds, ever-changing and unburdened by all that is Material.

Seer’s Guide… See the Path towards the fruition of their Aspect. So how could she stick with a group that chooses Bloodshed over Freedom…? That’s it! Talk up your plans, sprinkle in words favoring her affinity to Breath. Make her want to fulfill her Mythological Role as the Witness to the Winds!

“Your sight!” You point towards the girl, quickly pivot before you can lose her curiosity. “You see movements, a-a-and freedom, don’t you? Then surely… can’t you see the road you’re heading down can only end in Blood? Only end with your spirit bound within the Arena, soul forced to walk the Lands here for eternity…” You have no gauge to tell if your words are reaching the Seer or not, her face still too blurred in your sight to make out what she’s thinking. Even so, you press on with your recruitment efforts. “It’s a Dead End. You… You can’t… be free if you keep helping the Rogue. There’s no good conclusion to that story, trust me.”

“Trust you?” The shadow repeats, sounding offended by your presumption to tell her what’s what. “You think I just forgot about what you tried to do to me and Archie?!” What? What did you-… Oh shit… You did almost murder her in front of that Heart Page, didn’t you… “Who the hell would trust you?” Fuck…!

“I’m-… I’m sorry.” You apologize, grasping at straws to repair your chances with the Seer. “I… I had a lot of rage magic pumping through my head then, I-I was out of my mind, but… but I’m telling you now, all my sanity intact, these people will be the death of you.” Though she might hold contempt for you over the past, judging by the fact that the Breath player at the Door has yet to embed her arrow into your prefrontal cortex, you can assume that you still have her attention, however thin. “At the end of the day, you really think they’re gonna look at you as someone who aided them on their path? As anything other than an obstacle? They think only one of us is surviving this place. Once you reach the end of the road, you’ll just be another opponent to them and I guarantee you-, I- I guarantee you, you won’t find any sort of freedom then.” Taking a step forward thinking you’re making ground, the Seer suddenly tightens the pull on her drawstring seeing you move. “B-but it doesn’t have to end like that!” You quickly adjust, realizing you’ve overstepped too quickly. “Me and my friends… we have a way out of the Arena, a path to Freedom. Actual Freedom, one we don’t have to kill our way to achieve. Your Title alone could lead us to that victory. An ending where we’re all freed from this hell? Surely some part of you understands how priceless a thing like that is…?” Falling silent, a pause passes over the room, the only thing filling the void being the crackling flame of your tree torch.

“…What do you mean you have a way out?” The Seer breaks first, the pull on her bow loosening as she begins to come around, having moved now more towards the middle of the dorm.

“Don’t fall for his tricks, Auratt.” A third party appears in the room, entering through the door across from the Seer’s, adjacent to the desk at the back. Panicking, the Seer hurriedly draws her bow back to full tension again, quick to show her loyalty after being caught conversing with the enemy, yet… her draw isn’t fully pointed at you… Her aim liners between you and the newcomer. A proper Headhunter's Gambit, then. Which one can secure the Girl's Allegiances first. From that voice alone you can identify the silhouette gliding across the bay window. The Mage of Blood… “They’re just empty platitudes. His aim is only to use you.”

“LJ?” The Seer shakily asks, like she’s a kid caught outside her room after bedtime.

“His intentions are blatant, everything he’s said so far was meant to fill your head with doubt.” The Mage explains while tapping the side of his temple. “He’s trying to make you rethink your decisions so he can gain the upper hand over you.”

“N-no I’m not!” You interject before the Bastard can fuck things up for you any more than he already has. “Look, Urat, please, just hear me out. You’ve seen it, haven’t you? You don’t have a future working under the Rogue, none of them do.”

“And you expect her to believe that she does with your gang of tagalongs?” The Mage scoffs, the distinct shape of his yo-yo dropping down beside him as he stands before the window.

“Yes! B-b-because she does!” You look to the Seer, finding her indecision wavering with her leader chattering in her ear, her Bow slowly aiming your way as the Gambit drifts in the Mage's Favor. “E-… Everyone does!” You tack on, hoping any sort of goodwill might shift the balance towards your end.

“Now that’s a load of Bollocks.” The Mage scoffs, snapping his yo-yo up. “Think about what he’s saying, Auratt. He wants you to help lead his group to victory? What could you actually offer him that his little clique doesn’t already got? They don’t need another Seer to guide them, they already know what their goals are. He only extended an offer so he could jeopardize the integrity of our team. That’s your only use to him. If you accept, he’ll abandon you the second your usefulness runs its course, and not a tick longer.”

“That’s not true!” You argue with an anxious twinge in your throat, knowing how desperate you’re beginning to look. “I didn’t- I-… I wouldn’t abandon any of my own! Why do you think I’m here to begin with?! To save my friend!”

“S’at right?” The Mage asks with a laugh. “What a coincidence this pal of yours in particular happens to be the one with the powers all your littl’ schemes hinge on.” He steps forward, causing the Seer’s Bow to tremble between you and him as he stands at the center of the room. “Handy, aren’t they? Those peepers she’s got… Can see the entire bloody Arena from the garden. Must be like shoppin’ in the market for you. Picking out anyone you want for your little games. Rest of ‘em be damned. Yeah… that’s why you need your bird back so badly. Everything falls out of place without her.”

“That has nothing to do with it!” Your grip on Bane tightens. “It isn’t about powers! She’s-! She’s someone very close to me! We look out for each other!”

“You sayin’ you’d show this same ferocity if another of your mates were taken instead?” He asks, tilting his chin up at you.

“O-… O-of course I would!” You slip up, hesitating that half-second caught off guard by his question.

“You’re flustered.” The Mage nails you.

“No I’m-! …Damn it! How can you all be so oblivious to what that Rogue is doing? You’re all her enemy, and you’re just letting her lead you to your deaths!” It’s getting desperate at this point, but you don’t realize that yet. You’re just a wisp hallucinating in a forest, after all. “What do you think’s going to happen when there isn’t anyone left to fight against? Anyone left to hunt?!”

“Far too blatant, mate.” The Mage tells you, slipping his hands into his pockets, too confident that you’ve lost. “Robin was always up front about the eventuality of our group dissolving. In fact, it’s the first bloody thing she tells the lads when they join. They know what they’re signing up for, unlike the secrecy you’ve become infamous for.”

“What…” You mutter. Infamous?

“It’s an eventuality we’re all prepared to face.” He leans back with a sigh. “We don’t lie, we don’t selectively recruit, and we sure as hell don’t give those who follow us a distorted hope of escaping this pit. The only thing we promise is to bring our own to the very end, and no further. May the Best Man Win. That’s always been the case.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way!” You try to tell them. “You-… Y-you can come with us! All of you!”

“Save your spiel, Page.” Yeah, even you aren’t believing that one. “We’ve seen how you go about pursuing your goals. You seek out only the useful, anyone else can bugger off, all you care. We have no place in your future, and I won’t let you seduce my team towards a more abysmal fate than they’ve already been handed!” Beginning to inch away from the two accomplices, you realize there’s no way you can convince your way out of this, the lot of them having accepted the cards they’ve been dealt wholeheartedly a long time ago. They’ve gone mad, every last one… It’s just as Creed had said, like crabs in a bucket. Wardens of their own Kind. Looking to the Seer one last time, you see through blurring shadow that her Bow now aims pointed at you, her final decision made. You've lost the Gambit. Glancing back to the Mage, you can’t see his face, but that posture is like a spotlight for the smug look he’s staring at you with. That god damn prick ruined everything! Switching between them, you watch with scorned eyes for whichever one will move first. You made a gamble talking with the enemy, and look where that got you! Stuck with a 2v1, that much closer to your own death!

“Shit!” You blink first, jerking to the side as you strafe towards the unguarded exit in the room. The Seer fires after you, her arrow flinging out, piercing you in the bicep of your swinging-arm, taking you to the floor as the force hits you in the side. Tumbling down, you see through shadow as the Mage breaks forward as well, both your opponents about to pounce on you like hungry tigers. Gotta act fast! Tearing open your Sylladex, you select the largest item you can find on panicked notice, Catalog #10, Section 5x2. Without looking, you randomly scribble through the Puzzle Maze your Fetch Modus generates, scrambling the retrieval process enough that instead of deploying before you, your artifact goes shooting out of your inventory space! Launched like a rocket towards the two would-be assassins, your Closet goes careening past, carving into the floor with tremendous force and exploding a landmine’s worth of golden planks into the air before crashing out the bay window with a -smash-! Damn… You had a lot of outfits in that thing…

Rushing back to your feet as the two morons gawk in astonishment at the hole you left behind them, you practically spring out of the room, slamming against the wall as you stumble aimlessly in the hall away from the two. You don’t know how much of a head start you’ve got on them, but you aren’t waiting around to find out. Full tilt, you barrel through the corridors without direction, barely able to stay on your feet, leaping in stride down the staircase as you come upon it. In the room behind you, however, your two opponents reconvene, uninterested in your absconding.

“Do we go after him?” The Seer asks her Captain.

“No.” He answers back, facing out the void you’d left in the ship at the endless sky beneath him. “Whether he’s captured or not isn’t important. So long as his Seer is here, he won’t go far.” The Mage explains, turning back to face her. “Get back to searching. We’ve got a Snitch to catch.”

 

***

 

Tending to the fallen Knight as your ship works to keep up with the Kidnapper’s aircraft, you finish bandaging up his most grievous wounds, stabilizing the human your group has most recently picked up. He’d been hit with a shell of Antilife, a near-lethal dose of it too. Most living things would’ve already succumbed to such an attack, but you’re certain this one will pull through. He’s cut from a tougher cloth, you think. Those shots have been leaving dents in your ship like it were made of leftover noshpreserver and he took one straight to the posturepole and remained intact. That alone should be signal enough he’s no pushover.

“Hey Rags! How’s Captain Save-a-Ho doing over there?” Ryder calls over from his dismantled launcher, irritating Mia enough to draw her from her work fixing the thing to slap him upside his nugbone. "Agh!"

“He’ll live.” You declare to him, certain beyond a reasonable doubt. Yes, he will live. You know this not because of any medical speciality but because you can see it written in his flesh. His Fate’s been tampered with, a Death deferred. You can see it most along the knuckles on his grabberprongs. There are signs of Deathwards placed where his Demise otherwise would’ve been. Tight work, not much space for leeway. Whoever wrote them was a professional.

Glancing up to the controlblock atop the watchtower of your ship, you contemplate taking the Knight to his Banner’s Healer. He’s light enough, taking him to Sara likely wouldn’t take long, but it wouldn’t do him much good with the Sylph focused on keeping you aloft. No, he’s safest here on deck, where Perses keeps most of the artillery away.

 

-v\/v\/v\/v\/v\/v\/v\/v\/v\/v\/v\/v\/v\/v\/v\/v\/v\/v\/v\/v\/v\/v-

 

While your sightglobes are focused elsewhere, a sudden weight comes throwing down upon you, a heavy mantle which falls upon your nape, forcing your nugbone down as your hearducts shatter. It takes a moment for you to realize it wasn’t a solid weight that hit you. It was sound. A clap of Thunder, one so loud you thought yourself deaf in its aftermath. Louder than anything you’d ever heard before, as if two Planets had Collided just above your snout. Looking around, you find your friends unbothered by the eruption. Mia works, Ryder chatters, Perses scrambles to keep the ship shielded, you can hear none of them, no talk, no movement. Maybe you really have gone deaf…

 

-^/\^/\^/\^/\^/\^/\^/\^/\^/\^/\^/\^/\^/\^/\^/\^/\^/\^/\^/\^/\^-

 

Staring at your companions in dulled form like a bludgeoned cluckbeast, you’re left helpless as another strike of Thunder comes ringing down on top of you, raining upon the world like it’d fallen from Heaven, slamming into your crown as a hammer slams into a bell. Dropping to the floor, you clutch the side of your nugbone, trying to quell the pounding as the pulp of your thoughtsponge pulses within your calciumshield, threatening to crack it open like a rindfruit. Below you, your scentreceptacle pours bronze, dumping an endless stream of blood from your bridgebeak, your mind overwhelmed as the sky erupts with reverence and revelation. Yet still around you, no one reacts. No one sees what’s happened, continuing on with their lives, ignoring what’s right in front of them! What-! …what’s happening to you…?

Looking up from the muddy mess that’s staining the deck, you feel the world slow around you, everything going dark as all the light drains into the void. Flying through the night, you feel the vessel beneath you, still there below the veil. It’s different, though… there’s a pulse to it. Information passing through its shell like a current…

“You found her?” A quiet voice echoes through the dark, turning your attention to your flank. “Well where the hell is she?!” Out there, just across the gap, you see them. A group, huddled together, sticking out like a beacon in the nothingness. It’s… the Rogue. She’s conversing with her henchmen, that Prince, as they stand around a Thief, sat half-crumpled across a table hidden in the dark, face buried in her grabbers, looking like she’s piecing herself together again after a brutal hangover.

“She… got away.” The Prince begrudgingly tells her. “She got into Anshal’s head, did something to her brain. She would’ve died if I didn’t stop to burn it out of her skull.”

“Well what a whole lotta use that did us.” The Rogue scoffs back, turning around so as to not face her subordinates, her fists pressed against her sides in stern disappointment.

“She has something…” The Thief whispers, her near silent words echoing out in the dark abyss between you.

“What?” The Rogue glares at the Highblood, confused by the muttered update.

“The Seer… she has something we can use…” The Thief elaborates while gazing up at her leader, popped blood vessels staining her sightglobes as they peer out from the crook of her grabberhinge, the rest of her remaining covered up in her self-made cloister. “Something… monumental…”

“…In what regard?” The Rogue relents, irritated but curious as she nods at the crumpled Troll. Coiling back into herself, the Thief hides as she begins to mutter again, this time too quiet to hear. Yet as she speaks, a trail of smoke begins to drift from her lips, trailing out in spirals as her whispers are made manifest, physically slithering from her reach and coiling around the Rogue, causing a realization to dawn on her. “Get ahold of Tabes, tell her to get on comms.” She orders the Prince, sending him off into the dark. Alone with her Thief, the Rogue steps before her, grabber aglow with a bountiful energy. “I’ll need your hood.” She tells her before disappearing, the world coming back into fruition as the rival vessel hides their masters behind its hull. Looking back to your own ship, the whipping winds and sounds of your allies’ chatter fills your head, rushing back into your senses like a flood in your thinkpan. It’s overwhelming. Stupefying, even. You sit there still a moment, silent save for a few coughs that rattle your bellowcage while the stupor holds you.

“Rags… Hey, Ragnaa!” Ryder calls over from his turret, noticing your place on the floor, bleeding and bewildered. “You alright?”

“…Call… Need to… make a call…” You say while stumbling to your steppers, speed-walking to the nearest passage leading down into the ship.

“Okay… Cool?” Ryder mumbles. No time to think of anything else, you find the husk station affixed beside the hatch door. Picking up the chattercup, you connect your comm-link up to the Bridge.

“Creed!” You hurriedly call.

“Uh-! Y-yeah…?” The Heir replies, sounding surprised by your voice as it comes to life through his terminal.

“There’s something heading our way.” You explain, looking up to the grand spire the Heir operates within, unable to see the boy looking back through the glint on the window. “I-I-I’m not sure what, but… I-I just-… I-I-I-“

“You saw something just now?” He finishes for you, his voice chattering from the faulty connection. “A hallucination?”

“No. Something worse. And it’s coming for us.” You try to explain this feeling of terror sinking into your acidtrack. “Whatever it is, Creed… it’s gonna be big.“

“How big we talking?” He assesses your warning. Before you can respond, the world around you darkens once more, but this time, not due to any void overtaking your senses. Instead, as you look up, you’re met with the sight of colossal storm clouds shrouding the skies you fly through, your ship lost in an endless sea of thunder and lightning as The Gloom transcends from your thinkpan, seeping into the world as if summoned from the nightmare a dread grimoire.

“…Monumental……” You shutter into the receiver.

“…Understood.” Creed affirms as you watch in horror, the dark thunderclouds fold from shape to shape with you at their nexus. “Leah, our blueprints say there are auxiliary guns that deploy at the tail end of the ship’s Stern. See if you can get any active, we need our offensive measures back online, any means necessary. Girl’s, keep the steam coming. Consorts, standby for evasive maneuvers. If we don’t know what’s coming at us, we’ll need to be prepared for every contingency. And Ragnaa, you still there?”

“Here.” You sound back.

“Keep us updated on anything you can figure out. Even if it seems trivial.” He instructs. “We’re in the Eye of the Storm now.”

“Yeah… got it, Creed…” You say back before hanging up the receiver. And as you’re left in the idle silence alone there by yourself, looking up at the endless cyclones that spiral above, you can’t help but think… you’ve… got a really bad feeling about this…

 

***

 

There’s a static in the air. The type you get when lightning’s just about to strike. Yet nothing abnormal sticks out in the surrounding electrical charges when you sift through them. Not so much as a step out of line with the imperceivable arcs. Maybe you’re just imagining things…

Putting hypothetical plasma formations and their forerunning signifiers out of your thinkpan for now, you continue on, trudging through the space between walls of the rival vessel, climbing upwards while heading towards the very top deck of the ship’s exterior. You’re still as blind as an echofiend unfortunately, but your God’s Eye is compensating well enough without their biological counterparts. In fact, you’ve never been so in-tune with your powers like this before! It’s like there’s almost a rhythm that comes with relying solely on them to navigate, like you don’t have to overthink with where to look, you simply do.

Breakthroughs aside, your ascension reaches its end as your climb takes you to as high as this crawlspace goes, and with a fist through the ceiling, you break through the set of planks blocking your path to freedom and rip open a passageway out. Crawling through the splintered wood of your escape hatch, you reemerge into the outside world once again, the breeze greeting you outside the ship strong enough to blow your hood back, unveiling your hair as it brushes past. You breathe in a bellowcage’s worth of breath as you take in the feeling. One step closer to the end of all this nonsense!

Checking through the ship for your rescue, you find Jason finally getting close, having been chased back to the front of the aircraft by the rival Mage and Seer. He should be reaching the cabin’s exit soon, emerging two levels down from where you are. Without having to think, you begin heading to meet him where he’ll pop up, striding across the destroyed platform crowning this barely held together battlegourd of a boat. Examining the true extent of the damage this vessel has gone through, noticing cracks reaching all the way down to the ship’s foundation, it begins to dawn on you that this place has basically been glued, stapled and taped up into one piece by all these roots hanging around. It’s more plant matter than aircraft, at this point. Huh… okay, hopefully you’re getting off this rock soon. Speaking of which, your ride out of this place just came ramming out the front doors, torch and stone carver in-hand as he peers around, surveying the new terrain of his surroundings. Rushing to the edge of the lookout, you reach over, nearly tipping past the guardrail as you find the Page down below, the boy trying to find his bearings amidst the wreckage. With a deep breath in, you fill your bellowsacs with all the gumption you can muster up, and;

“JAAASOOON!” You call out for your Matesprit, catching his attention all the way down below. Looking up, the Page turns in your direction, searching with eyes that don’t quite see you, yet even still, even through the dark, he finds you. There, just on his fangfold, a tiny, exhausted little smile crosses his face, letting you know he’s seen you. Invigorated now, you push forward, vaulting over the guardrail down to the human below, yet as you go- “Wah-!” You’re grabbed, one of the nearby roots suddenly shooting forward as it comes to life, snagging you around your stridepole like snared prey before reeling you back in.

“Dallra!” Jasons yell for you down below, shaken by your sudden snatching. “Hang on!” He calls while tossing his torch away, slamming his excavator into the ship’s hull before hoisting himself up into a climb, scaling the curved exterior of the upper vessel in a direct path after you. In the meantime, you raise your prosthetic and send it slashing down, chopping through the length of dead-vegetation to free your stridepole. Yet as you do, a whole array of reanimated vines slither up into your surroundings, an encroaching pack of hissbeasts that pounce all at once. Dodging out of their direct path, a cluster of the winding creepers go grasping onto one another, getting caught as they tangle around the other’s winding length. However, two of the roots in particular make it past, worming through the chaos after your evasion, one grabbing you around your stridepad again while the other gets around your thorax. You’ve only got time to carve through the first grasping vine before another slew of them coil around you, wrapping up your person completely in their winding clutches. Tighter, tighter, tighter, the vines constrict TIGHTER around you, squeezing you like they’re trying to choke the life from your corpse until-!

 

[Failsafe Engaged]

 

They let go. All of a sudden, the vines that girdle your every vital unfurl themselves from your person, dropping down dead to the deck floor once again. You stare blankly at the coils of rope that’ve all dropped around you, unsure what it was that just happened. A tad shaky, you breath in a few unsure gasps, half expecting them all to get back up again to grab for you.

“Wha did…” You mutter as you gaze upon the reanimated roots, their withered and dried flesh looking no more alive than the rest of the boards they hold together the ship’s pieces. Have they always been able to do that? Why now, all of a sudden? And why let you go?

“Dallra!” Jason cries, breaking you from your thoughts as he comes climbing up the front of the ship, vaulting past the lookout’s guardrail and tumbling on deck. “You… you’re okay…” He breathes, slowly approaching as he rises to his feet.

“…I am. All things considered.” You nervously smile, the exhaustion of this ordeal feeling a weight upon your wingspan. Standing before you now, the boy lets the grip on his weapon slip, dropping the artifact to the ground as to free both his human hands as they slowly reach up to hold you, his palms gently pressed against your cheek, delicate as he cradles the sides of your face, looking you over as if he can’t believe it’s really you before him. As if you were a phantom, one that might slip away before his very eyes if he were not careful.

“Your eyes, Dallra… they’re Red.” He tells you.

“They are, aren’t they…” You nod back, slipping your grabber around his as he holds your face. Blinded. Permanently, if you were to suppose. It matters not. For you found each other in the dark. Bringing you close, the Page places his lips against your own, and in that tender embrace, you feel a slew of emotions flutter through you bloodpusher, exhilaration and adrenaline, joy and whimsy, exhaustion and relief, but most of all… you feel… Love… unabashed, unwavering… Love…

“I missed you…” The silly boy informs. You can’t have been gone more than an hour, surely. But he… he looks all the worse for wear, grievous wounds adorned across his every inch. Scrapes and jabs, stabs and burns, tears and breaks. Inside, you count no less than nineteen major calciumrod breaks, and the tears in his muscular tissue suggest he should be in agonizing pain. There’s swelling in his thoughtsponge and fractures along his calciumshield. Scorches and burns along his face and shoulders, an open puncture wound in the side of his bellowcage and the side of his grabberstaff. He’s even missing four of the chitonshields on his grabberprongs, leaving his grip bloody and exposed. How does he still stand…? How does he still fight…? Fight… He fights… he fights for you, doesn’t he. All of this, all for you… such ordeals… such a display of tender fidelity, being given life and limb… by the one claimed as her vassal.

“I’m so sorry, Jason…” You tell him, knowing the lengths he’s gone just to come to your rescue. He looks back, confused, as if the thought of whether he’d come to your aid was never a question in his mind at all. “I never- Ha!” Before you can say another word, you’d noticed that the bombardment against your rescue vessel had ceased, drawing your attention towards where the Maid responsible had gone. However when you looked, you found the Elf had encroached upon your lookout, just a level below your own. At only a glance, you could tell, she was channeling her bomber magics, connecting herself with the main network of roots that engulf the entire top of the ship. And not a second later, a field of white lily flowers bloom open all along the lengths of vines at your feet. “RUN!” You charge forward, taking Jason by the arm as you tear away to the bow. And then;

 

-Ka-BOOOM-

 

The floral spores detonate like a string of explosives, engulfing the lookout deck with a blooming plume of hellfire that takes out the entire upper two levels of the aircraft. Escaping by the skin of your fangs, you and the Page go leaping off the side of the deck, thrown forward by the force of the explosion, catapulted out further into the air than you’d anticipated. Jutting your stridepoles out to contour the curve of the ship, you strike down on the side of your stridetrunks, landing rough as you bounce off and skip down the front end of the vessel, ending up a full three levels down until finally rolling to a halt with a huff, settling a level above the main deck on a gallery overlooking the wreckage.

“Ah… You okay?” Jason wearily asks as he pushes up from the pile you’d both landed in.

“I’ve had better nights…” You try to make light. It doesn’t work. Helping you up, your Page arms himself again, summoning his carver and raising his guard as he searches for approaching threats. How… how did the Maid get so close without you realizing? She stands out like a sore alphaprong, even in the peripherals of your focus. She should’ve been setting off alarm bells three sections out, let alone being able to get directly below you. Was she concealed? But the Thief is still incapacitated in the nutritionblock with the Prince, clear as day with a Hero of Light so close. Do they have another person who can evade your God’s Eye? Another Hero of Void, perhaps? Or maybe one who can… who can… wait… where’s the Rogue? Sifting through the blocks and chambers that comprise the vessel, you only find her subordinates milling about the golden halls. Yet their Leader has… vanished…

“Stay behind me.” Jason tells you, bringing you back where you physically stand on the ship. Focusing in on the overlook, you find the Page of Life has invaded the stage alongside that Knight of Doom, the Highblood who kicked this whole mess off to begin with. If nothing else, persistence has been the one virtue these bandits have displayed rather consistently in their pursuit of you.

“Are you kidding me?” You ask your Page, stepping up beside him with your sling yanked back. Firing as soon as your shot is aligned, your shrapnel chunk pings off the adjacent wall, ricocheting directly into the right sightglobe of the Knight.

“Auh!” He yelps, clutching his face as it stains indigo under his grasp.

“I’ve been itching to get a little payback.” You tell him, cradling another shot, ready for the coming scuffle. As you do, the Life Page, ever the energetic one, goes bursting forward, his metal buildbeam swinging down at you from over his shoulder. Juking back in sync, you and your Page evade the rivals attack. Going to pull his heap of raw iron up from the shattered planks, you lurch forward at the Page, slamming your prosthetic down atop his crude weapon to keep it pinned to the floor. Thwarted before he can recover, Lifeboy is left completely open as Jason comes sweeping in, swinging his excavator up, ramming into the chin of his fellow human, knocking his nugbone back from the impact. Quickly hurrying to his ally’s aid, the Knight surges forward, taking a chop for your Page’s squawkgaper while he’s in the followthrough of his attack. Covering for him, you release the steel beam and send a punch uppercutting straight into the side of the Indigo’s axe just as it goes driving towards Jason’s thorax, the metal of your fist cracking into the metal of his blade, launching the trajectory of his swing upward, over your ward’s crown, barely slicing off the first few hairs of his brow.

Reacting after the half-second of shock, Jason reaches the curved hook of his excavator out, snagging the baffled Knight around his nape while he tries to figure out why his attack whiffed. Yanking him back, your Page tosses the opponent across the gallery, away from the ground you’re standing. While he handles the Knight, you turn your attention back to the Life Page, the dazed boy craning forward, his nugbone swinging like it’s hanging on by a thread to his posturepole. Ripping a shot back, you fire your sling, cracking him once again in his temple, knocking him back into stun. Pushing back his recovery another few moments, you turn your sights to Jason as he fences with the Knight, rapid-firing two shots into the Doombound, one to the right stephinge and the other to the side of his airshaft. Staggered by the strikes, you break the Indigo’s guard enough to give his opponent an opening, with Jason pushing forward, cracking the front weight of his weapon against the Knight’s chewbone. He stumbles back with a spring in his forepads, skipping as he repositions himself behind Jason, placing him in your direct line-of-fire. You go to stride around the Page’s flank, but the Knight evades as well, positioning himself on the other side of Jason at all times, ensuring you have an obstacle in your way to limit your range of attack.

Dealing with the inconvenience, you redirect your aim, banking your shots off nearby walls and wreckage, ricocheting your attacks to keep pace with the strife. The hits are lackluster, though. Blocked with ease by the side of his axehead, even as he trades blows with Jason’s forward advance. Before you can place any solid hits in, you notice in the peripheral focus of your God’s Eye that the Elven Maid is on a direct path leaping down from the upper destroyed half of the ship, on her way to join in on the fight. Adjusting course, you turn your sling upward, anticipating her arrival.

“Dal?” Jason glances back, noticing as your shots cease curving around him.

“We’ve got more of these roughnecks, incoming!” You announce, letting fire your chunk of burning ship before the Elf can even show herself. And as your shot finds its mark between the fauna girl’s night-stained sightglobes, you’ve already shifted your attention again, repositioning to the guardrail looking down as the rival team’s other Elf comes flying out from the lower deck’s messblock entrance, the Thief of Breath joining the fray. You’ve already ripped back your second shot by the time your first nails the Thief in the back of the nub just as she exits out onto deck. Astounded at how quickly she was struck upon leaving the safety of her aircraft’s interior, the Thief is too stunned to move, a perfect target for your second shot. Striking true once again, you hit center mass upon the wide of her nugbone, landing a bullseye with enough force to flip the girl over herself, spinning her where she floats in the air. Shaking off the blow to her sensor organ, the Maid comes bounding back down again, leaping from perch to perch of the wrecked ship like a swingfiend. Just as you go to place a chunk of ammo into her fangfold, you notice the Life Page rouse back up again. You’re getting pincered from both sides now. If you don’t do something quick, the entire blasted ship will be descending down upon you!

With a more aggressive approach, you rip your sling back again and again, shot after shot flying out as you rapid fire into the Life Page, pelting him point-blank trying to keep him down. Muscling through the first few pegs with grit fangs, the boy soon falls back as your shots tear into his flesh like a meteor swarm cratering a moon. Pulling his metal beam up, the Page takes cover behind the obelisk of a weapon, stalling you as his allies convene on your location.

“That hurt, you little rot-goblin!” The Thief shouts, shooting up into the air like some kind of screeching day-wraith.

“Jason!” You alert your Page of the incoming threats. Glancing back as he clashes with the Knight, your Matesprit's expression sinks into an exhausted despondence at seeing the incoming adversaries, all the while, his guard is pushed back as the muscle tissue unthreads within his limbs, losing his strength the longer he fights on. “Lean left!” You instruct as you turn your aim towards him. Complying without question, the Page dips to the side, leaving the Knight’s bold face exposed as you snap a boat fragment into the bridge of his scentreceptacle, batting him away in surprise at the hit. Giving your Page an opening, you turn back this time to the Maid as she drops down to your gallery, prowling upon all fours as she lands before creeping upright while trekking into the strife-grounds. With your target aligned in your sling’s trajectory, you go to reel your cradle back, yet just before your prosthetic can pull, you’re gotten the better of, as the Elven Maid’s Thieving counterpart reaches her corrupted grabber out, seizing you with an invisible force that locks your body in place.

“Ah, ah, ah.” The Breathbound mocks, scolding you like a wiggler. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Troll.” Strolling out of your aim without a care in the world, the Maid approaches Jason with him too occupied to realize, fatigue overtaking his senses as he bouts with the Indigo. Not good, you have to warn him!

“Look… Out…!” You’re barely able to rasp, your bellowsac drained of any air you might’ve had to shout. At the same time, you try to force yourself around, breaking yourself into a position with an angle against the Maid, but your body won’t move an inch past your lower toros, completely stuck in place.

Meanwhile, as Jason continues to brawl, unaware of how surrounded he’s become, one particularly close strike of his catches the the Highblood’s nub, dragging the sharpened point of his excavator across the Knight’s bellowcage, carving through his God Tiers and leaving a gash in its place. The damage is minimal, however, as the Indigo falls back with the attack, barely even scratching a fifth of an inch into his skin at its deepest as it grazes him, accepting the injury but minimizing it in stride. And using that momentum from his fall, the Knight pivots into a twist, his axe trailing behind him as he spins back around, the force at the very end of his weapon building until it goes swinging into Jason, slamming square across the Cog upon his chest. Even with all the air being sapped from your very bellowsacs, this sight alone is what takes your breath away, watching in horror as the edge of the Knight’s blade carves through your Page’s thorax.

“Uhg!” Jason grunts as the force hits him, the head of the axe stopping not even a quarter-inch from his human bloodpusher, halted only as the blade lodges against the calciumrod in his collar. Time slows to a crawl for you in that moment, watching him there, cherry red blood pouring from around the metal edge carved into his sternum, stridepoles threatening to buckle as his body sends signals all over itself, trying to comprehend what it was just hit with. Slowly drifting down, Jason’s sightglobes settle upon the source of his stagger, finding that his bellowcage has been cracked open like the exoskeleton of a boiled skulkerbeast as the Knight’s weapon lay embedded deep within him. He exhales, a realization breaking through the stupor of exhaustion, and then… his jaw clenches. Teeth gritting, Jason pushes himself back upright, forcing the Knight back as he muscles forward, overwhelming the Indigo’s hold on him almost uncontestedly. Then, as he gains the upper-hand over him, the Page strikes the Knight upon his stridetrunk, carving into the limb and causing him to tumble back onto the deck as he loses his balance, sprawled out now upon the ground before the wounded human, axehead still lodged within his person.

“H-… h-hey, man, come on. Getting stabbed means you’re out.” The Knight tries to inform his opponent. “What’s the point of the game if you’re gonna break the rules?” Yet still, Jason presses on, grabbing hold of the Highblood’s axe and yanking it from his chest with a spurting arc of blood following after, splattering upon the golden deck.

“I’m going to cut your head off now.” He tells the Knight, brandishing his own weapon against him.

“O-oh.” Is all he can reply, his sightglobes locked upon the crescent-blade axe, as if seeing his Fate play out in its reflection. The Page steps forward with his stolen artifact in-hand, the axe reeled back and ready to carve into the Knight just as he’d promised, yet as he goes to swing, the Thief splits her concentration, extending her seconds grabber out towards your Matesprit, freezing him in place with the same invisible force she’d snared you with.

“Hekter, get back and stand clear!” She orders the Knight as the Maid of Doom steps out onto the end of the deck, extending out the first two digits of her grabber as she summons a condensed ball of corrupted plasma to her prongtips, taking aim past you towards where Jason stands locked in place. No… Quickly! You’ve got to move fast! Forcing yourself forward, you push past the authority the Elven Thief has over your body, able to scrape through space inch-by-inch with her attention focused on Jason now. With all the willpower you can muster, you force your prosthetic forward towards the ground, pivoting your torso down at the hip to turn as your bones and muscles and all the tissue connecting them scream at you to stay put, just about every atom in your body fighting your demand for movement. At the same time, you reposition Trebuché behind yourself, your bio-grabber twisting across your thorax until the cradle of your sling hangs adjacent to the grabberhinge of your mechanical limb.

“Sorry, human.” The Knight mutters as he forces himself onto his stridepoles. “But when you’re out,” He grabs hold of the axe in Jason’s grasp, ripping it from him before dodging away. “You’re Out!” Just a little longer! You’re almost there!

“Hit him!” The Thief looks down at the Maid, ordering the annihilation at her prongtips as the power summoned begins to destabilize, overcharging behind a barely contained magnetic field, arcs of energized ozone striking out in streaks of lightning around her. No, no, no, you just need a few more seconds! She’s almost in your sights!

 

-BOOM-

 

Your prayers would go unanswered, however. With the go-ahead from her Sister in Green, the Maid releases her shot without delay, saving no expense as the destructive power shrieks out, striking Jason square in the side, detonating upon contact with a tremendous blast. The same blast that’s been melting craters into the side of your ship’s hull this entire pursuit. And as the space around him is engulfed with a thick haze, your Matesprit is hidden behind the veil of ensuing smoke, leaving you in the dark of his status.

“Tch-…!” You gasp, snapping your mechanical grabber into position, the sights of your sling perfectly aligned with where the Thief hovers above the ship. “Autofire; Reverse Grip!” You instruct your prosthetic. Registering your voice-command, the mechanisms in your limb rotate around, flipping your grabberstaff backwards before its entire length shifts back, sliding along their motion rack until your wrist connects directly to your shoulder. Automatically grabbing hold of your sling, the grabberprongs of your prosthetic retract fully within the limbs’s interior, pulling the cradle of your weapon with them into the arm as the tension in your launcher is pulled taught. In the instance before you fire, the sharpened lump of golden from the ship’s hull sparks with a energized potential, and not a moment later, your arm fires its projectile, launched from within your forearm and flinging out, invoking an instance of fission and activating your Atomic Blast as it strikes the Thief of Breath, center mass, catching her directly within the burst of radiation that follows. Knocked from the air by the plumes of fire, the Elven girl goes crashing down to the deck, saved last-second as the Life Page suddenly flies forward in an impressive bound, catching the Thief right before he’d hit the ground. The force of her fall tackles into him, however, and they both go tumbling across the deck, setting just before the blooming smoke surrounding Jason.

Suddenly jerking forward, you nearly fall to the deck yourself as you’re freed from the Thief’s grasp, her concentration thoroughly broken from the damage you inflicted. Regaining your balance as your breath stabilizes, you focus in on what remains of the troublesome weed smoldering in the center of the gallery. To your dismay, you watch as the Thief is roused, a channeling power coursing beneath her scorned shell, healed by the mere proxy of the Life Page beside her.

“…a….aa….” She rasps, her form trembling ever so gently, too pained and damaged for quick movements. Put back into action, you quickly reorient your prosthetic, shifting into its normal configuration before she can fully put herself back together again. Ripping your sling back, you take aim to finish her off, but just as your ammo shimmers with a subatomic presence, out from the settling smoke comes the curved head of an excavator, slamming into the nugbone of the Elf and shattering her partly into the deck below her. And stepping out as the veil settled is Page Jason, tattered and torn, yet still standing.

“Stay down.” He tells the unconscious Thief, raising his excavator up from her bloodied calciumshield as he turns to deal with the Page of Life next, only to find that his Lifebound counterpart is already asleep there, on the deck floor. “…You too, I guess.” He adds, the two opponents completely incapacitated. Stepping out of the smokescreen just as it’s begun to clear, the state of the Page is a grizzly one, his entire right side flayed open, from the end of his grabberstaff to the mid of his bellowcage, skin burnt to the muscle or ripped off entirely. It seems whatever stamina the human had left runs dry as you lay eyes upon him, the verdict of if he was alive or dead collapsing to a singularity upon your perception of his torn-up state, and he stumbles a step before his stridepoles buckle, dropping him to his stephinges. “…d-… dammit…” He murmurs, coughing up the sacs full of smoke in his chest.

“Jason!” You hurry to the Page, catching him before he completely collapses to the ground. “Oh god, you… you’re…” You can’t even find the words as you inspect his injuries more closely. By all accounts, he should be…

“It’s nothing… just a little rattled.” He slurs his words, barely enough strength to move his fangfold. “What about you…? You alright?” His singed eyes peer at you behind the soot smeared across his face, attempting to get a gauge on your status.

“I-I’m fine.” You assure him.

“Good, because I lied, I think my legs are starting to give out.” He groans, the weight of his injuries finally finding themselves rested upon his shoulders.

“Alright, just… just put your arm around me.” You tell him, throwing his grabberstaff over your nub and hoisting him back to his stridepads. “I’ll get us to- ha…!” Too preoccupied with the state of your Matesprit, you notice just behind you as the Maid of Doom has yet another Bunker Buster shot lined up, aimed directly for the visor of your face. “Get down!” You dodge with Jason in your arms, practically tackling him to the deck as the explosive mortar whizzes past, catapulting out towards your escape vessel. Just before it can hit the controlblock of your ship’s tower, a fissure in space is ripped open as Perses diverts the blast to the other side of the aircraft through a tattered portal, the blast detonating harmlessly in open-air a few yards later.

“Tabes, lay off! We need to resecure the priso- I-I mean resecure the hostage.” The Knight orders his Banner’s Maid as the crazed Dark Elf charges up yet another bomber shot at her prongtips. “We’re came to capture the asset, not kill her!”

“Stuff it, Fleshborn.” The Maid barks back, barely acknowledging his demands. “Orders have changed.” Not giving these miscreants another moment to plot against you and your loved ones, you twist over Jason and pull your sling taught, and before the Elf can get her shot off, you fire the chunk of metal in your cradle, launching forwards and breaking the containment field of her superheated bolt of plasma, detonating it point-blank right there on the deck. In an instant, the Maid is blown away in the blast, the grabber she’d used to fire her explosive volleys annihilated to a stump.

“Dal, we need to get out of here.” Jason huffs, pushing himself upright from the floor. Hurrying over, you quickly throw his arm around you again, hoisting him the rest of the way. “Get us to the edge.” He weakly points off towards the guardrail at the starboard side of the ship. Following his lead, you slowly begin to hobble him over when the Knight tentatively steps forward in your path.

“I must ask that you two surrender now.” He dutifully states, as if issuing a formal notice. “I don’t want to have to hurt you any more than I alre-“ Not bothering with him, Jason reaches out, summoning a glowing red Clock Face over the Indigo, freezing him in time.

“Guaaaaah!” He cries out, the muscles of his grabberstaff winding so taught that the fibers begin to burst like rope, the force compressing his calciumrods so tightly they begin to crack. What did he just do?! “Oooahkay, yeah that hurts…” He winces, his grabberprongs trembling back down at his side. “Keep going.” He steps forward himself, pulling you along, eventually finding your way to the edge of the ship. Setting down upon the guardrail, Jason leans over, peering out as he searches across the deck of your own vessel, searching until he seems to find what he’s looking for. “Perses!” He calls out, waving his grabber in the air, signaling the Prince on the very front bow on your aircraft. Catching his attention, the Dwarf perks up, looking back at you both. “Catch Us!” Jason shouts, smashing the section of railing before him open with his stone carver, clearing the path. Understanding more than hearing, the Prince glances down at the open skies below the Rogue’s ship, gauging the distance. His face twists slightly, like he’s unsure how to properly space out his portals but inevitably raises his fist, his alphaprong sticking out to signal that he’s ready.

“Are we really jumping?” You ask, an unintentional tremble in your voice as you count the kilometers beneath you.

“Don’t tell me you're afraid of heights.” He says, an equally trembling voice that he tries to hide behind an jovial tone.

“Not the biggest fan, no.” You nervously admit, returning to this moment at the edge beside your Matesprite.

“That’s okay, neither am I.” He tells you as he takes your hand. “We’ll go on three.” He turns to you, a confidence forming in his voice trying to tell you that it’ll be alright. Looking back, though you see nothing through the red stained gleam of your eyes, you feel the Page’s gaze meet your own, and in that moment, it’s as if everything clicks into place. You are calm, and you know what to do. You nod to your Page, and get ready to jump. He turns back, facing the open sky with you. “One… two…-!” He goes before three, leaping out into the void below with nothing but the faith he has in your team to get you both out alive. You leap with him, but-

---------- SNAP ----------

“Ah!” You yelp as something snags around your waist, botching your leap forward and causing you to slam to the ground just beside the ship’s edge. Snubbed short as well, Jason’s is swung back as he holds tight to your grabber, slamming down against the side of the hull as he hangs on, dangling off the side.

“Dallra?” Jason frantically looks up at you and he struggles to hang on, his grip slipping from your own. “What happened?!”

“I don’t know, I-“ You quickly scan over yourself in search for what caused this, where you find a length of chain wrapped around your torso, but… but as you follow where it’s leading from, it extends out only a few feet before vanishing, completely hidden from your sight. “What is…” Yet before you can figure out what’s happening, you’re yanked back by the chain, tearing you away as you’re ripped from the ledge of the ship.

“Shit!” You hear Jason shout in the distance as your hold is broken and he plummets down the ship, stopping only as he slams the tip of his excavator into the hull, anchoring him halfway down the side of the vessel. Meanwhile, as you’re dragged across the deck, unable to see your accoster, you reach down to the length of chain with your prosthetic to break yourself free. Yet as your mechanical grabber clamps down upon the metal links, the iron holds solid, not so much as a dent in its form. That’s… that’s not possible. Your prosthetic has a grip strength of 5,000 pounds per square-inch. A simple chain like this should shatter the moment you place any level of effort into breaking it!

“I wouldn’t bother with that.” A voice appears from nowhere, echoing out just after where the chain turns transparent. “It’s enchanted with only the best of Blood Magics. I should know, I made it myself.”

“Who’s there?!” You demand, smashing your fist into the nearby boards of the deck and ripping back what you take from them in your sling. Firing blindly, you shoot for where you last heard the voice from, but your shot whizzes past, unable to find its target.

“You really haven’t figured it out yet?” The voice asks with an unimpressed surprise, as suddenly, manifesting from thin air, the Rogue of Life appears before you, revealing herself in your sight as she lowers a tattered looking hood made from scraps of blue fabric, stitched together into a cowl. H… how is she able… Ah, another shot! Shooting over, before your grabber can reach down to the deck to gather more ammo, the Rogue raises her crossbow with a casual leisure, lazily aiming for your thorax. “Hellhound Shot.” She announces as she pulls her trigger, the bolt firing out, striking you just above the acidtrack. Freezing as you’re hit, you jerk, too stunned to shoot back. “Primed.” She says, and you begin to feel a rising heat overflow within your chest.

 

***

 

Struggling to keep yourself aloft, you grit through the pain roaring in your stomach as you continue to scale the side of this god forsaken ship and press on. What the hell just happened? She didn’t get caught on something, she was pulled away! But by who? There were no other enemies left when you went to jump! Damn it, did one of them sneak up on you?! Shit… Shit, Shit, SHIT! Pushing yourself up, you continue to climb, every inch of you that hasn’t numbed over practically shrieking at you with every minute movement. Christ, you can hardly think, the pain is so overwhelming, every angle of your body pierced with agonizing blades that carve through you with every pull you force yourself up. Damn it, forget about thinking, just fucking climb! Hang on, Dallra, you’re almost-

-BANG-

“Hah…” The breath escapes your chest as you hear something explode just above. That came from the deck… “Dallra?!” You call up, hurrying your climb. Reaching further along the ship, you slam Bane into the hull and go to pull yourself higher, yet despite your effort, you go nowhere, finally hitting your wall as your body physically won’t respond to your commands anymore, refusing to move a step more. Come on! Just a little further! “Are you there?!” Answering your call, a figure steps forward to the edge of the ship, nothing more than a silhouette in your burnt-out vision.

“Oh she’s here alright.” The shadow says in a familiar voice as they linger above you, this quiet moment interrupted only by the sound of the winds whipping by. The Rogue. Mustering anything left in yourself, you go to lunge up for the bitch, to tear her open and be done with all this horseshit once and for all, but it’s then, however, that you notice the silhouette holding something. The slumped form of another.

“Ja…son…” The other wheezes through trembling lips. It’s… it’s Dallra. She… she’s…

“I won’t keep you two any longer. We really ought to be on our way now.” The Rogue casually tells you, reaching down to where Dallra lies upon the deck, grabbing her by the hood. “Ta-ta.” She says before casting the Seer out, throwing her off the ship into the abyss below.

“DALLRA!” You push against the ship’s hull, ripping your pick free as you leap off after her. Plummeting through the sky, you dive towards the Seer as she falls limply in the air, flipping over herself without any control of her orientation. Soaring like a bullet, you catch up in an instant, your arms wrapping around the Jade as you envelop her in your wingspan, hugging her tight, ensuring she won’t slip away. And not a second later, you hit the ground, landing on your side with a thump as you touch down. Searching your surroundings with a frantic twitch, you find a floor of purple steel beneath you, lying on the deck of your Junker. Turning back, you watch as a tattered portal closes behind you as Perses pulled you back aboard. You’re just below the command tower, at the center of your ship. “Ha… haha… We… we made it… We made it, Dal…” You mutter out, as you clutch the Seer in your arms. “We-…!” Your celebration is cut short when you look down, finding your hands plastered jade green all the way up to your elbows. “Dallra?” Turning to the girl, you feel your stomach drop as you see the ghostly state of her skin, a majority of her blood spilt out upon her dress as you find a hole the size of grapefruit torn open in her abdomen. “D-Dallra?!” You call again, feeling your face go numb as you look over the injury.

“Jason, Dallra, are you bo-, O-oh my god…” Glancing back, you see Ragnaa as she hurries to your side, stopping when she sees the state of the Seer in your arms. Your breath grows heavy, hyperventilating as you can’t think of what to do.

“Haa, haa, h-h… h-hold on… I… I’ll-“ Reaching before her, you extend your hand out, activating your Damage Turn-Back over the injury and begin to turn. “Guh-… guuaAAAAAAAHHHH!” You shriek the further you turn, your hand snapping apart the harder you push the ability. It isn’t working… the wound isn’t closing! Why isn’t… why… “AAAAGHH… CCCOOOMEOOON!!” It won’t budge! It won’t fucking budge!! Damn it, take whatever you need, just fucking turn back!!!

“Jason…” Dallra touches the back of your hand, weakly guiding it down beside her on the deck, placing it upon her cheek.

“J-j-just hold on!” You tell her, looking back to the ship behind you. “SARAAA!! MARYYY!!! WE NEED HEEEEELP!!” You shout as loud as you can, your throat tearing as tears begin to fall from what remains of your singed eyes. “Just hold on, Dal, just hold on, we’ll… we’ll get you fixed up… we’re gonna… we’re gonna fix this…”

“I… I won’t look away anymore…” Dallra whispers, pressing herself to your palm, her eyelids barely able to keep themselves up now. “My eyes… my Eyes are Open….” Reaching up with a trembling hand, your Seer places her fingers gently beside your temple. “…see… what I… see……” She says no louder than a murmur now. And as her tender touch brushes down your face, your sight doubles over, a vision overtaking your mind, and you are somewhere else now. Somewhere calm. It's dark there. And the walls are made of stone, space has been carved into them, shaped for someone to sit or sleep, maybe. Like a set of bunks upon the shelves of the cave wall. This is… this is the cave you first met… the Cave where you first saw her Glow… And then, as if at the snap of the fingers, it vanishes. The vision fades, and you are left back in this hellish place, on the deck of a mighty dreadnaught. Franticly, you look to the one that you hold dear, and there you find the Seer motionless in your arms. Her eyes closed, as if asleep. As if unharmed.

“Dallra………? Dallra…?” The words flutter from your lips. But you get no return. She’s… She’s gone… “No, no… no no nonono… Dallra… Dallra!!” You try calling for her. But she did not answer.

20

Looking around, you look for the break in reality. This isn’t real. You’re still stuck in some mind delusion. Some hallucination the Rogue’s Sylph put you in, or-, or stuck… in some kind of offshoot on the timeline, one that will collapse back into the real continuity at any moment. This isn’t… this isn’t…

19

“D-… Dallra……… please……” You whisper, hugging her close. “Please, please, please, please……… please don’t go……”

18

But she did not answer. And you are left alone, once again. A sad young man who couldn’t help but get the girl he loved killed. Time is a funny thing like that. It goes in cycles. Rhythms. Repetitions. The same old story, happening over and over again.

17

You figured you would’ve learned by now. Would’ve understood what you were. But no. That’s not Jason. If he doesn’t like it, it’s in one ear, out the other. Never at fault when it comes back to bite him. To bite you. Wake up and smell the coffee, kid. It was never gonna end any other way.

“…Jason…..” Ragnaa breaths out, a quiet urgency in the undertone of her voice as she stares up at the skies surrounding your ship, a whole other world in those eyes.

“…” You say nothing, catatonic as you gaze upon the still girl’s face. Across the way, you see as the Rogue’s ship begins to divert away from you, no longer interested in a fight.

16

“Jason…!” She repeats.

“Huh…?” You look back, unsure of where you are.

15

“B-b-b… b-bomb…” She mutters, her chest beginning to rise and fall in quicker intervals.

14

“Bomb…?” You repeat, barely able to see the Bronzeblood through the veil of tears that silently well within your eyes. Pointing a trembling finger out towards her, the Doom player meekly aims towards the Seer in your arms.

13

“There’s-, there’s a-… a-…” She can barely get the words out, her entire body shaking as whatever she sees horrifies the girl to her core. At her behest, you look back towards Dallra as she rests within your arms, and upon her, you notice that the collar of her hood has been torn open.

12

Carefully, you reach down and lift the torn cloth, and beneath you’re met with a sickening discovery. Welded within her very flesh, a metal sphere has been attached to Dallra’s body, just over her heart, bearing a countdown on the small digital screen upon its face. This is… this is her Insurance Plan. The one Dallra had wired to her heartbeat… the one that could dent a Star… She said it was a Dead-Man Switch, but… no, it shouldn’t be primed. How-

11

“Shit… Oh shit… what do we-?” You look up to Ragnaa, realizing the supposedly dormant bomb is currently ticking down in your lap. “If we maybe-“ You grab at the edges of the sphere in some vain attempt to pry it free from Dallra’s chest. It’s no use. It’s been completely merged with her.

10

“Mh-!” Ragnaa drops down beside you, looking at you with so much guilt, she seems on the verge of tears. And without saying another word, she reaches over and grabs hold of Dallra’s corpse, jerking her out from your arms and shoving her off the edge of your ship.

9

“Haa…” You practically deflate as your breath is taken away while watching her fall, every part of you wanting to follow after her, down into the abyss. Yet all you can do is sit there impotently, devastated tears quietly streaming down your face as you watch your Love disappear beneath the clouds.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Jason.” Ragnaa apologizes as you gaze down into the nothingness that hangs at your feet. With nothing left to see, you turn around, falling back onto your knees as you sit there on the deck, completely numb to it all. “There was no… no, no, no!”

8

“Jason! We won’t make it out of the blast radius!” The Bronzeblood tries to warn, shouting before you, begging for a response. “Jason, do you hear me?! Jason?!” She shakes you. It feels like… nothing… Nothing at all. “Mhhh!” She hums before suddenly -slap-!

7

Shaken into action with a sting at your cheek, you come to your senses. Bomb… there’s… there's a bomb! Looking left, you see those on the bow of the ship gazing on at you from their equipment, unsure where the fight’s gone with the Rogue’s ship escaping the blast. Looking up, you see those on the Bridge gazing down at you through the front windshield, tears and shock on their faces having seen your scene play out in full. You’re… you’re still in the way of the blast… The Cave… Dallra's vision to you… the Caves on LOPAW… of course!

“Hey… h-hey!” You spring to action. “HEEEEY!!!” You shout to them all, too frazzled to find the words.

6

“ABANDON SHIP! ABANDON SHIIP!!” You shout louder than you thought possible. “TO ME!! GET TO MEEE!!” You try to stand, but there isn’t anything left. No strength. No will. No resolve. You’ve run out of things to trade for more time.

5

“W-what’s happening?” A nervous voice asks from beside you, as Frank pops his head out from a nearby pipe, the boy’s worried look covered in soot and grime.

“WE’RE GONNA BLOW!!” You continue to call, your words too far to fully reach them. “WE NEED… We need…”

4

It’s too late… even if they realize what’s about to happen… they won't be able to get to you in time… It’s…… It’s over… You’ve been bested…

3

No… No, that can’t be it! This can’t be how the story ends! You won’t let it! Because… Because your friends put their trust in you!

2

No… you still have one thing left you can give away. Extending your arms out, you take a breath in, knowing what comes next is gonna really… fucking… suck… Extending your Dilation Close Off beyond yourself, you buy everyone on board a few more seconds to get to you.

1

The blistering skin on your back is the first hit, wrapped taught and stretched out, as if your skin itself were shrinking. Your organs boil, your fingers break, the spasming muscles in your hand forcing them back too far, each digit popping one by one like a choir of champagne quarks. You begin to drown as your throat opens up vectors from which blood spills into your lungs. Your eyes slam shut, unable to withstand the agony, and from beneath their lids you feel as your sockets shatter, piercing your optic nerve. Everything… Every part of you is coming undone. Every cell, every atom, all of it, every single last piece of you is beaten and throttled and sold. You… you feel cold… You… think…… you think you’re going to die…

And finally… detonation hits.

 

 

 

|

 

 

G

 

 

O

 

 

O

 

 

D

 

 

B

 

 

Y

 

 

E

 

 

|

 

 

 

The Shockwave hits first, slamming against your ship as if rocked by a wave the size of a mountain, the Junker thrown to the side, nearly launching you all off its embrace. You can’t bear to open your eyes, but even without having to look, you feel the heat approaching, you see the light grow brighter as the blast consumes everything on its way to you. This is it. You extend your trembling hands out, palms splitting open as you can’t hold the ability any longer. You feel them grab hold, taking you by the forearms. Yet still you hold. You don’t know who’s made it. You don’t know if everyone had enough time to reach you yet. So you hold. You hold until the very last second you can, until you feel the scorching wave of the blast fall upon you, biting first into your right leg, reaching you first before the others. And then you let go.

“Activate; Checkpoint.” You say, strumming the phantom string summoned by your incantation.

 

Jason, Goodbye.

 

 

 

End of Act 3