Hi everyone, I (38F) had a spinal fusion in February (L4-L5 ALIF 360 with posterior screw placement). First of all, I was very nervous to have the surgery but I had done several years of physical therapy, numerous cortisone injections, and a rhizotomy, so I felt I exhausted all my non-surgical options. It’s been 12 weeks and I’m feeling really good - all the pain I had in my back when I was standing/laying flat is gone and it is a miracle! I’m still having a bit of nerve sensation in my leg every now and then and a glimmer in my back if I overdo it, but it’s not really pain. So i am PSYCHED to not be in constant pain!
With that said, I have had a couple of "weird" side effects happen since surgery and I’m curious if anyone else has had or heard of these things.
First, my hands have usually been cold my entire life, but since surgery if my hands happen to be cold, there have been 3 occasions when one of my fingers will turn completely white just in one or two knuckles - and it is numb and tingly. If I warm up my hands in warm water it’ll immediately look and feel normal again. When I’ve looked up Raynaud’s phenomenon it looks like that, but just one finger. My doctor said Raynaud’s usually affects more than one finger so I don’t know. Has anyone suddenly gotten Raynaud’s after having spine surgery or had one finger turn randomly white?
The second issue is that, like my hands, my feet have also always been cold for my entire life. After surgery however, they were immediately warm. I thought that surgery suddenly fixed my bad circulation and I was into it. But then it started feeling a bit too warm, and my feet were also suddenly very dry where they haven’t been before. The bottom of my feet also appears more red/white splotchy (see photo). Then my left one started cooling off, and now my left one is basically coldemore normal to what it was before surgery, but my right foot is still warm. I can warm up my left foot with my right foot and it kind of weirds me out that they are different. I had a vascular ultrasound on both legs - no blood clots or artery/vein issues that they can see. The only thing it said was my right foot had very mild hyperemia, or more blood in it (which I assumed since it is warmer). My surgeon told me initially to see my PCP, who ordered this ultrasound, and now my PCP is telling me that I need to go back to my surgeon about it, lol. The only other thing that popped up in my labs was a slightly elevated thyroid which I haven’t had previously.
Has anyone heard of this? Since my foot has changed temperature since surgery I’m hoping it will just continue to figure itself out as my nerves continue to heal, but the right foot has been consistently warm, regardless of my environment for the last 12 weeks which seems like a good amount of time. Am I just going to have one hot foot forever?
Thanks for reading! - Cold Hands, Hot Foot

M28 , 25mg metroprolol daily , no alcohol/drugs , BMI 22 Pics https://imgur.com/a/LIkEyMl
starting last May, I get daily flushing / blood pooling , it happens in my hands , feet, knees, nose, cheeks, and ears. the affected area gets warm to very hot and somewhat or a lot swollen. if you pinch the affected area it turns white and quickly back to red. running the affected body part in cold water can help, and some body parts like hands and feet are alleviated by elevating them in the air. long story short , I developed weird HR issues after covid Dec 2022, got tested for a lot of things, including echo, holter, ANA, thyroid, hormones, and a lot of other stuff. was given a beta blocker in march, and then these symptoms developed very quickly in May. the beta blocker makes my BP 90/60-105/65, before was always 120/80, and it lowers my resting HR to about 60. it also makes my extremities very cold most of the time.
So at first I thought this might be a weird side effect of the beta blocker, then perhaps a sort of rebound Raynaud's refilling thing due to the lack of blood flow normally in my extremities from the BB, then I wondered if its possibly neuropathy caused by poor blood flow from the BB. I have searched MCAS/histamine issues, and Erythromelagia which I've seen a lot of posts on both forums that match a lot of my issues. I've also read beta blockers can cause mast cell issues leading to histamine intolerance . and that beta blockers can cause excessive vasodilation . thats basically all the ideas ive come up with in my own research on what the heck is going on. For the first 6 months of these flares, it was almost exclusively my hands, ears nose and cheeks, and only rarely my feet or knees , but for the last 6 months one or both feet will flare almost daily , and my knees happen much more frequently. its clear that blood is pooling in these flares , especially in my hands and feet as the veins will bulge , feel swollen etc.
here's a typical day My nose flushes first sometime between 10-11am, and it subsides around 1pm. my cheeks flush around 11:30am and subside around 1pm.One or both ears will flush sometime around 9pm til 11pmMy fingers flush around 9pm til 11pm, or earlier if agitated from typing or another activityThose parts are pretty much guaranteed every single dayOn top of that,Hand(s) / finger(s) can flare at any point between 1-11pm, some days not at all, but usually will from typing, or hiding my phone, holding a video game controller etcMy nose may flush again at any point between 5-9pmOne or both feet (usually just one) will flush sometime between 2-3pm 6 and 7pm, lasts 2-3 hoursMost flushing lasts 1-3 hours id say.One or both can flare in the middle of the nightAlso my flaring for my hands and feet can be full blown, the entire body part , or just a section , like the bottom of my heel, the top 4 toes, just 3 fingers etc.All of these body parts can be triggered by heat exposure, or activity of the affected body part but many times it can happen for no parent reason, in fact many times I get this falling and blooding pooling in my feet and knees while I am laying down on couch and have been fro some time .When my feet flare , I usually run them under cold water and then lay down for an hour or two with my feet propped up very high, and when my feet are propped up they can look almost completely normal but within second of having them down , sitting or standing, they will return to veins bulging, very red, swollen, hot etc.
I have also been on a very restricted diet the las year and have lost a good 50 pounds, and I wonder if I might have a protein deficiency as I read that can cause blood to leak out of vessels and cause similar issues. perhaps its a combo of a number of the things going on with me. I was also tested for POTS due to my HR issues after covid, it was negative but my EP who treats pots people said I am very pots like . but having asked and browsed the pots forums, the way my blood pooling happens is not like any other pots person I can find. anyone who has ideas or thoughts would be greatly appreciated, I'm at my whits end here , I can work through most of the flares but the flares/blood pooling in my feet and knees are very debilitating, it hurts to remain upright and just makes the flare worse, so I need to lay down with feet high for several hours.

Lets have a discussion about sepsis.
Sepsis is a potentially life-threatening condition caused by the body’s reaction to an infection. Sometimes referred to as “infection in the blood,” sepsis is a widespread infection that triggers a series of reactions in the body, resulting in the signs and symptoms we associate with sepsis. The most common cause of sepsis is Gram-negative bacteria, but sepsis can also be caused by other bacteria, viruses and fungi. Common points of entry into blood stream include the lungs as with pneumonia, kidney infections stemming from bladder infections, IV sites, surgical wounds and bed sores (decubitus ulcers). Sepsis can affect all ages and patients with a depressed immune response, such as people with HIV or diabetes, and the elderly are at increased risk for sepsis.
When faced with a foreign pathogen, the body launches an immune response to attack the infection. Macrophages and neutrophils are white blood cells responsible for phagocytosis, which is the engulfing of foreign pathogens in the body. They also participate in the inflammatory process by releasing molecules known as cytokines, which trigger a series of other inflammatory mediators, all in an attempt to combat the foreign pathogen. Interluken 1 (IL-1) and tumor necrosis factors (TNF) are two of the cytokines thought to have greatest role it the development of sepsis.
If there’s a continued toxin release, the above mentioned process goes on unregulated, and sepsis will develop. This process is known as the systemic inflammatory response syndrome (SIRS), and SIRS in the presence of an infection is sepsis. This process results in systemic vasodilation and alteration of cardiac output due to a decrease in preload. The patient progresses into distributive shock. Signs of sepsis include altered mental status, tachycardia, warm or cool skin, areas of mottled skin, tachypnea and hypotension. By nature of septic shock being a distributive shock, mean arterial pressure (1/3 systole + 2/3 diastole) can drop rapidly, resulting in decreased end-organ perfusion.
With all that out of the way, let's discuss:
1.)What are your go-to strategies for identifying and managing sepsis in the field?
2.)Any particular assessment tools or clinical signs that you find most reliable?
3.)Vasopressor Preferences: In cases of septic shock, which vasopressors do you prefer and why? How do you decide between levophed, epi, and dopamine, considering their different mechanisms of action and side effects?
4.)Experiences/Calls: Could you share any memorable calls where you managed a septic patient? What lessons did you learn, and how have they influenced your practice?
Sepsis management is a dynamic field, and there’s always more to learn from each other’s experiences. Whether it’s a tip that could save a life or a story that could teach a valuable lesson, your input is incredibly valuable.

Context
I first met him through a modern paid dating website, it was only 1 time for me out of interest. LO is 8 years older than me and was already successful back then, whereas I only became successful professionally 1 year after meeting him.
During our initial meeting, he kind of first stared at me. During conversation he was quite boastful about who he is and who he knows which made me a bit sceptical. But he also mentioned that he's a relationship type, likes children, and talked about some bad dates he'd had. After we were intimate, we saw each other a second time, he asked first, I asked to remove the paid context and instead of doing what he liked I could focus on my pleasure to so to speak. When I got there he mentioned that he thought I don't like him. I am usually not a forward person but just kind of awkwardly denied that and said of course I like him. But afterwards he opened his arms to hug me in bed, which felt unexpectedly intimate. However, I think I accidentally offended him during our conversation afterward. Which must have been my first serious clue that I was getting extremely nervous around him and developing limerence. A weird mixture of initial hostility with sparks of interest and a slow warming sprinkled into it.
For a few months, I didn’t hear from him. The first week I felt like I was hit by a truck.
Then, out of the blue, he sent me a heart emoji with no text. I knew he was on a world trip for a year during that time, which added to the complexity of the situation. But I figured it was a mistake or the wrong receiver or a test to see if I blocked him so I did not respond.
When he eventually asked to meet again months later after he had returned, he was somewhat colder, we were totally unfamiliar again, wanting to see me for physical purposes and complimented my looks in a sexual context. I was surprised by anyone thinking of me for that. But I was conflicted because somehow these interactions were so cut short, so confusing, so much sense of underlying issues that I cannot put into words. I would like to do physical stuff but normally I think it doesn't necessitate to be so short with things. We agreed to meet, but on the day of the meeting, I canceled due to me being conflicted, scared, you name it. We rescheduled, but then he said he was tired on the day we were supposed to meet. Weeks later, I messaged him about something unrelated. He mentioned he would be available for a week before traveling again, and we agreed to meet once more. When we finally met again, we immediately initiated physical things. Afterward, he noticed I didn’t talk much and mentioned it. At this point I was annoyed about the inability to interact like normal human being with each other. In the end I gave him a goodbye kiss on the cheek, just before leaving in the doorway internally letting go and recognizing that this would be the last time in my life that I would see LO. I didn’t reach out to him after that, and he didn’t contact me either. I eventually blocked him, also due to a new relationship.
I did anonymously check his social media once in a while, sometimes obsessively. Throughout this time, he has been single, actively looking for a relationship on social media, and consistently sharing quotes about love, fear of love, and people wondering why he was single.
I have purchased and read books that he read, trying to understand who he is internally, just out of limerence. I had no intention of imposing myself upon him or demanding closeness. I discovered my favorite verse about love in one of the books his activity led me to, and he posted the same verse months later. All of this from a distance—fantasy, just writing verses, poetry, and trying to distract my mind from it, finding normality and continuing my life.
Present day
I accidentally moved closer to his area and I think we walked past each other once or twice. There seemed to be some staring, but I looked away and marched on. Maybe I am crazy but I think it was him
Four years later, I saw him on Tinder, and he liked my profile.
My feelings are a complex tapestry of emotions, ebbing and flowing like the tide. I experienced intense longing and dreams of him at night for four years, making my heart ache with desire. It took every bit of my inner self control and my last dignity to not reach out to him and keep him blocked during that time. Despite getting married in the meantime, that relationship is nearing its end, adding to the turmoil. I'm caught in a moral quandary, feeling guilty yet overjoyed by the thought of him. A blend of excitement and fear courses through my veins, creating a constant, anxious hum that resonates throughout my body, making every moment feel charged with both possibility and dread.
I have never spoken to anyone about this
What would you do? What should I do?
He probably swipes everyone
I think I am the last woman on earth he would be interested in
It would be so painful for me to match and him unmatching or not writing me
But he mentioned using the app years ago, although I recently (accidentally) moved close to where he lives he could have probably swiped me before. Or maybe he only used Raya. I am screwed
Please don't hate on this too much, i know how horrible it all it. I truly know.
TLDR
I met him through a paid dating website and we saw each other a couple of times, developing an unexpected intimacy. However, our interactions were often confusing and left me feeling conflicted. After a few months of silence, he reached out again, but our meetings remained brief and complicated. Eventually, I stopped contacting him and blocked him, especially after entering a new relationship. Despite this, I occasionally checked his social media, noticing he was single and looking for love.
Years later, I moved closer to his area and think I saw him a few times. Recently, I found him on Tinder and he liked my profile. For four years, I've had intense longing and dreams about him, even as my marriage is ending. I'm torn between excitement and fear at the thought of reconnecting, feeling morally conflicted.
What should I do? I'm afraid of rejection and the pain it might bring, but also can't shake these feelings. I haven't spoken to anyone about this before.

Every one thousand years, the realms of the divine and the dreaded collide to determine the next Lord of the Dominions. Negotiated on an ancient pact, both heaven and hell meet together on Earth, and contest each other for the title - coveted by all, as the Supreme would control both principalities, able to set the rules and laws, veto decisions, and work for unity or for strife.
It is only during this time, the Convergence, where demons and angels alike can walk upon the world, disguising themselves amongst the humans. Each race has champions: powerful individuals who may wield weapons, magic, suggestion and a whole arsenal of abilities that allows them to face one another. Under the noses of the everyday man and woman are bolts of dark magic fending off divine power across the rooftops of a snoozing city, fists parrying claw and steel in the verdant forest, and thundering blows exchanged in the clouds above the ocean.
But there's a caveat. Each devil and each angel is soul bound to a human, a mortal that has their fate tied to the supernatural. It becomes the servant's duty to protect their master or mistress, and keep them safe. This ancient law gives the entity a corporeal body, and in exchange, the mortal being is granted immense favors by being blessed by the Lord at the conclusion of the tournament.
Such humans are blessed with magical prowess, though not all humans are created equal, and the selection process is not chosen; it is assigned by the council. Perhaps some could view it as unlucky, being tossed into a rivalry that spans eons. Others may see it as a blessing, as with their new capabilities, they're almost sure to rise to the top of world.
This story follows one such pair, and their journey to the throne above all.
~~~
Hello! Another prompt was rattling in my brain, so I figured I should write it out! This is a modern fantasy roleplay, with themes of supernatural, bodyguard x charge, romance, soulmates, possible slice of life, and a bit more! It very much depends on how we decide to write it, as the world is pretty expansive! Please note that this roleplay will have some dark themes.
Please note that roles can be swapped! The pairing is always one supernatural x one human:

• An archangel arbiter is tethered to a human girl. He's quite powerful, ranking high amongst the angels and talented in both divine magic and sword. His sense of justice is however, a little bit flawed. It is beneath him to be caught up in this silly tournament, when he's clearly the one that will control it all. And the human? Isn't she just a liability to him?
  
• A guardian angel who was already assigned to a human girl. He was born as a human, and grew up along side her and they're close friends. However, with the advent of the Convergence, his latent abilities are awakened and he is bound to her, the entirety of his memory returning to him now. He kept her safe unknowingly from mild dangers before, but what about now?
  
• An oni demon, powerful with fist and club. His power is immense, easily towering above other demons - but her? His exact opposite. Perhaps bookish, perhaps a little weak, more inclined to spend her time in the library than on the track and field. His fiery disposition and hasty attitude can only be quelled by her gentleness.
  
• A vampire talented in all manners of blood magic, rising into the mortal world. With his charge, he will surely conquer this realm, the heavens, and then- Why is the human-made pizza so good? This one is a comedic angle, where the demon is a little too enamored with the human world and just wants to live there, and perhaps his partner is the one who actually wants to win.
  
• Have another idea that follows the same vein of these plots? Do tell me! We can also build something together.
  

~~~
About myself: I'm 25+, and I can only promise you lots of imagination and creativity in a roleplay. I prefer 3rd person, with about 2-7 paragraphs of detail and action in every reply. I'm usually able to reply a few times a day, depending on your timezone (I live in PST). I write female/male/non-binary, play a multitude of characters, but I would like the main character for me to be male. I prefer using Discord.
About you: 21+, literate, and can write at least two paragraphs per reply. Preferably can reply one to a few times a day. Can play a multitude of characters as called for, and loves world-building! Preferably uses/prefers anime style face claims. Be willing to provide a writing sample, please.
Looking forward to becoming the Supreme with you!

Every one thousand years, the realms of the divine and the dreaded collide to determine the next Lord of the Dominions. Negotiated on an ancient pact, both heaven and hell meet together on Earth, and contest each other for the title - coveted by all, as the Supreme would control both principalities, able to set the rules and laws, veto decisions, and work for unity or for strife.
It is only during this time, the Convergence, where demons and angels alike can walk upon the world, disguising themselves amongst the humans. Each race has champions: powerful individuals who may wield weapons, magic, suggestion and a whole arsenal of abilities that allows them to face one another. Under the noses of the everyday man and woman are bolts of dark magic fending off divine power across the rooftops of a snoozing city, fists parrying claw and steel in the verdant forest, and thundering blows exchanged in the clouds above the ocean.
But there's a caveat. Each devil and each angel is soul bound to a human, a mortal that has their fate tied to the supernatural. It becomes the servant's duty to protect their master or mistress, and keep them safe. This ancient law gives the entity a corporeal body, and in exchange, the mortal being is granted immense favors by being blessed by the Lord at the conclusion of the tournament.
Such humans are blessed with magical prowess, though not all humans are created equal, and the selection process is not chosen; it is assigned by the council. Perhaps some could view it as unlucky, being tossed into a rivalry that spans eons. Others may see it as a blessing, as with their new capabilities, they're almost sure to rise to the top of world.
This story follows one such pair, and their journey to the throne above all.
~~~
Hello! Another prompt was rattling in my brain, so I figured I should write it out! This is a modern fantasy roleplay, with themes of supernatural, bodyguard x charge, romance, soulmates, possible slice of life, and a bit more! It very much depends on how we decide to write it, as the world is pretty expansive! Please note that this roleplay will have some dark themes.
Please note that roles can be swapped! The pairing is always one supernatural x one human:

• An archangel arbiter is tethered to a human girl. He's quite powerful, ranking high amongst the angels and talented in both divine magic and sword. His sense of justice is however, a little bit flawed. It is beneath him to be caught up in this silly tournament, when he's clearly the one that will control it all. And the human? Isn't she just a liability to him?
  
• A guardian angel who was already assigned to a human girl. He was born as a human, and grew up along side her and they're close friends. However, with the advent of the Convergence, his latent abilities are awakened and he is bound to her, the entirety of his memory returning to him now. He kept her safe unknowingly from mild dangers before, but what about now?
  
• An oni demon, powerful with fist and club. His power is immense, easily towering above other demons - but her? His exact opposite. Perhaps bookish, perhaps a little weak, more inclined to spend her time in the library than on the track and field. His fiery disposition and hasty attitude can only be quelled by her gentleness.
  
• A vampire talented in all manners of blood magic, rising into the mortal world. With his charge, he will surely conquer this realm, the heavens, and then- Why is the human-made pizza so good? This one is a comedic angle, where the demon is a little too enamored with the human world and just wants to live there, and perhaps his partner is the one who actually wants to win.
  
• Have another idea that follows the same vein of these plots? Do tell me! We can also build something together.
  

~~~
About myself: I'm 25+, and I can only promise you lots of imagination and creativity in a roleplay. I prefer 3rd person, with about 2-7 paragraphs of detail and action in every reply. I'm usually able to reply a few times a day, depending on your timezone (I live in PST). I write female/male/non-binary, play a multitude of characters, but I would like the main character for me to be male. I prefer using Discord.
About you: 21+, literate, and can write at least two paragraphs per reply. Preferably can reply one to a few times a day. Can play a multitude of characters as called for, and loves world-building! Preferably uses/prefers anime style face claims. Be willing to provide a writing sample, please.
Looking forward to becoming the Supreme with you!

In December 2022 following the ending of a toxic, abusive relationship, I experienced a complete breakdown which had been building for months. I wasn’t eating properly and hadn’t been taking my medicine for a long while, had been obsessed with the ’twin flame‘ phenomena and was isolated from all my friends and family due to my abusive ex. I started to lose the ability to feel my feelings and began turning to tarot cards and shamans online, had a prophetic nightmare dream and then one evening heard the voices of God and Satan come crashing down on me, heard hymns, tasted a taste I can only describe as death and felt like I was dying - my veins were popping out my body. I continued to hear really horrible things for days, the voices were telling me essentially how evil I was and had been. My family became aware when I suddenly had visions of them all having heart attacks and dying along with me in front of my sister, and my sister having to deal with the aftermath with the help of her godparents, who had come over for dinner that night. I then became very anxious and protective of my family and tried to gather them around me cos I felt as though something terrible was about to happen. I got taken to A&E and sectioned.
I then experienced several months of the most traumatic hospital stay where I was convinced that staff and patients and police were out to get me. I was mute the majority of this time.
TL;DR, since December 2022, I haven’t been able to feel anything. I’ve lost hope that I’ll ever get them back. I have recently been sectioned again and am awaiting a bed on another mental health ward. Without Wanting to sound dramatic, I know that it is only a matter of time before I kill myself, and I have made multiple attempts on my life the past few days. I keep looking for opportunities and won’t stop trying. But I guess I’m just putting this out there to see if anyone else has been through anything similar. I still feel as though what I experienced was a religious experience and not psychosis, even though it’s been diagnosed as that.
if it was a religious experience, I hate God and don’t care about ending up in hell anyway, lol.
If you’ve gotten to the end of this, thank you.

In December 2022 following the ending of a toxic, abusive relationship, I experienced a complete breakdown which had been building for months. I wasn’t eating properly and hadn’t been taking my medicine for a long while, had been obsessed with the ’twin flame‘ phenomena and was isolated from all my friends and family due to my abusive ex. I started to lose the ability to feel my feelings and began turning to tarot cards and shamans online, had a prophetic nightmare dream and then one evening heard the voices of God and Satan come crashing down on me, heard hymns, tasted a taste I can only describe as death and felt like I was dying - my veins were popping out my body. I continued to hear really horrible things for days, the voices were telling me essentially how evil I was and had been. My family became aware when I suddenly had visions of them all having heart attacks and dying along with me in front of my sister, and my sister having to deal with the aftermath with the help of her godparents, who had come over for dinner that night. I then became very anxious and protective of my family and tried to gather them around me cos I felt as though something terrible was about to happen. I got taken to A&E and sectioned.
I then experienced several months of the most traumatic hospital stay where I was convinced that staff and patients and police were out to get me. I was mute the majority of this time.
TL;DR, since December 2022, I haven’t been able to feel anything. I’ve lost hope that I’ll ever get them back. I have recently been sectioned again and am awaiting a bed on another mental health ward. Without Wanting to sound dramatic, I know that it is only a matter of time before I kill myself, and I have made multiple attempts on my life the past few days. I keep looking for opportunities and won’t stop trying. But I guess I’m just putting this out there to see if anyone else has been through anything similar. I still feel as though what I experienced was a religious experience and not psychosis, even though it’s been diagnosed as that.
if it was a religious experience, I hate God and don’t care about ending up in hell anyway, lol. For ages I became convinced Id ‘lost the Holy Spirit‘. Maybe that’s what this is.
If you’ve gotten to the end of this, thank you.

A friend of mine posted the following wall of text on Facebook. I feel the need to respond somehow but I’m not sure what to say. All these years later I still fear Hell and this post bothers me on a moral level.
Should I counter with “why would a loving god do this?” Should I refute the quotes which I doubt? Should I ask why Christians seem to relish the idea of people going to Hell?

“FAMOUS ATHEISTS' LAST WORDS BEFORE DEATH: 1. ANTON LEVEY—Author of the Satanic Bible and high priest of the religion dedicated to the worship of Satan. One of his famous quotes was: “There is a beast in man that needs to be exercised, not exorcised”. His dying words were: "Oh my, oh my, what have I done, there is something very wrong. . . there is something very wrong.”

1. GANDHI—At his death, he said, “For the first time in 50 years, I find myself in the slough of despond. All about me is darkness. . .I am praying for light.”
   
2. THOMAS PAYNE—The leading atheistic writer in American colonies: "Stay with me, for God's sake; I cannot bear to be left alone , O Lord, help me! O God, what have I done to suffer so much? What will become of me hereafter? I would give worlds if I had them, that The Age of Reason had never been published. 0 Lord, help me! Christ, help me! No, don't leave; stay with me! Send even a child to stay with me; for I am on the edge of hell here alone. If ever the Devil had an agent, I have been that one."
   
3. SIR THOMAS SCOTT—Chancellor of England: "Until this moment I thought there was neither a God nor a hell. Now I know and feel that there are both, and I am doomed to perdition by the just judgment of the Almighty."
   
4. VOLTAIRE—famous anti-christian atheist: "I have swallowed nothing but smoke. I have intoxicated myself with the incense that turned my head. I am abandoned by God and man.” He said to his physician, Dr. Fochin: “I will give you half of what I am worth if you will give me six months of life." When he was told this was not possible, he said “Then I shall die and go to hell!" His nurse said: “For all the money in Europe I wouldn’t want to see another unbeliever die! All night long he cried for forgiveness.”
   
5. ROBERT INGERSOLL—American writer and orator during the Golden Age of Free Thought: "O God, if there be a God, save my soul, if I have a soul!" Some say it was said this way: "Oh God, if there be a God, save my soul, if I have a soul, from hell, if there be a hell!
   
6. DAVID HUME—Atheist philosopher famous for his philosophy of empiricism and skepticism of religion: He cried loud on his death bed "I am in flames!" It is said his desperation was a horrible scene.
   
7. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE—French emperor who, like Adolf Hitler, brought death to millions to satisfy his greedy, power-mad, selfish ambitions for world conquest: "I die before my time, and my body will be given back to the earth. Such is the fate of him who has been called the great Napoleon. What an abyss between my deep misery and the eternal kingdom of Christ!”
   
8. SIR FRANCIS NEWPORT—Head of an English Atheist club, to those gathered around his deathbed: "You need not tell me there is no God, for I know there is one, and that I am in his presence! You need not tell me there is no hell. I feel myself already slipping. Wretches, cease your idle talk about there being hope for me! I know I am lost forever! Oh, that fire! Oh, the insufferable pangs of hell! Oh, that I could lie for a thousand years upon the fire that is never quenched, to purchase the favor of God and be united to Him again. But it is a fruitless wish. Millions and millions of years will bring me no nearer the end of my torments than one poor hour. Oh, eternity, eternity forever and forever! Oh, the insufferable pangs of Hell!”
   
9. CHARLES IX—The French king. Urged on by his mother, he gave the order for the massacre of the French Huguenots, in which 15,000 souls were slaughtered in Paris alone and 100,000 in other sections of France, for no other reason than that they loved Christ. The guilty king suffered miserably for years after that event. He finally died, bathed in blood bursting from his veins. To his physicians, he said in his last hours: "Asleep or awake, I see the mangled forms of the Huguenots passing before me. They drop with blood. They point at their open wounds. Oh! That I had spared at least the little infants at the bosom! What blood! I know not where I am. How will all this end? What shall I do? I am lost forever! I know it. Oh, I have done wrong."
   
10. DAVID STRAUSS—Leading representative of German rationalism, after spending a lifetime erasing belief in God from the minds of others: "My philosophy leaves me utterly forlorn! I feel like one caught in the merciless jaws of an automatic machine, not knowing at what time one of its great hammers may crush me!"
    
11. JOSEF STALIN—Soviet Georgian revolutionary and politician. In a Newsweek interview with Svetlana Stalin, the daughter of Josef Stalin, she told of her father's death: "My father died a difficult and terrible death. . .God grants an easy death only to the just. At what seemed the very last moment, he suddenly opened his eyes and cast a glance over everyone in the room. It was a terrible glance, insane or perhaps angry. His left hand was raised, as though he were pointing to something above and bringing down a curse on us all. The gesture was full of menace. . .the next moment he was dead."
    
12. CAESAR BORGIA—Italian nobleman, politician, and cardinal: "While I lived, I provided for everything but death; now I must die, and am unprepared to die."
    
13. THOMAS HOBBS—Political philosopher: "I say again, if I had the whole world at my disposal, I would give it to live one day. I am about to take a leap into the dark."
    

BELOVED, compare these last words from atheists, with these last words, from these saints of God:
THE APOSTLE PAUL: “O death, where is thy sting?”
KING DAVID: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no Evil.”
AUGUSTUS MONTAGUE TOPLADY (1710-1778): Toplady will ever be famous as the author of one of the most evangelical hymns of the eighteenth century, "Rock of Ages," which was first published in 1776. During the final illness, Toplady was greatly supported by the consolations of the gospel: "The consolations of God, to so unworthy a wretch, are so abundant that he leaves me nothing to pray for but their continuance." Near his last, awaking from a sleep, he said: "Oh, what delights! Who can fathom the joy of the third heaven? The sky is clear, there is no cloud; come Lord Jesus, come quickly!" He died saying:"No mortal man can live after the glories which God has manifested to my soul."
Lastly, JESUS CHRIST said: “I Am the Resurrection and the Life. He that believeth on Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.”
Only fools never learn from history, and it's amazing that even in our days, with all these facts on our fingertips, someone with a mind can devote his entire life to a delusion, and want everyone to know that there is no God. No wonder the bible says,
"Only fools say in their hearts, there is no God." (Psalm 14:1).“
Copied from Christian Page

My 43 year old wife has been struggling with SFN and dysautonomia for about 8 years now as a result of what started with a lower lumbar fusion and thereafter subsequent procedures to try to resolve her neuropathies that only seemed to make matters progressively worse. Every day is now a struggle for a woman who was once a vibrant, hilarious, and active fitness model.
Her timeline is as follows:
2016, Lower lumbar fusion at 36 years old. After years of dealing with low back pain from a car accident, she decided to get the fusion due to bulging, degenerated disk. While the fusion held, she began to get some neuropathy, and pain became worse than prior to surgery. She was considered a failed back surgery patient. Later, came to find that she is a rare case that has sensitivity to titanium
2018 had titanium cage removed. For the first time in two years, she felt like she was finally recovering and was able to go back to the gym and got herself back into pre-surgery shape.
2019: She has a slip and fall in a fast food restaurant bathroom from a pipe leak they didn't cordon off and fractured her tailbone, slammed her head on the stall and the fall causing the discs above and below her fusion to buldge. This left her with more pain, which was addressed with facet injections, RF ablation of her cervical and lumbar, and coccyxgetomy. After which, her neuropathy became much worse, and she was diagnosed with SFN. She started to experience many of the vagal/sympathetic symptoms associated with dysautonomia - drop attacks, tachycardia, anxiety. She developed more frequent migraines, brain zaps, visual disturbances, auras, eye and head pressure. The common stinging, burning, and skin crawling sensations and what she sometimes says is like someone "blow torching" her legs. Insomnia and positional narcolepsy. Swirling sensations that she describes as "feeling like snakes moving all around internally." Sensations of feeling "out of phase" with her body, spacial distortions, feeling turned around/backward or what she describes as her "back is in my front or front in my back" or getting twisted like a rubix cube. These have all persisted or gotten worse to this day.
In 2022, after motion xray with a prolotherapist, she was diagnosed as having cervical instability/tendon laxity that was causing compression of her vertibular artery, and compressing her cervical spine and this was likely the cause of her neuropathy/dysautonomia/vagus disfunction. They also said upon ultrasound testing, her right jugular was compressed and operating at only 20%, which was another possible cause of her brain fog and orthostatic hypotension symptoms. Unfortunately, she did not respond well to the prolo injections and, therefore, had to discontinue treatment.
2023: She had a stoke-like event that caused her to be rushed to the hospital. Her hands and arms were seizing, talking was jumbled, incoherent. She was seeing blue flashes and could not stand. The right half of her body was numb. They ran all the tests and came back normal. She was diagnosed thereafter with complex migraine as the root cause, though I feel she may be having mini seizures.
She has not had any further surgeries since that time since each seemed to exacerbate her symptoms and increased her neuropathic pain rather than resolve them. She has been trying to manage her pain and symptoms as best she can since then, but recently had another fall and concussion that set her back once again and seems to have resulted in an increase in her symptoms. She's cried almost every day for over a month straight since the fall.
She was back in the gym at the beginning of the year, trying to core strengthen with the hopes that would help, but exercise also seemed to trigger a lot of her symptoms, even with beginner level exercise and exertion. We know conditioning is certainly a factor, but trying to excersize or physical therapy without symptoms has been difficult.
I'm quite certain that the cervical compression issues may be the main culprit. Though my fear is the RF ablation may really have damaged her nerve endings and caused more damage than good and has left her with more severe neuropathy than she started with.
She also has chronic pelvic pain and gastro/digestion issues that also seem to have developed/worsened since all this began and that no one can seem to properly diagnose.
Her nervous system just seems to be completely failing her on multiple levels, and doctors can't seem to help. It's very scary and draining on us both. She feels like she's going crazy and thinks doctors feel like she's losing it, too. In fact her eye doctor, who diagnosed her with ocular hyper tension, unsolicitedly gave her a pamhlet on schizophrenia, which didnt help make her feel any better about her insecurities about telling doctors what she is going through.
There's many days she just wants to give up. I try to be the best rock I can be for her, but I often feel helpless since there's not much I can do but try to give her emotional support and understanding, which is also difficult because I really don't truly understand what is happening inside her and can't offer her any relief.
I'm trying to find support for her with groups like this so she can feel sane and not so alone. She can't use a phone anymore because it can trigger migraines/symptoms, so I have to do the work for her and read to her some others testimonials.
If anyone has any advice or resources that may help or can corroborate that you experience some of the same or similar symptoms, that would be wonderful and helpful for her mental health, I believe.
Thank you in advance for any insights or help offered.

• Age: 31 (at time of injury)
• Height & weight: 5ft5 70kg
• Gender: Female
• Medications: None prior to injury
• Smoking status: Never
• Alcohol and drugs: Drink occasionally (1-2 pints AVG a month at most), drugs dabbled with the odd joint at uni but not a drug user.
• Previous and current medical issues: Listed in post

My wife suffered a ruptured splenic aneurysm during labour. It was Asymptomatic until labour and where it first presented due to the rupture. My son passed away as a result but after a CT-A it was determined that she had a dozen aneurysms on her visceral arteries (only on Visceral arteries), the largest being a 5.8cm aneurysm on her Right hipatic artery and a ruptured splenic aneurysm which was life threatening.
They embolised the splenic and then stented the right Hipatic/coeliac arteries and saved her life after 4 surgeries and a total of 24hrs under GA and 40 units of blood. Very thankful as I was told 4 separate occasions that she wasn't going to make it. The surgeons were genuinely the nearest real life thing to Dr. house.
She currently has perfused visceral aneurysms (GDA, SMA and splenic hilum) which are unchanged in size since July 2023. Overall reassuring appearances.
We've been discharged by the Rheumatology and Lupus consultants, all infectious causes have been eliminated, and are currently in the care of the Genetics consultants. I can't name all the various teams we've met with but it's over 15 separate consults of various disciplines.
It's definitely a connective tissue disorder as my wife has many of the other 'soft' symptoms such has hyper mobility of the small joints (fingers, thumbs etc.), born with an esotropia (corrected at birth) which has started turning outwards as she's aged, hearing loss (originally diagnosed as bilateral otosclerosis but not sure now as has nerve involvement), bruises exceptionally easily (often has large purple brusies without reason or remembering how), thin skin on thighs and under arms/veins visible, relatively elastic skin, high myopia. There's more but I can't remember.
My son died at 40weeks+0 so carried to full term. Laboured to 9cm. No uterine tears, delivered through CS, stitched back no issues, healed no issues.
We have since had a full CTD Genetics panel (Something like 35 genes tested for different CTDs) all returned negative. We had been running on the presumption of VEDs up until this point but panel confirmed it was not VEDs as there's no spelling mistake on the COL3A1 gene. She does have a variation on the SKI gene but geneticist has ruled that out as the culprit as she shows no signs of any other symptoms of SKI.
No family history of anyone else having anything remotely similar. My wife is one of 4, her mum carried all to full term. Had a full post-mortem and nothing was found related. Father has had a CT-A and has no aneurysms. One sister has had an MRI and is ruled out, still waiting on her other sister and brother but none of them have any of the soft symptoms. Her maternal grandmother had 5 children no complications, her dad is one of 4 no complications either. Grandmother on the paternal side has hearing loss also.
Any ideas? We keep being told it's probably something that's not been discovered but I just don't see that being the case. Of all the possibilities VEDs seemed so likely but she still doesn't quite fit it. Really looking for absolutely any ideas we can push the geneticist for any other testing we could try?
Ultimately we want to determine the cause as we want to know the risks of another pregnancy with my wife's embryos. Another pregnancy has been ruled out but we're trying to find out the risks of using her embryos with a surrogate or if it's possible to do a PGT to make sure it isn't inherited.

Thank you u/luna2541 for leading us through the first section of A Darker Shade of Magic. I'll be your host for the second check-in. Below is a (not particularly) brief summary. There are prompt questions in the comments. Feel free to answer none, some, all, or add your own questions or comments.
If you need it the schedule is here and the marginalia is here. Spoilers from this book should be avoided and spoilers from other books or media must be behind spoiler tags. Use the following format to hide text > !your spoiler goes here! < (but without the spaces).
Lets head on over to "Grey London, which is yours. Red London, which is mine. White London, which is Holland’s. And Black London, which is no one’s."
Summary

FIVE: BLACK STONE

• I - Lila follows three street rats who steal from an urchin to whom she had just given some change.
• II - The letter delivery is a set up. The paper is blank. Kell feels the magic before a shadow jumps him.
• III - Lila waits for the rats to seperate before jumping one only for the other 2 to return. The recognise her as The Shadow Thief. She escapes.
• IV - Kell races to Ruby Fields losing his ambusher(s). The stolen parcel contains a stone engraved with the Antari word Vitari meaning magic. Kell hears someone approaching though no one should be aware of the room. The fabric the stone was wrapped in contained a tracing spell. Kell jumps out of the window to escape but is followed by a man with a X scar on his hand denoting him a cutthroat or traitor. He carries an enchanted blade of the royal guard and demands Kell surrender. Kell is wounded by this blade and so his own magic will not work. Instead he unintentionally taps into the stones magic to stop one assailant. The other he kills with his knife.
• V - Kell can't use blood magic to travel to Grey London. In a panic he taps the stone and makes the jump where he is robbed by a girl in men's clothing. She took the stone!

SIX: THIEVES MEET

• I - The magic Kell used on the cutthroat from the black stone invades him and there is "just enough [life] left" in the body. It begins to move....
• II - Lila returns to her room disappointed with her discovery that she only managed to steal a useless broken stone when Kell appears demanding it back. Kell collapses.
• III - Kell is tied to the bed but relieved to feel his magic has returned. He dramatically burns his bindings away. Lila uses the stone's magic before Kell is able to subdue her by trapping her wrist in the wall. Kell leaves via the window.
• IV - Lila hacks her hand free then tosses the sword she conjured out the window. Booth, a drunk man leaving the tavern, finds it. The hand holding it seems to take on a life of its own. It stabs the sword into Booth's body. The blood in his veins turning black and spreading through his body and turning both eyes black.

SEVEN: THE FOLLOWER

• I - Holland appears to Lila and with threats forces her to call Kell. Kell comes and orders Lila to run.
• II - Kell had sensed Holland's magic before hearing Lila's cry out. The two Antari fight and Holland manages to best Kell taking the stone and using its magic. Kell's blood begins oozing out of his body while chains hold him in place. Lila returns just in time. She disables Holland with a blow to the head then uses the stone to free Kell. Lila chains Holland's body using the stone. With help she manages to get Kell onto a cot just before he passes out.
• III - Lila had dragged Kell back to The Stone's Throw in the rain. She burnt herbs to mask the magic smell. Lila confessed to Barron she had taken him as a mark. Filling him in on the evening's events. Kell sleeps while Lila worries and wonders.

EIGHT: AN ARRANGEMENT

• I - Kell wakes feeling awful, but noting his wounds were almost healed even though it had only been a few hours. Lila had used a salve on the wounds she had found in one of his pockets. Kell explains about the different worlds and sources of magic such as the Thames. He tells her how the worlds diverged and Black London got cut off. The black stone is pure vitari without humanity or harmony. It must be destroyed, but that would be impossible. Therefore the only solution is to take it back to Black London to prevent it being misused. Kell can use the stone as a token to make a door to Black London, but it must be from White London. Lila wants to come with him on his mission. Kell relents though it is forbidden for Lila to travel between worlds. Lila leaves her valuables and they sneak out of the tavern
• II - They head through the slowly waking Grey London streets to where Kell has a door to Red London. Lila removes the stone from its hiding place in her hat and after planting a kiss on Kell's lips they try to pass from Grey to Red London.
• III - Barron wakes to the sounds of footsteps above in Lila's room. Armed with a shotgun he investigates. From Lila's description he knows the intruder is Holland and shoots him without hesitating. Holland saves himself with magic then slits Barron's throat.

Join u/maolette next week for chapters Nine through Eleven. III.
"The world sits in balance,” said Kell, “humanity in one hand, magic in the other. The two exist in every living thing, and in a perfect world, they maintain a kind of harmony, neither exceeding the other. But most worlds are not perfect"

TL;DR: I think headshot modifiers should be removed and just rolled into weakpoint modifiers.
There is an ever-increasing number of weapons, mods, and arcanes that specifically interact with headshots. They do not interact with any other weakpoints, which I think is a negative design that disincentivises strategizing for precision/weakpoint builds or fosters desynergistic play. Here are a few examples:

• The vast majority of the murmur don't have a head to trigger the bonus at all, but do have weakpoints. Incarnon weapons had to receive a unique mechanic to charge their effects on weakpoints instead of headshots on Murmur enemies. This does not trigger other headshot bonuses though.
• Corpus MOAs have heads but they aren't their weakpoint. You need to target the head for the bonus, but lose the 3x multiplier from the backpack.
• Corpus Raknoids have their weakpoints on their attachment (coolant tank, laser turret, etc) but do not trigger headshots.
• Sprag and Ven'kra take reduced damage from headshots. You need to target the back to get weakpoint bonus.
• Many weapons, primarily snipers but also some bows, trigger their bonus off of headshots, but since so many enemies don't have heads, this bonus is randomly useless when you don't have any valid targets. You're also usually better off just shooting the real weakpoint and foregoing your bonus entirely, ignoring the weapon's primary mechanic.

I think headshot modifiers should be removed and just rolled into weakpoint modifiers. Arcanes like Deadhead or Sharpshot, Mods like Target Acquired, Sniper Combos like Vectis and Sporothrix, and innate weapon effects like Cernos Prime/Dual Toxocyst/Knell/Tenet Spirex should all be changed this way. If there's a body part multiplier that's greater than 1.0, then it's a weakpoint and should charges incarnons or triggers weakpoint modifiers.
EDIT: DE has actually done something like this once already: Hollow Veins are unique in that they have both a head and a weakpoint - the vents behind their hands/"ears". But, both of these are considered headshots for the purposes of multipliers, and the vents take an upgraded crit tier when damaged. Making all weakpoints work like the Hollow Vein's vents would not be too out of line with their current design.

My best friend is perfect. No one can convince me otherwise. She’s fair, curvy, pretty, has long hair. Her boyfriend is also literally perfect. 6’4 and loves her unconditionally. Movie romance kinda couple. She’s rich, family business you know. So many guys actively pursue her. She’s so popular and has tons of friends. And to top it all off? She’s also academically smart.
In many ways shes opposite to me. Im dark skinned, tall, fat, short hair. I have been very unlucky in love. My family is middle class. I have the amount of friends you can count on one hand. No guy has ever approached me in public. All romantic experiences ive had were from dating apps and they all just wanted to use my body and wanted nothing beyond.
Im not jealous of her. I am happy for her. But you know what royally pisses me off? What sets my veins on fire? The fact that somehow she always finds a way to complain about her life. She is convinced that she has the worst of it all. She says such cliche bullshit about how she thinks that she "craves chaos" and is a evil person (she has literally never even hurt a fly) constantly talking about how fat she is (she is barely overweight) which consumes my mental energy. Im always there for her during these vents and crying sessions but honestly im sick of it. Whenever i try to talk about myself, she always diverts the topic back to herself. She makes me feel miserable about being myself.
She doesn’t understand the concept of space. She constantly wants to be around me. I am someone who values personal space and I’ve told her this. But she still guilts me into hanging out with her ALL THE TIME.
Im sick of it. I can’t be her emotional support pillow.

The magic for my world, Moonlight Reflections, is somewhat based on IRL magic from various religions, cultures, and mythologies across the world. Although there are many schools of magic such as alchemy, divination, shamanism, etc., there is a classification system given to magic users based on the source of their powers, overall potential, and other factors.

• Magicians - Beings who are naturally attuned to mystical energies, often using gestures or vocal casting to achieve spells. Although their power seems to be basic at first glance, they are the most common of magic users and, for the most powerful among them, are able to cast spells with but a thought.
• Sorcerers - Individuals who can manipulate reality to a certain extent and perform great feats of magic. They do this by drawing more power from the Sphere of the World, the source of all universal magic, into themselves. They constantly make use of Relics to handle the strain using magic on their bodies, enhancing their power even further. The main difference between magicians and sorcerers is that the latter has access to various sources of power and different types of tools to assist them.
• Magic Blood - An unofficial term for anyone whose very blood is magical in nature. This could be the result of having demonic blood flowing through their veins, the organ of a mystical creature transplanted into their bodies, or even being descended from non-human entities. Regardless of the means, because their blood is derived from beings who are mystical in nature, they can cast magic with little effort, training, or consequences.
• Wyrds - This the term used to describe those whose very physiology has been warped by mystical energies. Their own souls have been altered to the point that they can no longer be classified as 'human,' as their souls wavelength is completely different from those common in their race. This would encompass wytches, wizards, and warlocks.
• Guardians - It is the title given to those whose souls have been fused together with that of another being, sometimes a demon or even the souls of legendary heroes. Their mentality and personality depends on the circumstances of how they were fused in the first place. One guardian may switch personalities between the two whenever they use their powers, the host may possibly remain the dominant personality while drawing power from other, or the it could result in an amalgamation of the host and the spirit it is housing.
• Avatars - Individuals chosen by higher powers to act as their champions or representatives in the material world. They are guided by these higher powers, and may often than not refrain from interacting with any other being, especially from other avatars unless told otherwise.
• Transcendents - These are magic users who have achieved the pinnacle of magic among their kind, manipulating and drawing power from the Sphere itself. Such is their might, they are able to use almost any kind of magic without issue, though it is more common for them to specialize in one type of school of magic. In fact, complete mastery of a particular school magic is one of, if not, the only way to be a transcendent.
• Demiurge - The most powerful mystical beings that exist, surpassing the gods themselves and entering into the realm of the cosmos. Despite their almighty power, they have many rules placed among, likely to limit them as they could very easily cause untold amounts of destruction. In addition, as such beings are considered rare, to the point that many in the moonlit community consider them to not exist, there is not much information about them.

This is what I got so far. I'm wondering if I'm doing too much or not explaining well enough. Let me know if there's anything I'm doing wrong or if it can be improve upon.

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Upon the tallest silo of Fleapit's foundries, a duel was about to break out that would determine the fate of the entire Underkingdom.
Marcus often recalled tales of such duels in the books he loved to peruse as a child – fanciful stories of men and women going off to conquer fantastical realms and slaying dragons or witch covens after proclaiming the inherent purity of the human spirit.
Such tales rouse the hearts of young men. They become the same young men who run off to wars thinking that mass combat will afford them the same kind of moral superiority.
For Marcus - a man trapped in an ugly rendition of one such world - such superiority was a luxury he would never have. Heroes are supposed to bandy words with demons. They are supposed to show their valor in righteous battle.
But the battle that unfolded atop Fleapit's highest point was not honorable. It was not righteous.
Instead, one armored rat brought his vicious halberd to bear against two humanoid snake-hybrids, and the strikes they made were to kill, not to entertain their spectator.
First, the youngling threw Marcus aside and leaped directly for Festicus. The ratman anticipated the attack, shifting his weight to his right to sidestep and cleave the snake-woman from belly to breast. The attack was one of pure, raw strength, but it was one burdened by the heaviness of the creature's weapon. In the moment of impact the young Yokun twirled and slashed at the ratman's exposed neck, her blade coming away with his crimson blood gleaming along its edge.
He staggered, dropping to his knees just in time for the Matron to came at him with her mercy strike.
A strike that he met with his bare teeth.
His head jerked up. His mouth opened in a snarl, and Marcus saw his fangs clamp down on the blade as it entered its throat. The Matron's eyes narrowed as she tried to free the blade, watching the ratman's gums fill with gushing blood as the Wakizashi's edge nicked his tongue. Then, in her moment of pure confusion, his halberd swept the Yokun elder's feet.
"Sister!"
Festicus smirked as he felt movement behind him – the youngling spinning in a deadly pirouette that struck for his armored spine. The blessings of He-Who-Festers was with the ratman on this day, for the Yokun's blade merely pierced the outer layer of his armored hide and ripped the metal pieces away, letting them fall in a hail of iron that rained down on the spectators watching the small snippets of the battle they could see below.
The ratman thrust the pole of his weapon back to knock against the ribs of the youngling and push her almost straight off the silo's precarious platform to join the bloody mess that was her sister below.
"MMMHMMM!" Marcus wheezed from his position, still gagged. He couldn't help it. This fight was showing him just how skilled the Marrow rat truly was. And it was telling him that his spirit was still loyal to his Shai-Alud after all.
As Festicus turned to hack away at the thin leathers of young Yeeva's chest, the Matron regained her footing. She sent a flurry of blows angled down at the ratman's armpit joints that struck faster than Marcus's eyes could follow. All he saw, when he blinked, was that Festicus was reeling back, his mouth, elbows, and arms all bleeding profusely, coating the dark metal of the silo in his life fluids.
The Matron brought her youngblood back up to her knees, and both of them angled their blades at the mauled rat before them.
"Sire..Marcus," Festicus groaned, drawing his eyes towards the human huddled at the edge of the bloody platform.
With a single twist of his claws he ripped through Marcus's gag and the human heaved a wail of release.
"Festicus," he said, trying to maintain his commanding tone. "Stand. Down."
"I would listen to your monkey friend," the Matron spat through her smiling lips. "You face two Sisters of the House of Whispers, little cretin. We have slain more of your kind than you can count."
Festicus rose steadily, using his halberd to push up from the floor of the platform as the two Yokun circled, both picking their target that would end the miserable ratman's life.
"Clan Marrow…" he wheezed. "Never…back…down."
He turned to Marcus abruptly after coughing a torrent of dark crimson.
"I will be living…to see…those cannons," he sputtered as he brought his halberd back up, holding it across his chest straight backed and regal, like some Arabian prince's honor guard. "In the name of Clan and King…I will be living…to see…our victory!"
Both women's blades flashed through the air, trailing arcs of brilliant light as they curved to bring death upon the beleaguered ratman.
And the eyes of the rat flew to Marcus's as he swept up his halberd to meet the Matron's strike at his right flank.
The Wakizashi of the youngling flew to cleave through his ribcage to the left, and it would have done so if she had merely followed through.
Instead, Marcus watched as her arm writhed like it had a will of its own. She dropped her weapon and it slid across the platform while she screamed in agony – an animal scream that pierced not only the air, but the ears of her Sister who was taken off balance by the sudden change in her companion's demeanor.
And that opening was all Festicus needed cut right into her waist.
She opened her mouth in a gasp, arms flying to dislodge the blade while the ratman that held it grit his teeth and pushed through her scaled skin with all the force left in his hulking frame.
"SHAAAAAA-HAH!"
Marcus watched awestruck as the Matron's torso was cleaved clean through. Her legs flopped beneath the purple-soaked blade of Festicus's halberd while the rest of her body spun in the air, crumbled, and fell back to the platform in a heap of twitching limbs.
"SISTER!" Yeeva screamed, her arms still gyrating with a life of their own as Festicus collapsed to one knee, seeing the ghostly form of someone familiar appear just over the lip of the platform's north face.
"By…the Unclean…" he wheezed. "Could you not be coming…a little…more early?"
The hooded rat man that had his eyes trained on the twitching Yokun before him twisted his face into a smile.
"A Gloomrava of Glumrot isssss coming exxxxxactly when he issssss needing to."
"Look out!"
The shout came from Marcus as his eyes flew to the still spasming Yokun Matron's body. In a macabre display of pure, uncanny willpower, her fingers wrapped round her blade and sent it spinning towards the tiny legs of the newly arrived priest, drawing a cry of agony from him that sounded more like the shrill wailing of the undead than the pained voice of a rat.
Festicus watched his Brother go down and made to rise again to finish off the last female, but this time the Yokun youngling was faster – spurned on by the death of her senior.
She met Festicus' sweeping strike with such fury that the ratman was sent staggering back, and, holding the blade of her Matron in her hand, got the other around the ratman's throat and held him down, her nails penetrating deep into his neck and drawing tiny trickles of blood that traveled through her scaled veins.
"Miserable, scaleless swine!" she railed, pushing her Wakizashi closer and closer to the ratman's face, watching the life in his eyes and strength in his arms gradually fade away to nothing. "Vlitark take the Matriarch! You all die here and now!"
Festicus's arms began to give way. The power to even bite back at the vengeance-filled face of the snake was going – it was draining away like the rest of his blood. It seemed he would have to be satisfied with slaying one of them. An honor most of his Clan would still respect him for, even if it had to be in death…
But before he closed his eyes he saw the Yokra's go wide. He saw the passionate fires of fury die away on her scaled features and then felt the wet spew of her blood that had just spurted from beneath her chest. Both ratman and Yokun looked down to see where her discarded Wakizashi had just penetrated her lower abdomen and, as the blade was twisted, Yeeva finally fell to the side.
And revealed the human standing above her who had just stabbed her in the back.
Festicus wanted to laugh then more than any other time in his life. But, try as he might, all he could manage was a slight smile.
"You truly…are…having the soul…of a rat," he wheezed.
And as Marcus bent down to check the vitals of the ratman, discovering, too late, that there was nothing more to be done, Festicus of Clan Marrow closed his eyes and left the world of the Underkingdom behind.
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Seriously, don't even attempt to trivialize it. It's not about waking you up at 3:00 am for mundane reasons like running out of milk or needing your Wi-Fi password. This entity, whatever it may be, operates outside our reality's bounds, and its motives are far from benign. I learned this the hard way recently, which is why I'm cautioning you all against making light of it. But before delving into specifics, let me offer some context, as sleep paralysis is a recent phenomenon for me.
One of my earliest memories of sleep disruption traces back to my grade school days. With my mother on an early shift unable to drive me to school for its 8:00 am start, she would drop me off at my aunt's house. Here, she ensured I was fed, dressed, and ready for school. Most mornings, I had just about an hour left to sleep before needing to rise. Often, I'd find myself in a half-asleep state from the moment my mom roused me until she tucked me into my aunt's spare bedroom.
On one of those mornings, as I lay down, teetering between wakefulness and sleep, I experienced a peculiar sensation. It felt as though my body began to rise, hovering about two feet above the bed, before swiftly plummeting back down. Startled awake, I assumed my mother had thrown me back onto the bed, only to find the room empty upon opening my eyes.
I hadn't encountered any other experiences quite like that, but it was during this time that I distinctly recall a notable surge in the frequency of the nightmares I was experiencing. The nightmares were generally the same, some cloaked being hiding in the recesses of my vision, always there, always watching. I felt as though each passing night terror that it got closer and closer to me, but always just out of reach. At times, I found myself trapped in a dark room, enveloped by an overwhelming sense of malevolence that seemed to saturate the air—and a fear entirely foreign to my waking experiences.
Then I experienced sleep paralysis for the first time.
It occurred at my mother's house, marking the initial instance where I experienced the sensation of my body being effectively immobilized while my mind remained active. I recall attempting to move my eyes and then my body, but all efforts were futile. As I struggled to regain autonomy, it sounded as though a gathering had convened in my kitchen, voices carrying in muted tones. None of the which resembled those of my parents; I even detected snickering and laughter at one point. The conversation seemed to be aimed at me, as my name was uttered several times, yet the other words remained indecipherable. The episode concluded with me returning to sleep without any further disturbances.
As the instances of sleep paralysis became more frequent, they culminated in another peculiar experience. Shortly after moving into my first apartment, still in the midst of unpacking and assembling furniture, the second incident occurred. I lay on a mattress on the floor, surrounded by unassembled bedframe pieces, when I awoke to find myself imprisoned within my own body once more. In the darkness, I heard a faint sound—a presence moving softly over each piece of furniture. Panic gripped me as I strained to turn my head towards the noise, but every effort proved futile. With each passing moment, the unseen entity drew closer until it reached the bedside. Helpless, I closed my eyes, bracing myself for whatever awaited.
Meow?
Relief washed over me as I realized it was just my generously proportioned feline friend making his way around the room. I could hear him moving about, stepping on more furniture and emitting a few disgruntled meows, presumably chastising my laziness for not assembling it yet. As I began to drift back to sleep, I was abruptly startled awake by a chilling sound.
Snnn-orrrff
A primal, guttural snarl pierced the silence, its menacing resonance echoing through the room like a thunderous roar. I struggled desperately to move my limbs, silently screaming in my mind, yet only managing a feeble whimper as I sensed the beast drawing near. Despite my efforts, my body only twitched, while in my imagination, I leapt up and fled. As a mischievous chuckle erupted, I felt hot, pungent breath on the back of my neck. I suddenly awoke, screaming, kicking and punching. I jerked my head to the side and was met only with darkness. I jumped up and turned the light on, a quick scan of the room revealed there was nothing there. Exhausted and recognizing my inability to function effectively, I reluctantly resigned myself to lying back down with the light on until morning. I called into work, knowing that in my current state, I wouldn't be of much use to anyone.
Days passed and soon, it was that time of the month again for my regular check-in from mom. I hesitantly answered the call. After a few minutes of conversation, we eventually broached the topic of my sleep paralysis.
"Honey, it's probably all the stress." she reasoned.
My job had me grinding away tirelessly, but despite my efforts, all I got was a tiny bump in pay. To add to the mix, my landlord decided it was the perfect time to raise the rent. It's safe to say, the stress was really getting to me. "I don't know, it's been happening my whole life, Dad ever had any issues with sleep?"
There was a noticeable pause as she contemplated her reply. "He's definitely had his share of nightmares, he'd wake me up a lot of the times, poor thing would be in tears."
"Jeez, I never knew, but Mom I gotta…" I endeavored to conclude the conversation, as my allotted chat time was expiring, however my mother promptly interrupted me.
"Sweetie, why won't you join us at church? It might help?"
I released a sigh. I staunchly opposed the notion of going to church; I'd rather watch a documentary on the history of paperclips. "Thanks, but I'm not feeling that right now."
"Please, just do it for me?" She pleaded.
Eager to bring the call to a close. "I'll think about, but, alright I'm going to go ahead a hop off here."
"Alright, I miss you, call me later okay?"
"I will, love you, bye."
I concluded the call with a sigh of relief, grateful for its conclusion.
For a stretch, life seemed to fall into place: My job noticed the disparity between my increased workload and pay and offered me a new position that significantly improved my financial situation. Thanks to this new position, I crossed paths with my wife, and we swiftly eloped. She was one of the top account managers, earning a substantial income, which enabled us to afford a nice house together. During this period, the night terrors and bouts of sleep paralysis took a hiatus, granting me a reprieve. Yet amidst the tranquility, a gnawing sense of foreboding lingered, as if a tempest loomed on the horizon, urging me to savor the calm while it lasted.
During this period, my wife and I had been eagerly anticipating the arrival of our first child. We were overjoyed as she reached the sixth month of her pregnancy, carrying our long-awaited daughter. However, my suspicions proved tragically correct. I'll never forget the heart-wrenching phone call from my wife, her voice choked with tears, informing me of the terrifying sight of blood. Hastening to the emergency room, we raced against time, but our efforts proved futile. We lost our precious daughter that day. The journey back home was a blur, engulfed in a suffocating sense of loss that seemed to consume us both. It felt as though a part of me had died alongside our daughter, and the profound grief only served to widen the chasm between us as time passed, transforming our once intimate bond into a hollow semblance of what it once was.
Sleep paralysis and nightmares began to resurface, as if some malevolent force was exploiting my already troubled state, and my ability to sleep dwindled. Additionally, minor habits and disparities in the early stages of our marriage, once insignificant, began escalating into cataclysmic arguments. By now, I'm certain even my breathing would agitate my wife. Despite experimenting with various medications, none proved effective. Even vigorous physical exercise failed to exhaust me enough for uninterrupted sleep. The situation escalated to the point where my wife banished me from the bedroom due to my incessant tossing and turning, disrupting her rest. Consequently, I found myself relegated to the couch. Resorting to alcohol became a regular occurrence, partly to numb the discomfort of the couch but also as a means of coping with my grief.
We barely conversed, even though she mentioned marriage counseling, I rebuffed the idea, convinced it wouldn't benefit us. Frequently, I'd discover her in tears, cradling the sonogram of our daughter, yet I would quietly withdraw, allowing her solitary moments of sorrow. She had her unique methods of grieving, just as I had mine.
"I can't keep doing this, we're drowning in debt, and you're just pushing us further into it with every bottle." She pointed to the glass in my hand.
"Oh, come on! I work hard for us, I deserve to unwind a bit!" In a moment of animated expression, I inadvertently spilled some of my beverage onto the floor.
"Unwind? You call draining our savings and neglecting our future 'unwinding'!?"
"Look, just let me sleep in my own bed tonight."
She crossed her arms, and for a moment, silence enveloped us before she finally spoke.
"I just—I feel like I'm living with a stranger." Her eyes begin to shimmer with emotion.
"I'm here, aren't I? What more do you want from me?!" My voice rising in volume.
She attempted to delicately take my drink away, her touch then shifting to gently grasp my hand. "I want us to be a team again, not just two people sharing a bed."
But the moment I felt her touch, I instinctively shoved her hands away from me. "We haven't been a 'team' since we lost—" My voice quivered, then exploded into rage. "You pushed me out! You did this! You don't talk to me about anything anymore! Just get the hell out!" I pointed to the door.
I stood in the open doorway, watching her car pull out of the driveway. With a final sip, I closed the door behind me. Met with silence, I sensed the weight of tension hanging heavy in the air. Deciding one more bourbon was in order, I made my way to the kitchen, intent on pouring myself one last drink. In a bid to ensure a restful night, I opted to accompany my indulgence in alcohol with a hefty dosage of sleeping pills. A reckless choice, I'm aware, but perhaps death was in fact the ultimate form of slumber. I settled onto the couch, flicking through channels until my libation was drained. Feeling sufficiently relaxed, I decided it was time for bed. Ascending the stairs, I stumbled and collapsed onto the master bedroom's mattress. Sleep enveloped me swiftly that night, yet trouble was never far behind.
I recall waking during the night and noticing that the hallway light remained illuminated. It struck me as odd since I distinctly remember switching it off before retiring to bed. However, given my inebriated state from the copious amounts of alcohol I had consumed, I surmised that I must have simply forgotten. I'd just get up and switch it off, but a wave of unease washed over me. Despite my intentions, I found myself paralyzed, trapped within my own body once again. I found myself transfixed on the door, illuminated by the soft glow seeping in from the hallway. In that moment, I discerned a shadowy figure lurking behind the door.
I hoped it was my wife, but a gut feeling told me otherwise; this time felt different, suffocated by an eerie malevolence. The doorknob rattled violently, as if something were struggling to open it. Yet, amidst the noise I caught a sinister snicker. The relentless jiggling of the doorknob reached a fever pitch, threatening to wrench it free from its socket at any instant. Then, as abruptly as it began, the tumult ceased, leaving an ominous silence hanging in the air. The door then creaked open with a slow, foreboding motion.
A sinister, shapeless presence loomed in the doorway, defying gravity as it hovered above the ground, its shadowy form exaggerated by the eerie glow seeping in from the hallway. I whimpered, struggling to stir my limbs in a futile attempt to awaken my body, but they responded only with slight twitches. My gaze remained fixed on the form before me, immobilized by fear. Suddenly, a sinuous appendage extended from the specter's face, resembling a long, black tentacle. It elongated and snaked toward me, prompting me to instinctively shut my eyes. Sensing its proximity, I remained frozen, an icy chill grazed my forehead, jolting me awake in an instant. Sleep eluded me for the rest of the night, so I opted for an early morning, brewing a pot of coffee to chase away the lingering unease.
For the following weeks, my routine remained monotonous: work, microwave dinner, then numbness induced by sleeping pills and bourbon until I could no longer keep my eyes open. I received a text from my mother-in-law stating that my wife wanted to reconcile, but insisted on therapy and my attendance at AA meetings. I refused, firmly convinced that all I desired was to reclaim my bed, and that her reaction was excessive. I contended that the alcohol provided comfort, a gesture I hadn't received from her in quite some time. My mother-in-law and wife were both displeased with my response; it became apparent that divorce was now the inevitable solution.
At this juncture, I experienced sleep paralysis on a daily basis, even in the absence of the entity. Each night, I would awaken multiple times, unable to move, only freeing myself to find dread awaiting the next episode upon returning to sleep. There was one rare night when I slept soundly, only to be abruptly awakened by a late-night call from an old friend. We had a bond stretching back to our middle school days, and were inseparable back then. However, this call wasn't one of nostalgia; it was about money. He needed a bailout for his mortgage, promising a swift repayment.
I moved to the edge of my bed, frustration mounting as I started to rub my forehead. "I can't, I just can't right now, I need to get back to sleep good—"
He interrupted me. "Please, I don't want to lose the house."
I found myself raising my voice in frustration as irritation crept in. It appeared he was wholly incapable of learning from his mistakes. "Look, it isn't my responsibility to bail you out every time you're in trouble!"
"I know, I know, please, at least do it for Eli, Chelsea left me all alone and it's been hard man." His voice starting to crack.
My voice raising to a near scream; "He isn't my responsibility either! You should have been careful! I told you she wasn't good for you and you didn't listen! Sort your own shit out from now on!"
I ended the call and slammed the phone onto my nightstand. So much for a good night's rest, thanks a lot, friend.
As my life spiraled further into chaos, I realized I needed to explore solutions beyond relying on alcohol and sleeping pills to combat sleep paralysis. Perhaps a spiritual approach was necessary. While I knew my mother would be pleased with this consideration, I'm certain what I had in mind would be vehemently discouraged. My mother firmly believed in the existence of demons, warning against interacting with them outside of 'God's protection'. Perhaps she was right, but I grew desperate for a solution. At this stage, I was willing to do anything for peace of mind, regardless of the consequences. So, I concocted a masterful plan:
I'd simply ask it what it would take to make it stop.
Each morning was fraught with dread, pondering whether the entity would manifest itself. I ensured to kickstart my day with a potent drink, maintaining a steady buzz throughout, perhaps to stave off any wavering doubts about my decision. My patience bore fruit one fateful night as I found myself immobilized once more.
This marked the initial instance when the entity directly addressed me, and its words seared into my memory with chilling permanence. It uttered abhorrent, repulsive, unfathomable insults about me, branding me a failure, devoid of worth, as insignificant as a microbe. It dissected my existence, critiquing my choices, appearance, and demeanor with a cruelty I had never encountered. It seemed to possess an uncanny ability to strike at the core of my being, as if it wielded a weapon honed to annihilate my spirit. And then, its merciless laughter echoed relentlessly.
In that moment, I recognized it as my opportunity to retort. However, the barrage of insults stoked a fire within me, igniting a fury that overpowered my intentions. What did this entity presume to know about me? It was entirely mistaken, and that infuriated me. Against my better judgment, fueled by indignation, I deviated from my plan and impulsively blurted out: "What's so damn funny?!"
As the words echoed in my mind, the laughter abruptly ceased, leaving behind an eerie silence. Relief flooded through me as I dared to hope that I had put an end to the ordeal. Yet, my premature celebration was cut short when an indescribable dread enveloped me. A black ichor oozed onto the floor beside my bed, signaling the beginning of a hellish spectacle. From the viscous sludge, a dark figure emerged, coated in sticky tar, yet defying gravity as it ascended, hovering above the ground.
Above me, it loomed, its weighty presence palpable as thick sludge cascaded onto the bed, it halted directly over me. Its head inclined, scrutinizing me with unseen gaze. Tears welled in my eyes, hot and unrestrained, as I braced for the inevitable embrace of death. The figure gradually descended, its feet pressing into my chest with an icy chill coursing through me. As its waist aligned with my sternum, a frigid sensation enveloped me. With a swift motion, it plunged its hand into my chest, seizing my heart, and darkness consumed my senses.
I felt a terrifying pull downward, as if gravity itself had gone haywire. My stomach churned with a sickening weightlessness, reminiscent of a plummeting elevator. As my descent abruptly halted, the sound of wind rushing in my ears gave way to a sudden explosion—a resounding burst, resembling the opening of a parachute. That's when I sensed something coiling around my waist, though invisible to my eyes. Desperate to break free, I reached out, only to recoil in horror as my fingers brushed against scaly, rough skin.
Simultaneously, the air filled with the echoing beat of what seemed like enormous wings, while I experienced the unsettling sensation of being lifted and dropped. Though I had a suspicion about what gripped me, disbelief held me back from fully acknowledging it. So, resigned, I surrendered to my captor's will, allowing them to transport me to an unknown destination. As the darkness yielded, a faint glow emerged beneath us—a jagged line emanating an eerie orange-red light. The creature descended, revealing a sight that churned my stomach: bubbling lava. Its faint glow barely illuminated what seemed to be a cavern.
As I descended further into the cavern's depths, the beast veered close enough for me to sense the searing warmth of the lava beneath my feet. Gradually, our descent stabilized, and my gaze shifted forward, revealing a massive door-like structure. Its design echoed the grandeur of ancient Gothic architecture, adorned with pointed arches and intricate buttresses. The edifice appeared crafted from a peculiar variety of marble, possessing a beauty tinged with an unsettling aura. Its construction defied convention, evoking a sense of unease; never before had anything been wrought in such a manner.
As the creature descended once more, carrying me firmly, we passed through the doorway, revealing the true scale of the chamber. Beyond the threshold, a vast expanse unfolded, illuminated by a solitary spherical light source, casting an unsettlingly dim glow upon a colossal, otherworldly mechanism. It resembled a colossal pillar, stretching upward into the darkness of the cavern, its details obscured by the dim light. Within its intricate workings, gears, wheels, and chains rotated at a languid pace. Amidst this mechanical labyrinth, my attention was drawn to a swirling mass of gray at the base of the mechanism, slowly undulating. The beast appeared to be steering us directly toward it.
As we drew nearer, we sailed past what appeared to be a platform, upon which perched a colossal beast. Its form resembled that of a massive reptilian creature, akin to what one might envision as a dinosaur. Yet, it stood upright on two legs, its powerful limbs chained firmly to the platform. With each short, sharp inhalation, it unleashed a deafening roar that reverberated through every fiber of my being. I couldn't help but notice the protrusion of its jugular vein, roughly the size of my upper thigh, expanding with each thunderous cry. As we approached the swirling mass of gray, a sudden wave of horror washed over me as I comprehended its true nature.
A sea of people.
I observed that they were all bound together by chains, encircling their arms, legs, and necks. These chains converged at the towering pillar, linking each individual to the mechanism. The mass of people moved in a circular motion, driving the turning of the cogs. Their pallid complexion suggested an absence of life, as if all vitality had been drained from them. Their agonized screams pierced the air, mouths devoid of tongues. I witnessed an individual collapse to their knees, only to be forcefully yanked upright by some unseen power, rest was an elusive notion in this place. To my horror, amidst the throng of young adults and the elderly, I saw children swept along by the relentless current of the crowd.
As the creature positioned me amidst the multitude, I pleaded desperately, but it was futile; the chains had already ensnared me. With each movement of the mass of people, I felt the tug on my own chain, pressed in on all sides without an inch of space to spare. The towering figures around me obscured any view beyond their heads, leaving me engulfed in a sea of bodies.
My voice pierced the chaotic symphony of screams, rising in a desperate plea for escape.
"Please! I don't belong here! I just wanted to sleep, this is a mistake!"
As I cried out, the orb of light began to shift, seemingly in response to my desperate appeals. As it drew closer and closer, a sense of dread gripped me. Hovering ominously above, it revealed itself as a grotesque monstrosity, casting a sickly glow that chilled me to the bone. I fought the overwhelming urge to collapse, my knees weakening with each passing moment. What loomed overhead defied any attempt at human description; it resembled a cluster of intertwining tubes, swirling and spiraling in a mesmerizing dance that transcended the bounds of reality. Bathed in a sickly blue light that pulsed like molten lava beneath its tendrils.
The light wrought a profound transformation within me, granting a clarity of self-awareness unlike anything I had ever known. In its piercing illumination, I was confronted with the raw truth of my being, stripped of illusion or denial. It was a sobering revelation, an awakening to the most authentic understanding of myself I had ever experienced.
I belonged here.
I had systematically driven away my friends, neglecting their presence and refusing to open up to them. Even my own mother's attempts at connection felt burdensome, our conversations reduced to mere obligations. But perhaps the greatest tragedy lay in the chasm that had formed between my wife and me—a divide entirely of my own making. I was the architect of my own downfall, responsible for the ruin of my life, with no one else to blame but myself. Every word the entity had uttered about me held a painful truth.
From this vantage point, my life appeared almost sweet in retrospect, bathed in the stark light of self-awareness. Yet, any semblance of hope quickly dissolved, for in this desolate realm, hope found no foothold, no sanctuary to thrive.
With my head bowed low, I trudged forward, the weight of my chain pulling me inexorably onward. In a moment of unprecedented vulnerability, I found myself offering a prayer. Despite my awareness that it would likely go unanswered, I embraced the grim reality of my fate, accepting it with a heavy heart.
God, have mercy on me…
Suddenly the sound of chains breaking shattered the air as I was yanked upward with astonishing velocity. In a sudden blur, the scene below shrank rapidly beneath me. The rush of wind buffeted me, and I sensed another presence, an arm wrapped around my waist. Clutching onto it tightly, I braced myself as the cavern's light faded into absolute darkness, squeezing my eyes shut against the unknown.
With a jolt, my rapid ascent came to an abrupt halt, my back colliding with something soft. Gradually, I realized I was back in the familiarity of my own bed. At the foot of the bed stood a figure, its features obscured by a radiant glow emanating from its form, resembling molten glass. The brilliance bathed the entire room in an ethereal light. For a fleeting moment, we locked gazes, suspended in a silent exchange. Then, as swiftly as it had appeared, the figure began to ascend, leaving my room cloaked once more in shadows.
I sat in silence for a while, grappling with the enormity of my experience. To dismiss it as a mere nightmare or hallucination would be a gross understatement; whatever transpired felt hauntingly more vivid and tangible than my current reality. It would take me months of introspection and contemplation to begin to make sense of it all, to reconcile the surreal with the mundane, and to find a semblance of peace within myself.
Although the experience didn't trigger an immediate transformation, its impact lingered, nudging me towards a path of change. Despite my ongoing struggle with alcohol addiction, I made a conscious decision to seek help. I began prioritizing regular hangouts with my best friend and even accompanied my mom to a few church visits. While I remained uncertain about my own connection to religion, witnessing her joy brought a sense of fulfillment that warmed my heart. In making her happy, I found a newfound source of happiness within myself.
As time passed, a sense of progress gradually infused my life. Achieving a year of sobriety marked a significant milestone on my journey, celebrated amidst the supportive community of AA. Even my wife took notice of my efforts towards self-improvement, leading us to embark on marriage counseling together. Before long, her return to our home signaled a hopeful new chapter in our relationship.
Not a trace of sleep paralysis had haunted me since that fateful night when I was guided from the depths of despair. I'm not entirely sure if it was an angel, or God, but whatever it was, it spared me, and for that, I'm grateful. And now, the most joyous news of all: my wife and I are expecting our first child next week. The doctors assure us of her perfect health, filling us with anticipation and gratitude. As for her name, I already have the perfect one in mind:
Grace

My mother had a bilateral knee replacement done in Oct 2023 in a tier-2 city by Doctor A. Left one done first without any problems and right one done 5 days later with complains of tingling and burning sensation (at the foot) post the surgery. The discharge summary advised bed rest, normal diet and physiotherapy.
Two months later, the problem still persisted along with increased pain. Doctor A advised futher rest, and was told it would take time since she has diabetes and hypertension since 8 years.
With no relief after another month, she developed a small superficial bed sore at the ankle that was treated by doctor B in a different hospital in the same tier-2 city (Doctor A travels frequently and was unavailable most of thr time). Doppler scan indicated dilated veins and no deep or superficial vein thrombosis. Doctor C was instructed by Doctor B to do a pressure dressing every 3-4 days at her residence.
Three months later, the bed sore at the ankle increased to 2-3ins while Doctor C kept adding pressure bandages and peeling any black areas.
Tired of Doctor C, she visited Doctor B again at the hospital and he was shocked at the extent of damage. He did another doppler test and reported that there was no arterial flow in lower tibial artery and calcified plaques in lower limb arteries. Ignoring Doctor D's advice of conducting an angioplasty immediately, he went ahead with debriedment and advised further pressure bandage and bed rest.
After going through all this ordeal alone, my mother now revealed to me (I live in a different country) and our other relatives all of the pain she was going through alone.
I immediately took her to Doctor E in a tier-1 city who diagnosed that she has a gangrene heel and has severe calcification in her lower arteries and one blockage at the knee that was possibly caused/aggravated by the knee replacement surgery. She was at the risk of amputation if we had waited longer. Angioplasty was done immediately requiring 3 balloons and she is on vacuum dressing for the last 3 weeks
She is now heeling at the good care of doctor E requiring high doses of antibiotics and in the near future will need plastic surgery to close the open wound.
I think she is:
Wronged by doctor A for not evaluating her condition properly before conducting the knee replacement
Wronged by Doctor B for ignoring advice by Doctor D (to perform an angioplasty stat) and jumping to clean the wound without addressing the main problem and to make a quick and large amount of money
Wronged by Doctor C by primarily being incompetent and not updating status to Doctor B.
I want to know what legal actions I can take and also want to possibly file a PIL to make sure this kind of malpractice does not happen to anybody.
Please guide.

Hello! Here's my first attempt at a race recap. Is it a form of post-race therapy for a race that did not go as planned, despite having a great training cucle? Maybe. Perhaps it is also an attempt at inspiring my fellow goal-oriented runners to find the positives, wins, and progression in a race where you did not reach your goals. It's a long one and includes heat exhaustion, unexpected GI distress, and blood sugar woes, so buckle down. Proceed at your own caution.

Race Information

• Name: Leiden Half Marathon
• Date: May 12th, 2024
• Distance: 21.1 km
• Location: Leiden, The Netherlands
• Website: marathon.nl
• Time: 1:35:55

Goals

Goal	Description	Completed?
A	Sub 1:32	No
B	Sub 1:34	No
C	PB	Yes

Splits

Kilometer	Time
1	4:52
2	4:32
3	4:27
4	4:28
5	4:27
6	4:33
7	4:28
8	4:28
9	4:28
10	4:33
11	4:32
12	4:31
13	4:32
14	4:39
15	4:35
16	4:42
17	4:38
18	4:32
19	4:24
20	4:31
21	4:27
0.1	4:15

Background

To give you some background: I'm a relatively new runner. I have been casually running since mid-April 2024 and more seriously since July 2023. This was my second full training block, the previous one being a 12 week training block for in December. After that, I ran a trail half in January 2024. That was a bit of a wildcard race that I ran on the fly, not to finish it as fast as possible. I hadn't trained for it and ran the first half easy, the second half as an unplanned progression run simply because I felt good. That run brought me to a 1:43:38 finishing time. The Leiden half marathon would thus be my first go at racing a half marathon. With the half in January in mind, on the outset of my training block, I had a sub 1:35 in mind, but still as a very loose aim, subject to change as the training block progressed.
Another piece of important background: I have type 1 diabetes, which affects my running in quite complex ways. I'll spare you the details, but generally I am pretty apt at managing my blood sugar during running, using a continuous glucose monitor and an insulin pump. I hardly ever experience low blood sugar while running, especially not during races, due to the adrenaline rush, which tends to spike blood sugar instead. Foreshadowing: this race did not follow this general pattern.

Training (or "the rise")

I started this training cycle at the end of February, using the Runna advanced half marathon plan. I'd used Runna for my first training cycle as well, so was familiar with the app and general structure, and overall happy with it. It scheduled 4 days of running, one long run workout, one easy run, and two speed workouts. One of those speed workouts I swapped for a track session at my local athletics club. In addition to this, I had two weight lifting sessions at the gym a week.
Despite not having an overt problem with Runna, I second guessed the paces it prescribed and the training intensity quite a lot. While during the 10k training the overall load did not feel excessively high, having two speed workouts, one of which an intense track session, and a long run workout between 18 and 24k per week with significant portions at HM or 10k pace felt a bit excessive. Halfway through March, I struggled to hit paces during my track sessions, whereas in January - February I had no problem with this, and my calves were perpetually tight. Because of this and other reasons, I switched to personalized online coaching from April onwards, about halfway through the training cycle. My coach was great about basing my training on the first half of the training cycle and slowly transitioning me to a different schedule. He transitioned me to 5 runs a week instead of 4, plus a 6th day of cross training, and adjusted the overall intensity to be far more in line with the general recommendation of 80% easy, 20% hard. I felt the effects almost immediately: my calves calmed down, my HR came down during easy runs, I hit paces during my hard sessions again, and could even run 4 days in a row, where before that would always set off my calves and cause shin pain. On average, I ran 54 km a week during the training block, with my peak weeks at 59km a week. During the second half of the training block I felt truly great, without any pain or niggles, even in those peak weeks.
This left me feeling confident and excited for the race. Based on a 20:02 5k time trial in the first week of April, my coach and I decided on 4:25 min/km as a goal pace for the half marathon, which would bring me to a finish time around 1:33. During my peak week long run workouts, (18k with a total of 8k at goal pace and 20k with 10k at goal pace), I could easily keep up with a faster pace of 4:22 min/km, planting the idea in my head that if the conditions were right, I might be able to hit sub 1:32. I knew there would be a chance of hot weather though, so kept 1:35 as a B-goal.
The training also included practicing with fueling on my run, taking gels every 25-30 minutes for my long run, which I never had any problem with, even when running faster. I generally view myself of having an iron stomach, thanks to years of eating at the most random moments to treat low blood sugars. Cue second piece of foreshadowing...

Pre-race (or "the turn")

In the days leading up to the race, it slowly became more and more clear that the weather conditions on race day would be less than ideal, with an expected high of 25 degrees and full sun. And, of course, since it's the Netherlands, decent humidity to boot. The whole west of the country is basically a swamp, after all. Knowing this, I already started managing my own expectations and realized that sub 1:32 would most likely be off the table. All attention to the 1:35 goal, then.
My pre-race days also included my first attempt at a semi-carb load. I call it a semi-carb load given the short duration: using Meghan Featherstun's calculator, I planned on a one/1.5 day carb load, from Friday morning to Saturday afternoon, with a normal dinner on Saturday so as to give my body time to digest all the carbs. The carb loading went surprisingly well; I'd expected that the extra carbs and relative lack of protein and fat would make it difficult to keep my blood sugar in check, but I experienced no significant blood sugar spikes (here's some counter evidence to all the fearmongering around carbs and blood glucose spikes - if I can handle it with synthetic, imperfectly working insulin and human error, a healthy person with a functioning pancreas surely will be absolutely fine).
Race morning? *Cue the stress*. Hectic was how I would describe it. I got up early so that I would be able to take an early train to Leiden, allowing for plenty of time to do my warm up, queue for the bathrooms, etc. My bag was all packed when my boyfriend, who would travel with me to cheer me on, suggested I transfer all my stuff to his backpack, so I wouldn't have to check my bag (this would save some time and allow us to circumvent some of the busy parts of town). Foreshadowing: this was a bad idea. I transferred all of my stuff (I thought) to my boyfriend's bag and off we went to the station. Once we were sat in the train, I reached for his bag to pin on my bib.
Horror struck. FUCK!
I left my bib in my bag at home, in a back compartment! Thank god the train had not yet departed from the station. Just before the train doors closed, I managed to sprint out and race home on the bike to grab my bib. Lesson learned: do not transfer your stuff to another bag last minute. My boyfriend and I ended up making it to one train later, leaving me far less time to get ready, but enough to just make the start.
Emphasis on 'just'; although I had some 25 minutes to spare to get to my corral once my swelteringly hot warm up was done, the queue for the portapotties was terribly long and the whole process was utterly inefficient. When it was my turn, I had 4 minutes before the race started, and I did not even know where exactly my corral was. My boyfriend was a true saint and scoped the way in the mean time, so he ran with me (in the heat, with a backpack and regular sneakers) to the corral, where I managed to wedge myself through an opening in the fencing with 30 seconds left. The adrenaline was already rushing through my veins, I can tell you that.

Race (or "the fall")

Still stressed out from the pre-race situation, the gun went off. Showtime.
The start was quite broad but roughly 200 meters out there was a funnel. It was busy as heck and I had to slow down significantly, but I knew weaving would be a bad choice so tried to be patient and just go with the flow. Within the first five minutes of the race, the trouble began. I could feel my blood sugar dropping. I had a significant amount of insulin on board to account for the usual rush of adrenaline during a race, which generally brings up my blood sugar considerably, so the fact that I was already dropping brought on a slight panic. I downed a gel in an attempt to divert a low blood sugar, almost choking on it in the process. Luckily, I could feel it working and bringing my blood sugar back to a stable trajectory pretty quickly, but knew I wasn't out of the woods yet, as the chances of my blood sugar starting to drop again would be considerable. I also noticed pretty soon that my stomach wasn't too happy about the gel, despite never having experienced GI distress from fueling on my runs ever before. Looking back, I think I was already heading into dehydration territory at this point.
The strategy for the race was to hoover just above 4:25 min/km for the first 5k, settle into a goal pace of 4:20 - 4:25 between km 6 - 16, and empty the tank in the last 5k. The first 5k went fairly well; after the group dispersed a bit, I managed to pick up to a comfortable 4:28. By the 5k mark, however, the heat started to get to me and my stomach was still feeling a bit iffy. At this point, the course had shifted from city to running between the meadows, with little shade. Since I carried a handheld with water + electrolytes that I could continuously sip from, I used the most of the cups at the water posts to dunk the contents over my head. The volunteers also handed out sponges soaked in cold water, and some very kind spectators sprayed cool water with garden hoses, which was truly a blessing. Thanks to these cooling methods, I still felt relatively good at this point, but had a suspicion that I would empty the tank too early by increasing my pace to below 4:25, so I tried to simply stick to the current pace until at least the half way mark. That would still allow me to reach my sub 1:35 goal.
At the 10k mark, the struggle became real, however. Between km 6 and 12, there were no water posts and there was very little shade as well. My stomach still hurt, a weird sensation hoovering between the pain of a side stitch but in my whole abdomen, and nausea. Knowing this could be due to dehydration, I continued to sip water in hopes of it getting better, which eventually did happen. Mentally, I kept reminding myself that I was in control and to keep my form relaxed, but speeding up to goal pace did not seem like a sensible option. The opposite, actually, not dropping my pace was challenge enough. Having fallen back slightly by km 10, I tried to pick up to 4:28 again between km 11 and 12, but hardly managed. And then the trouble really began: by km 13, I could feel that my blood sugar was low. Now, I imagine that for my pancreatically unchallenged pals, it can be hard to understand what running with low blood sugar feels like, so I'll try to explain it: it's like you're moving through molasses, everything feels 10 times heavier than it should be. In addition, your brain is literally lacking the energy it needs to function, causing brain fog and making it difficult to assess a situation. Everything in me wanted to stop, lay down on the side of the road and just stop existing for a little bit. And to that, add a layer of panic: a low blood sugar can get seriously dangerous and can lead to death if not managed well. Now, I would never advise to run through a low blood sugar. I know my body well, however, and with a far too slow working brain, made the following assessment when I had downed a gel:

• The gel should bring me up fairly quickly;
• There's not as much active insulin on board anymore, reducing the risk of the gel not raising my blood sugar to an adequate level or of my blood sugar continuing to drop despite the gel;
• If I keep running, there is the chance that my body will keep producing adrenaline, which causes an additional dump of glycogen in my blood stream, thus also raising my blood sugar, whereas if I stop, this would be unlikely to happen;
• If I feel worse, I can stop at anytime.

I put all of my mental and physical energy into keeping my legs turning over, fighting that overwhelming urge to stop and lay down. I did slow down quite a bit, dropping to a low point of a 4:42 min/km for km 16. But as the feeling was 'stable', if you will, and not getting worse, I kept running, reminding myself that I was over halfway. At some point in this chunk of the race, a spectator yelled at a woman behind me that she was 25th female, which pushed her to overtake me, but to be honest, I was so wrapped up in my own pain that I did not give shit.
Then, as it often goes with blood sugar issues, like a flip of the switch I felt better all of a sudden around the 17k marker. Invigorated by averting blood sugar disaster and by the idea of having less than 5k left, I felt like I could pick up the pace again. Gradually, rather than all at once, but simply the fact that I could pick up the pace again, brought back some of my confidence and enjoyment. Don't get me wrong, it was still hard as hell, but compared to the fog of anguish I'd been running in previously, this was manageable. By km 18, I started slowly picking people to take over. There was one woman in sight who I overtook, but then she overtook me again, and we kept pushing each other to keep going (we even briefly spoke to cheer each other on) up until km 20, when I left her behind me and did not see her again (later, I saw that she finished a couple of seconds after me; in the unlikely event that she happens to read this: thank you for pushing me!!). At this point, I was vaguely aware that sub 1:35 would not be possible anymore, but I tried to win any second I could. The final two 2 were brutal and felt endless, and oh boy was I happy when I crossed the finish line.

Post-race and aftermath

As soon as I stopped running and slowed down to a walk, my legs turned into noodles. I felt quite uncoordinated and nausea hit me like a ton of bricks. Looking back, I think I might've suffered from heat exhaustion, if not mild heat stroke, as these feelings stayed with me for quite a while and I also started shivering, despite being hot still. I received my medal, forced down the banana and orange slices handed out after the finish (this was such a nice touch by the race organization!), as well as two cups of water. Managed to keep it down, and the nausea dissipated after a while. Unsurprisingly, I felt some disappointment over missing even my B-goal, which I'd thought of as squarely within reach. Still, my most intense emotion was relief for making it to the finish line, given the circumstances. I texted with my coach a bit, who also cheered me on. I know that I could've run far faster on a different day, but not on this day, not with the heat and blood sugar issues. I did truly give it my all and left it all on the course, and that is a satisfying feeling, no matter the outcome. I ended up finishing 17th in my age group and 22nd female overall.
To celebrate, I met up with my cheer squad, consisting of my boyfriend and some friends (I call them my cheer squad, but they missed me because the live tracker was lagging) and went for lunch, before heading back home. The rest of the day was spent taking some gentle strolls to aid recovery, relaxing, and eating a ton of good food (with lingering nausea, but hey, with great athleticism comes great eating responsibility, as David Roche says). Later, the rest of the races that day ended up being cancelled because the medical staff could not keep up with the influx of runners suffering from heat stress. The high turned out the be 27 degrees, with constant sun and little wind. Knowing this, I am extra glad I finished safely.
So, just over 24 hours later, what are we left with? Sore legs, that's for sure. I'm lightly bummed out that I did not perform as I had expected, but this is combined with the thrill of still having a goal to chase, that I know is within my reach, especially when I stack another training cycle on top of this. Overall, I am happy with what I managed to do, given the circumstances. I feel confident that the fitness I have gained in this training cycle is an excellent starting point for a new training cycle, and I know that this race experience has taught me a lot, from blood sugar management and not forgetting my bib (hah) to how far I can really push myself. The second half of my training block was an absolute win in itself. Running 5 days a week with an average of 54km seemed absolutely inconceivable a year ago, when I was not even a month into my running journey. It's insane where a couple of months of consistency can bring you.
For now, I'm going to rest and recover, reflect some more and run some easy miles for the next couple of days. After that, I'll shift my focus on the 5 and 10k for a little bit, before hopefully starting the prep for a half marathon redo in the fall. Whatever happens, I'll pick a race with very low chances of hot weather, ha.
Made with a new race report generator created by u/herumph.

“T-this! This is madness!” Count Harmswid, one of the very few Human nobles of the Seraphic Empire, bellowed as his hand slammed into the table, sending scrolls flying onto the floor of his luxurious tent. “You’d be leaving me defenseless! I already have a manpower shortage, and now you’d deprive me of not just Wyverns but all of my mana users!?”
Standing across from him, seemingly unphased and unbothered by the outburst, was Tharivol, the Duchesses Dark Elf spymaster. Tharivol remained stoic as Count Harmonswid's face turned a shade of deep red; the veins on his neck bulged with every word. As the tirade continued, spittle started to fly from the human’s mouth, landing on the polished surface of the table and even on Tharivol's dark cloak. Yet, the spymaster's demeanor did not change; there was no sign of disgust, no flinch, no reaction whatsoever.
“Do you truly expect me to comply with such an insane request!? You and that damned charlatan have both lost your minds!” The Count sneered before spitting on the floor. “I cannot, and I shall not!”
Count Harmswid's rage seemed to swell within him, growing more intense with each passing moment. "I'll drag both you and that insufferable wench before the Court of Houses!" he thundered, his voice echoing off the high walls of the chamber. "You think you can force a noble of my standing to forfeit his property and forces unjustly? The court will see you stripped of your titles, your lands confiscated, and the Duchess fined! Perhaps you would even find yourself exiled, you insufferable curr!"
The air in the room grew heavy, charged with the count's threats and the tension of the confrontation. Yet, through it all, Tharivol remained as impassive as ever, his expression never wavering from its cold neutrality.
Once, the count's rant had finally run its course, leaving him panting and glaring across the table. "Do you truly intend not to comply with the Duchess's order?" Tharivol's voice was so calm and devoid of emotion that it seemed as if he was simply discussing the weather.
"NO!" The count's response was a furious shout, his hands slamming down onto the table with such force that it splintered beneath them. "I will not bend the knee to such outrageous demands!"
Unphased by the outburst, Tharivol eyes scanned the room, looking at all the Count's personal guards in attendance. Two mages and six mana-capable knights stood uncomfortably against the wall of the tent, just behind the count. "Is there nothing that will convince you otherwise?" The Dark Elf asked, bringing his eyes back to the Count. “Coin? Concessions? Favors?”
The count's face twisted with hatred at the mere suggestion of compromise. "I'd sooner turn my blade towards the Duchess herself than comply with anything that whore demands!" he spat venomously, the words dripping with disdain and loathing.
Tharivol simply nodded as if the count's refusal and insults were nothing more than he had expected. "Very well," he said, his voice still calm and unbothered, before looking behind him to two of his own guards who accompanied him.
These individuals wore unassuming attire, their features obscured behind black mosaic masks that shifted and morphed in subtle ways. Anyone looking at the masks would find their gaze unfocused, slipping across them as if they were merely part of the background. Beneath their dark cloaks was sleek armor made of a substance unfamiliar to the count, a strange blend that was neither quite metal nor leather.
"Take the Count's head and slay any who resist," Tharivol commanded his guards and turned back to the Count.
But before his eyes could leave the two shadow-like figures, their forms surged forward like a wisping darkness, their movements far too fast for any being's eye to comfortably track. Each unsheathed, jagged, wicked-looking blades, as long as one's forearms. There were subtle differences between each weapon, but they all had one thing in common. And that was the fact that they seemed to be forged from a strange blood-red metal that made people’s blood run cold.
The Count and his guard's eyes widened as they flinched back and grabbed at their weapons. However, before they could properly react, these ghosts were faster. Not a single sword left their sheathe, and not a word was chanted before blood was drawn.
As Harmswid opened his mouth to scream, a terrifying silence took hold instead. The world spun into a vortex of chaos, colors blurring and shapes warping as if reality itself was unraveling around him. Orders died on his lips, replaced by a mute plea for his men to save him.
Then, he crashed to the ground, dizzy and disoriented. All sense of time and place dissolved while his mind struggled to comprehend the nightmare unfolding before him. He was trapped in a maelstrom of motion where his guards – his paragons of strength – were being ruthlessly dismembered.
The dark figures moved with a terrifying and unnatural speed. They were blurs of motion armed with those wicked, crimson-tinged blades felling season knights that were once symbols of power and protection as if they were pigs lambs brought to feasts. Their armor offered no resistance as it was pierced effortlessly, and their cries were cut short, transforming into wet gurgles and sickening thuds as they collapsed.
Blood splattered the interior of the tent, a gruesome crimson rain painting what had once been a place of noble authority into a scene of carnage. His loyal protectors, those who were supposed to be his shield, were now nothing but lifeless corpses strewn across the ground.
Through his terror, the Count saw Tharivol out of the corner of his eye. The dark elf stood unmoved, a cold spectator observing a symphony of violence orchestrated by his will. With one more attempted gasp, Harmswid’s world plunged into darkness.
With an air of nonchalant finality, Tharivol strolled forward. He bent down, not a hint of bother on his face, and retrieved the severed head of Count Harmswid. The dark elf held the head aloft, examining it with a clinical detachment as if it were merely a curious specimen and not the remnants of a once powerful man.
"Hopefully, this will deter others from such foolishness,” Tharivol remarked with a chilling yet humored voice. “I’m sure there will be a few more unwise enough to disobey our mistress, but let they and Count Harmswid serve as… palpable enough deterrent to insubordination.”
The Dark Elf spun on his heel and strode confidently towards the tent flap while his masked guards moved like shadows in his wake. What had transpired was as swift as it was horrifying, from start to finish. The once opulent pavilion, a symbol of the Count's authority, had become a macabre slaughterhouse in mere seconds, and the air hung thick with the metallic tang of blood.
Tharivol moved with the grace of a predator. He grasped a fistful of the Count's hair, casually swinging the severed head as he left the carnage behind. Stepping out of the tent, a scene of utter chaos greeted him.
A cataclysmic roar had ripped through the air, an earth-shattering crash rattled the bones of every being within earshot. Tents flailed wildly, torn from their moorings and scattered like scraps of paper by the force of the blast. Men were thrown off their feet, rolling across the dirt in a desperate bid for stable ground.
And the source of such devastation was the immense silhouette of a black dragon. A very old and very powerful black dragon of monstrous proportions. Its landing had been a display of raw power; the earth itself sundered from its weight, cracking and buckling as the beast settled into place, and smoke curled from its nostril as its massive wings slowly unfurled.
To Tharivol's left, a figure stood resolute against the swirling chaos. Clad in heavy plate armor, augmented by the bones and scales of vanquished wyverns. One of the Duchess's most powerful and he was a testament to the mistress’s influence and strength. The great warrior's hide cloak buffeted violently in the maelstrom, yet he remained steadfast, utterly unmoving. His massive sword was driven deep into the earth, his hands folded gently over the hilt, as he stared maliciously towards the soldiers and mages toppling head over heel.
Striding past the warrior, Tharivol moved effortlessly underneath the dragon's colossal wingspan until reached the other side, where a panicked crowd was already gathering. He held up the Count's head for all to see and amplified his cold voice with magic, causing it to reverberate across the encampment.
"YOUR TREACHEROUS LORD IS NO MORE!" Tharivol bellowed, "HE CHOSE DEFIANCE! HE CHOSE DEATH! AND THUS THE FATE OF ALL WHO CHOOSE SELF-INTEREST OVER THE IMPERIAL WAR EFFORT!”
The gathered soldiers gasped, their faces twisting into a mixture of shock, disbelief, and abject terror. This was a display of power unlike anything they had ever witnessed - the swift brutality, the utter disregard for a noble life, and now, the raw might embodied by the massive dragon that cast its imposing shadow over them all.
A wave of shock and outrage swept throughout the Count's retinue. They stood frozen for moments, hands clenching around sheathed weapons, before the reality of the situation sunk in. Their lord was dead, his head held aloft like a grotesque trophy a damned dark elf who stood before them. Yet, their fury was tempered by the sight of the colossal monstrosity looming above the foul man.
Not even the stoic knight captain, his battle-scarred face creased in anguish, dared break the uneasy silence that had descended upon them. His eyes flicked between the severed head and what he considered the largest and oldest dragon he’d ever seen in his damnable life. It was bad enough one of the Duchess’s hero showed up, but with this monster here, all thoughts of vengeance were crushed beneath the weight of gaping maw staring at him.
Tharivol lowered the head, allowing it swinging morbidly in his grip as he marched straight to the knight captain. Halting mere inches from the man, the Dark Elf looked down at him through his nose despite the fact that he was a head shorter than the gruff knight. But how tall one was mattered very little at the current moment. For the poor captain fought to maintain any semblance of calm as his entire body trembled, not from mere cold, but from a primal, instinctual terror.
"Gather your mana users. Assemble the wyverns, good captain." Tharivol commanded, his voice still magically amplified. "You will report to the Duchess in Aldenshore, and with haste. I trust," here Tharivol's gaze flicked meaningfully towards the dragon, "that you understand the urgency of this order?"
His tone carried not a hint of a question, but the chilling finality of an ultimatum. The Duchess' word was now law and the dragon was both enforcer and a grim reminder of the consequences of disobedience. Should the captain hesitate, should he choose to dally, the monstrous creature would likely make a far bloodier example than even the Count's brutal end.
The knight captain could only bow his head and utter a hoarse, "Aye, my lord." Compliance, however grudging, was the only path to survival. Defiance meant not just death for himself but the annihilation of his men. No amount of courage or pride could bridge the chasm of power that lay between them.
An expression like a viper's grin spread across Tharivol’s face. A macabre amusement flitted into his eyes as he raised Count Harmswid's head once more, slapping the lifeless cheek in a grotesque mockery of applause. "Very good!" he declared, his amplified voice carrying an undercurrent of cruel delight.
"You shall rest this day and prepare. But," his tone turned as sharp as a dagger, "do not keep us waiting. To delay the Duchess... well, that would be oh so very unwise."
With a final flourish, Tharivol spun on his heel and marched away, but just before the Dark Elf disappeared below the hulking mass of the Dragon, The Knight Captain attempted to rise to his feet. "Wait, my lord!" The man stammered out as his hand reached out.
However, the sudden movement had caught the dragon's attention. With a rumble that reverberated through the encampment, its massive head dipped low. Twin nostrils flared, expelling twin plumes of superheated plasma, as its eyes narrowed, burning with fury.
The knight captain let out a yelp, a terrified sound he hadn't made since childhood. His body recoiled as if struck, and his legs had given way beneath him as he fell on his rear.
Tharivol paused, turning back with feigned concern. His voice dripped with theatrical sympathy, "Oh dear, is there some problem, good captain?" He let the question hang in the air before bursting into a peal of chilling laughter.
With a dramatic gesture, he addressed the knight captain once more. "Well then, Captain, go on! What is it that troubles you so?" There was an odd playfulness in the dark elf's tone that sent chills down every man in the Count’s army’s spine.
Panic surged through the knight captain. Caught between the titanic dragon and the mocking presence of the dark elf, fear threatened to swallow him whole. Each raspy breath seemed to drag against his throat, the super-heated air of the dragon's breath filling his nostrils. It was an intoxicating mix of molten metal and sulfur, a scent that seemed to speak of fiery annihilation.
He scrambled back even further as the dragon's head moved closer. Desperation lent his words a frenzied edge. "W-what of the food stores, my lord? Our gathered supplies? And the men – the rest of the soldiers? Shall they march to Aldenshore with us, or... or remain?" The words tumbled out, laced with the fear of asking the wrong question, of drawing further ire.
Tharivol approached the man before halting a comfortable distance away. The knight captain flinched, averting his gaze from the dragon, and fixing it on the ground and started whispering prayers and reciting passages from the holy text of his god. Tharivol tilted his head, a curious, almost amused glint in his dark eyes.
For a tense moment, he simply observed the knight captain, letting the silence stretch between them before heaving a heavy sigh. “Do you speak of the mundane?" His tone was flippant, laced with a hint of disdain. "Take them, leave them – it is of no concern to me.” He answered, waving his hand dismissively. “Now that you have your answer… do not bother me with such trivial matters again. I have much more pressing concerns and so little time."
As Tharivol walked away, the knight captain scrambled to his feet. “Y-You heard ‘em! Git yer asses movin’ less ya want to be Dragon feed!” The man ordered with fear evident in his voice as the Dark Elf disappeared beneath the dragon. “And send word to the Wyvern camps of our new orders!”
Silence reigned at the order as everyone stood stock still, but everyone was kicked into overdrive with one last snort from the monster. Soldiers, mages, and workers of every type scramble about with panicked efficiency. Carts were hastily loaded, men and women ran to and fro with bundles of supplies, and the injured were loaded onto wagons with utmost care. Within minutes, the once serene camp was transformed into a whirlwind of purposeful chaos.
And as the madness unfolded, in a distant tree line, Coleman and his ODA team watched silently, peering through the optics of their weapons and purpose-built surveillance tools.
“Fuck… is that our target’s head?” Schwarz suddenly spoke up hushedly as he peered through the high-powered optic of his precision rifle. “I think that’s his head…”
Coleman released an exasperated sigh as he watched with a camouflaged high-powered surveillance device as the strange dark-skinned man walked away with the noble's head in hand. “Yep… Yep, that’s his head…” He nearly growled in annoyance. “Damnit…”
"Wait, isn't this a good thing? We don't gotta kill him," Bennett piped up, a note of confusion in his voice.
Elijah cut him off, the usual lighthearted tone gone from his voice. "No, dipshit, we wanted to bag 'em for questioning," he gestured at the chaotic camp with the barrel of his rifle, "and we can’t question a corpse."
“All units, this is Baron actual.” Coleman quietly spoke into his headphones as he informed the litany of multinational special operations forces that were positioned or prowling around in preparation for the assault on this camp. “Change of plans, our targets KIA from internal fighting.”
“Baron actual, this is Warlock actual.” An Australian Special Air Services Regiment (SASR) team came over the net. “That’s a BIG fackin’ cunt, mate... I’m not so sure about this one.”
No one could fault the assessment. That monstrosity of a dragon was well over 100 meters from snout to tail, and hefty enough to tank most of their firepower. "Baron actual, copy that Warlock. Standby, we’re trying to figure something out."
“This is Bravo actual. Yeah, I have agree with Warlock. This suddenly got a lot more dangerous. I don’t think the operation’s worth it with this thing hanging around." A new voice came over the net belonging to the Polish Commandos, the Jednostka Wojskowa Komandosów (JWK), and gave his opinion on the matter.
The chatter from other teams confirmed the general sentiment. They came in relatively light hoping to do a lightning raid and bug out. Engaging this creature felt like a suicide mission. Sure they could hit with every Javelin or Anti-Tank weapon they had, but no one was convinced they’d be able to land a killing blow and unless someone got lucky and domed the fucker.
“I can’t believe we’re blue balled by a big fackin’ lizard.” The Aussies voice echoed throughout everyone headphones. “What do ya think? Should we pull out?”
Coleman rubbed a weary hand across his eyes. The Aussie had put it crudely, but the sentiment was spot on. The mission was a bust. The tactical dilemma they faced had become far more complicated with the appearance of these newcomers and their dragon.
“Warlock, hold one.” Coleman responded before leanning back against a fallen tree.
A frustrated and heavy breath left the ODA team leader’s mouth as he popped off his helmet, exposing his hair to the hot summer air. As he contemplated his optins while his hand rubbed across his admittedly greasy hair. It had been quite some time since he had a proper shower and, the dirt was starting to build up.
As he thought of way to continue the mission, every scenario he spun out in his mind unraveled before it could take shape. Assault the camp now? With that dragon in the mix, it was madness. Their firepower was decent, but not against a beast of that size and unknown resilience. The thing would torch them before they knew what was going on.
Sneak in, grab what intel they could? Nah… that was stupider than whatever some private fresh out of bootcamp would think up. The goal was not to be decisively engaged.
The Poles and Aussies had a point. Maybe the best course of action was to just to bugger off and keep and element here to observe and mark the location for when the ground pounders came in. But that almost felt like it was a waste… Here they had a prime opportunity to turn a village into a clandestine staging point and letting go of that idea felt… wrong.
Just as another sigh left Colemans mouth, an earth-shattering roar split the air. The team leader whipped his head up, expecting the worst case scenario. The dragon had erupted into flury of motion, as the whirlwind of claws, wings, and raw power tookeof, blowing debris across the camp and scattering tents like leaves in a storm.
But it didn't attack.
The gargantuan creature circled for a moment, leaving a sinister shadow against the clear blue sky, before banking and soaring eastwards.
Coleman blinked, momentarily disoriented by the sudden shift in the situation. A hundred thoughts raced through his head. Where was it going? It didn’t notice us? Would it return? But Within seconds, the beast had vanished into the distance.
Then, a flicker of opportunity flashed across his eyes. “This Baron actual, let’s wait a bit and see what happens...” Coleman suggested with a predatory grin spreading across his face.
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PART ONE THOUSAND AND ELEVEN
[Previous Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2]
Sunday
“Daaaaddy!”
Levi groaned, for the shouting whine from his bedside dragged him kicking and screaming out of sleep in a way no other alarm could. Only two other sounds garnered a faster reaction from him: someone vomiting right beside him or his baby girl screaming in either pain or fear.
He opened one eye, wondering if someone had ever made an alarm that sounded like either of those last two. Parents everywhere would never sleep in again, so maybe not.
A blurry red-headed vision was so close that he could smell her morning breath as it tickled his nose. “Heeey,” he yawned, pulling away enough to bring her back into focus. “What’s up, Peaches?”
He didn’t recognise the room they were in. Not even a little bit. He sat up fast and looked around, causing Maddy to let out an ‘eep’ of fright. “Daddy! You made some come out!”
And then the events of the night before came crashing in: the party, the knowledge that his roommate was going to have the kind of company Maddy didn’t need to see, the invitation to stay in Luke’s old room, and Maddy’s late-night escapades after he’d dropped like a rock after doing a double shift to make it to the party.
He saw Maddy’s uncomfortable wiggle-dance and the strained look on her face and remembered he’d locked the door. “Oh!” He flew out of bed, scooping her up in the process. If he ended up getting peed on, it was his own fault for not setting an alarm for his baby girl’s tiny bladder.
He unlocked the door and dove around the corner, willing to go through the shut bathroom door if he had to, but thankfully found the room open and vacant. Then he flipped the toilet lid before depositing her on the ground in front of the toilet. He immediately pivoted away, not because he was embarrassed by her but because Maddy had grown old enough not to like him watching her go to the toilet. She was starting to get antsy about her bath, too, but until she could adequately bathe herself and not merely play with her bath toys the whole time, that was a hard ‘don’t care’ line.
“Do you want to have a bath, baby, or wait until we get home?” he asked, crossing the room to hold the door almost shut to prevent anyone else from seeing her either.
“I don’t got clothes, Daddy,” she answered like he was an idiot.
Word choice aside, the sentiment was true. They’d borrowed the shirt she was wearing from Charlie. “Well, we need to figure something out, Peaches, because you are not leaving this house in only a nightgown and no underwear.” He’d send Charlotte out to buy her some clothes if he had to.
He heard the toilet flush and Maddy move up behind him, and turned long before she could touch him. “Three guesses what I didn’t hear, young lady?” he asked with a paternal frown. He pointed at the vanity when she looked up at him without a clue.
“But I can’t reach!”
“Then what are you supposed to do?”
Her shoulders slumped. “Daddy, c’n you help?”
He then smiled. “Better.” He put a hand on top of her head and spun her towards the vanity before guiding her forward. After they crossed the room, he loosened the faucet without turning it on and curled his hands around her waist, lifting her high enough that she could lean over the sink. She washed her hands, rinsing them thoroughly, then scooped the water and let it fall over the faucet before turning it off. Not that water alone would wash away the ‘germs’ of the initial contact, but the sentiment was there. Her mother had been a nurse, after all.
“Is Mister Larry still here?”
“I don’t know, baby. But how about we go and see if we can track down either Aunty Charlotte or Robbie and figure out where we’re at, okay?”
“We’re in Uncle Luke’s and Aunty Charlotte’s home,” she said, again like he was an idiot.
That had been a rather stupid thing to say to a three-and-a-half-year-old. “Alright, Miss Smarty-pants. And what are we going to eat for breakfast in Uncle Luke and Aunty Charlotte’s home if we can’t find them to ask them, hmm?”
“Food, silly.”
Clearly, he was going to have to up his game in parental rhetorical questions. Gone were the days when she’d take him at his word, and she was only three. Thirteen was going to be fun. “Right,” he muttered, shaking his head as he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.
While holding Maddy’s hand, he peeked in the open door across the hall from the bathroom and saw a very plain bedroom in terms of the rest of the apartment’s décor. At first, he’d thought it was a guest room until he remembered the teenage kid Robbie had recently adopted. This was probably his room.
He’d seen Charlotte and Robbie’s room the day they moved Charlotte in here, so a quick glance to confirm the room was empty was all he needed on that score. That left two doors on the right. And since both were close together, with the one on the left barely a couple of feet from the other and the front wall separating the living room, Levi was willing to assume the second one was a half-bath or a powder room or something. He went to the second door and knocked.
“Yeah?” Mason called from inside.
Levi opened the door and poked his head inside. “Hey, you wouldn’t by any chance happen to know where Robbie or Charlotte are, would you?”
Mason was at his desk, drowning in paperwork, it seemed. “Robbie, no,” he said, shaking his head. "As for Charlie, I’d try her office next door, between us and Boyd’s studio. She has a massive garage refit happening soon, so last I checked, she was in there getting things ready.”
The emphasis on his sister’s preferred name wasn’t lost on him. A sharp, jarring motion to his right caught his eye, and he saw something that really belonged in a space program somewhere.
“What the hell is that?” he demanded, ducking down low enough to see Robbie’s adoptee with his eyes glued on whatever was going on overhead and his fingers typing in a blur of speed.
“Naughty word, Daddy!”
Mason snickered at Levi’s slow blink. “It’s a gaming system courtesy of Robbie’s family. The damn thing is very addictive, though, and I haven’t told Brock that there’s a screen you pull down from inside the headset to cover your eyes that takes the game into 3D playing.”
Levi whistled. “I don’t even want to know how much that costs.”
“I know, and this Sectra table here is up there too,” Mason agreed, gesturing at the electronic display beside him. “But it certainly makes learning a lot more fun.” He tilted his head forward. “Isn’t that right, bunny?”
Bunny?
Maddy leaned into Levi’s leg, but she was grinning ear to ear when she nodded. “I wanna be a vert when I grow up,” she declared, looking up at him.
“Vet, baby,” Mason corrected. “We’re vets. Sounds like “bet’ and ‘get’ and ‘set’.”
“Vet,” Maddy repeated.
“There ya’ go. Step one is getting the name right.” He glanced up at Levi, his cheeky grin on full display. “Step two is getting Daddy to save up for the rest of his life to pay for the classes.”
“I hate you,” Levi whisper-smirked, and Mason pursed his lips in a cocky air-kiss.
Still shaking his head, Levi waved at Mason and left the room, leading Maddy through the kitchen and living room and into the hallway outside. For so many years, his baby brother and their friends had crushed themselves into that ninth-floor horror show, and no amount of pleading from everyone would budge Luke. Not pressure from their parents nor peer guilt from his brothers, who refused to bring their families over to the cramped space.
Charlo—Charlie was the only one who visited regularly, and at the time, he’d put it down to her being skinny, single with no kids, so she could squeeze into whatever gap she found. He knew who she was really visiting now, and Robbie had better be ready for the mother of all guilt trips coming from the family to make an honest woman of their sister. Nascerdios descended or not, he’d be a dead man if he broke her heart.
Thinking about his little brother’s relationship with all these men, it was like Luke knew the payoff was just around the corner. People like them didn’t live like this.
Well, Maverick kind of did, but he’d worked hard for what he had and could rattle off his list of sporting injuries to prove it. Robbie and Sam had simply taken a running dive off the world’s highest diving platform and landed in the kind of wealth the rich and shameless could only dream about.
Luke—Lucas was lucky in a different way. Yes, his friendship with Robbie and Sam had certainly opened the right doors financially, but what Levi had seen of Boyd’s work yesterday, the big guy was well on his way to becoming his own type of rich; much like Mav did for his family. And like Marley, Lu—ucas wouldn’t have to work a day again in his life if he didn’t want to. (Though he had just made detective and loved his job, so Levi couldn’t see him quitting anytime soon.)
He knocked on the closed door. “Come in,” Charlie called, proving Mason right. And like Mason, she was sitting behind a desk covered in paperwork with a phone cradled against her shoulder.
“Aunty Charlotte, we’re hungry!” Maddy declared, and Levi closed his eyes to hide from his sister’s evil chuckle.
“Well, we can’t have that, sweetie,” she said, and he heard the phone click as it was dropped onto the receiver. "Daddy gets very grumpy when he’s hungry.”
“It’s not the only reason he gets cranky,” he said, opening one eye a slit to give his baby sister the stink eye.
Charlie cackled and slid out from behind her desk. “C’mon. Robbie has your breakfast all ready for you in Voila.”
“We didn’t want to start going through things and guessing what we could eat,” Levi explained as they backtracked to the main apartment.
“That’s fine. Grab a seat—any seat,” she said, gesturing to the line of kitchen barstool chairs as she moved through the living room. She headed around the island and over to the box under the window without checking if they had.
Levi wasn’t thrilled about the height of the barstool chairs off the floor. “Do you have a belt or something I could use to tie Maddy in?”
Charlie swung around to him. “Oh! Oh, yeah! Hold on.” She slipped around the island and down her side of the apartment, coming back from her room with the kind of square booster seats that could be found in a restaurant. “Robbie ducked out and got this for her this morning.”
Levi scratched his head as the booster was attached to the second chair along the front of the island. “Where’d he get that from at this hour?”
Charlie looked at him derisively. “This is Robbie, bro. You know he’s got connections all over the place.”
It killed Levi not to ask for more details, but given it was probably either connected to the Nascerdios or, more likely, a wealthy former client in the city that still looked favourably upon Robbie, he hadn’t wanted Maddy to overhear the specifics of the latter. Too many times, his little girl had asked Robbie about different ‘gifts’ he’d been given by clients and how she had wanted to do whatever he did to get presents like that. ‘Over my dead body’ had been his mental declaration.
Maddy was pulling on his boxers. “Up, Daddy,” she said, holding her hands over her head for him.
Levi lifted her into the seat, and then buckled her in. In the meantime, Charlie went back to that wooden box, lifting the lid. “Robbie has this gift with food, so assume everything in the place is for you to eat, because it probably is.”
“Not everything,” Levi countered at Maddy’s wild squeal of delight. He gave her hand a firm squeeze. “Do not take anything without asking, young lady, or you’ll be in big trouble.”
“But Daddy…”
“It’s Daddy’s call, Maddy,” Charlie said, backing his play. She turned, holding a plate with two fist-sized Minnie Mouse-shaped waffles (the bow between the ears made it Minnie) with some type of white marshmallow fluff spread across them and a honey drizzle that drew perfect facial features on each. “Here’s breakfast for one cute-as-a-button Dobson,” she said with a flourish, sliding the plate in front of Maddy and pulling out a children’s stubby fork from the cutlery drawer.
“It’ll have to be cut u—” The words died in Levi’s throat as Maddy stabbed the nearest piece, and it broke into a small, bite-sized piece that Maddy happily popped into her mouth.
“Imma bi’ ’irl,” she said, in and around her food.
Levi tapped her nose. “Big girls don’t talk with their mouths full, Peaches.”
When he glanced at Charlie, she’d gone back to the box and returned with a dinner plate of fluffy scrambled eggs on two pieces of toast with cheese and bacon, and three sausages cut almost in half longways on the side. She nodded at the seat beside Maddy, then slid the plate into the empty spot at the end. “Siddown, bro.”
He might have whimpered a little on the first bite as Charlie went and poured them both a glass (technically, Maddy got a plastic tumbler) of citrus juice (not orange), leaving the jug on the bench between them. “Help yourselves to as much juice as you want. Even if you wipe this whole jug out, there's plenty more.”
“This is really awesome, Charlie. Thanks.”
Charlie placed her hand on her brother’s shoulder as she moved around the island into the hallway. “Anytime, Levi. But now I’ve gotta love you and leave you. There’s a mountain of work to get through in my office, so are you good here?”
“Totally. Thanks again, sis.”
As she walked out the door, Maddy held out a piece of her waffle to him. “Try?”
Waffles were usually too sweet for his blood, but this was the game he’d set up with her a long time ago to make her at least attempt to eat new foods. He couldn’t very well expect her to eat what he wanted her to if, now and again, he didn’t reciprocate the motion.
The honey and marshmallow whip (which tasted nothing like the jar-bought type) melted into the perfectly heated/not-too-hot waffle, giving it a sweet crunch as if it had just come out of the waffle iron. His surprise must have been written all over his face, for Maddy giggled, and he grinned. “That’s yummy.”
“Mmmm-hmmm,” she hummed, just as he always had when a new food passed the initial taste test.
* * *
((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))
I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here
For more of my work, including WPs: Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.
FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

First: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/14vo5lb/troublemakers_deaths_pity/
*previous:* https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/1cnuyl1/troublemakers_the_son_of_witch_and_warrio
......
Drake tossed the last shovelful of soil over his shoulder, looking over the massive circular bunker elevator that had been buried beneath rubble and dirt. Destrier and Caz were consulting the map for any kind of clue as to how it could be opened up. Cassius and Remin both kept an eye on Charlotte and the younger of the two was playing patty-cake with the small woman. Drake paused for a moment, looking at the display with an odd trembling in his heart. It was clear charlotte was at least a teenager, but she acted like a small child, her wide eyed wonder evident in the freely smiling face and glittering eyes as she happily patted her hands against Cassius'. His stomach roiled and he almost doubled over as he spit out a mouthful of bile that sizzled on the ground ominously. Truth be told, since he'd been thrown into that strange void he'd felt sick, the tingling, electrical power in his veins only intensifying even as he dug out the massive hundred foot in diameter elevator. Chucking the shovel to the side halfheartedly, he looked up at the tree of hung corpses as the shovel clanged against a wall several paces away. His heart began to pound angrily and the feeling of nausea and static intensified exponentially, He doubled over and vomited, a pink slurry of blood and oatmeal splattering on the ground. He fell to one knee as the edges of his vision darkened for a moment, an overwhelming weakness turning his limbs to lead. Cassius appeared at his side, a look of fearful concern on his face as he went to grab Drake by the shoulders.
Drake didn't understand where the knowledge came from, but Cassius absolutely could not touch him. Drake shoved a hand out, launching Cassius back a few feet where he landed on his back. Sitting up, Drake saw the rapidly cooling red-hot handprint on the chest of his nano-mesh Gambeson at the same time Cassius did. They shared a look of startled panic and realization before Drake slumped forward, his last thought before the void took him was one of confusion.
"What's happening to me?!"
...
Charlotte saw the man named Drake tumble forward after shoving his friend, Heat mirage rising off his prone back as the soil around him began to melt into magma. She hurried to her feet when the old man in lamellar held her back, a look of confusion and fear on his face.
"Why aren't you helping him?!"
She cried trying to push past the old man's iron strength. Her hand still smudged with soot where the man currently laying in a puddle of molten soil had reattached her finger like magic. The man looked down at her, anxiously shouting.
"Do you not see the godsdamned lava?! I don't think we can even get close!"
Charlotte stopped pushing, a feeling of stark impotency falling like a pall over her mind as the ground bubbled around Drake's still form. She didn't know much about her new world, but she knew that man was a good one, and seeing him lay lifeless and still made her skin crawl with the desire to help. But then she heard a sound that chilled her to the bone.
The dull thrum of propulsor engines reached her over the wind and she whipped around to scan the sky. She could see them against the soft brown midday sky, dark shapes that hurtled through the air like birds of prey. She could see them now in her mind, loaded to the gills with Spec ops and bio-engineered soldiers, Artillery class emitters charged to full, engines thrumming under a full combat load of rockets and bombs. Charlotte wildly looked around, spotting a mostly intact, low forge building she shouted.
"If you want to live get inside!!!!"
The woman and large black man who'd been pouring over the maps looked up confusedly as Charlotte began shoving Remin towards the building. The panic she felt made her nerves burn with the need to run, but she couldn't abandon them she couldn't just let the-
An earplitting screech came from inside her skull forcing her to her knees as she clutched the aching sides of her head, a horrifyingly familiar voice speaking to her from within her very being.
"Ooooooooh Sylva my dear?~ Did my little cuckoo lose her collar?~ Ah, no matter, would you kindly clear the landing area for the buzzards?~"
Her arms fell limp as her viewpoint shrank away, leaving her floating in the darkness as she saw her body move of its own accord. Drawing a long bayonet from the thigh scabbard on the old man's leg and driving it right between his ribs, the blade expertly slipping between lamellar plates. She wanted to scream as the old man jolted back, clutching at where the knife had slipped through his armor, falling to the ground as she rotated to face the other three. Her hair swayed in front of her face, the dark brown draining upwards, leaving it a stark silver with a purple stripe. The hum of the buzzards was only growing louder as she reached for the small of her back, clawing at the veil between her body and her as a pen-flare came into view, pointed at the sky.
She silently screamed as a purple flair rose into the sky, the cold void swallowing her like it had all those years ago.
...
Nothingness surrounded Drake, a deep, endless, colorless world devoid of meaning or substance. But he wasn't alone here, something moved within the emptiness, pure, flavorless power roiling off it like the heat of his village's forge.
And it was angry.
He could feel it as it beheld him with a sort of bestial curiosity born out of its anger. Invisible tendrils snaked into his body like hot pieces of iron, molding themselves around his bones and sinews like it was searching for something. Crawling through his veins and into his heart, making him feel as though he was burning alive. His heart seized and stopped bringing a cold stillness to his body. But he didn't die as the tendrils slowly withdrew, heart pounding back to life like a bright orange flame had been ignited in his chest. The thing's viewpoint changed, looking down on him from above as it touched the glowing sigil over his heart with that same rageful curiosity, then a tendril of power touched the scythe on his wrist with something akin to fondness. He could feel hard crystalline bands forming around his fingers as the thing rumbled with amusement, the feeling of molten iron filling his body before fading as each band slowly reached completion. Then it hurled him ass over head through a wooden door.
Death jumped out of his chair, falling hard without his prosthetics and careful not to spill the yellowish water inside the odd glassware in his slender hand. The two stared at each other with similar levels of bewilderment as Drake rubbed his face before looking at the set of ten obsidian bands that encircled the base of each finger and thumb.
"How in the fuck did you get here?"
Death asked calmly, stump-walking back to his chair and taking a long burbling pull from the glassware in his hand.
Drake clambered into one of the smoky chairs death had casually summoned.
"I... uh... I got thrown through your door by... something... I don't exactly know what. It seemed... angry at me, though."
Death looked up with a blank expression, oily smoke rising from his nostrils as he said.
"Beg pardon? what do you mean you don't exactly know what did it? wait..."
A look of concern etched itself into Death's face as he grabbed one of Drakes hands, looking at the black rings with ever widening eyes. Slowly he made eye contact with Drake, holding up the jewelry bedecked hand urgently.
"Do you even know what these are?!?!"
Drake shook his head.
"Obviously fuckin not."
Death took a deep breath, taking a long burbling hit from the piece of glassware with palpable stress as he set Drakes hand down, letting his chosen look at the rings curiously and experimentally take one off. The moment the pinky ring stopped touching his flesh Death leapt back exclaiming.
"Jesus fucking christ kid!! Put it back on! put it back on!"
Drake slipped the ring back on, he'd felt a small boost to his energy but hadn't noticed anything that would elicit such a reaction from the harvester of souls.
"Who's Jesus christ?"
Drake asked as Death took another calming breath before replying.
"Probably one of the most famous demigods known to humankind, but that isn't important..."
Death folded his hands and leaned across the desk with a twitching eyelid.
"What is important, is how you managed to acquire ten heart of the umbra crystals for rings. I can count on one hand the amount of people who have acquired exactly one of these rings."
Drake looked at the dull black crystal rings curiously.
"Do they give me extra power?"
Death shook his head, slowly revealing an arm encased in the black bands.
"Quite the opposite... They typically completely restrain your power so you don't burn up and turn into a walking, talking nuclear weapon. And they're specifically given to those who have touched the Umbra and survived, typically just experiencing the primordial soup that makes reality results in a cataclysmic leap in power... but even then... it's only ever been one ring. Three humans have owned one of these rings, Archibald Sunshine, Roxanne Richards, and Bagelious Braveheart. How the Bagel god's chosen got one I'm at a loss. But of those three, One died using the power the ring held back, The other lives inside a mechanical body locked away from her powers permanently, and Bagelius? he's... He's just unhinged."
Drake gazed at his hands, the rings glittering dully in the flickering firelight. He held them up curiously.
"So... what does it mean if I have ten?"
Death took another deep breath, letting it out in an exasperated sigh. He didn't look drake in the eye as he stared at a wall.
"I... I don't know... If I had to guess..."
Death looked at Drake with no small amount of curiosity and fear for his life.
"You didn't just survive the umbra... You fought it... and lived to tell the tale... I don't even think you're human anymore Drake..."
Drake furrowed his brow, clenching and relaxing his fist, feeling the rings click together.
"Then what am I?"
Death shook his head before simply stating.
"Something I and those before me, have never seen..."
He looked into Drakes eyes, a soft glimmer in the endless, silvery pools as he rolled his sleeve back down to hide the bands around his own arm.
"You defy every law and command of the universe, just by existing."
Drake slowly nodded before standing back up.
"That explains why conquest looked so afraid. Bitch kidnapped my soul and tried to fight me on her own turf and still lost."
"Im sorry..."
Drake glanced over at Death's coldly calm words, the primordial exploding with power as he roared.
"She did WHAT!?!?!"
Drake looked at death with wide eyes, shocked at the sudden outburst, the primordial literally steaming with rampant power as he clicked his legs on. Drake was about to step through the door and back to his body when death stopped him with a snarled.
"No, you're coming with me. I need to know what she's playing at... and what better way than to bring the one person she's actually afraid of."
...
Caz had barely taken a running step towards Charlotte, blindsided by the sudden betrayal as the small woman lifted a pen flare to the sky and launched it with a Pop! Snatching her Huntress she broke it open, cocking the striker and slamming a fresh flechette into the electrically insulated chamber. A massive shadow loomed over her and she froze in her tracks, looking up at the massive metal machine as it hovered over the ruined village, her heart pounding in her throat as dark silhouettes leapt from the sides of the propulsor driven aircraft. They landed hard on the ground, Grey, patterned armor shifting to blend in with the bombed out village as their cold visors regarded her emotionlessly. Caz drew a bead on the first one, about to fire when the cold steel of a bayonet was pressed against her throat from behind. She'd forgotten about charlotte. A soft chuckle came from within the group of organized soldiers and they parted to reveal a geknosian in similar but far more ornate armor. Golden medals bedecking every available surface including a fabric crotch flap weighed down with stamped precious metals. They pulled an ornately forged helmet from their head, a dark grin on the general's face as he looked around at the general disarray the five troublemakers found themselves in.
Cassius held a chest seal to the wet gash between Remin's ribs. The old man looking pale and shaky as he weekly held his shotgun in the general direction of the soldiers. Destrier slowly folded up the map and tucked it into the pouch at the small of his back, dark eyes gliding studiously over the Geknosian forces. Caz adjusted her crosshair onto the General and felt the bayonet press harder against her throat.
"Drop it... Bitch~"
The small woman holding the knife cooed. Caz snarled and threw her Huntress to the ground, raising her hands in surrender as the blade of the bayonet relaxed against her throat. She wanted to spare Drake a glance, but she dared not turn her head lest she slit her own throat on the keen blade of Remin's long bayonet. The Geknosian General sauntered forward, attempting to take her chin in his hand.
"ARRRGH!"
The General cried out, leaping back as a burst of cold frost froze his war gauntlet into a brick of ice. Caz's eyes lit up as she backed into Charlotte, the woman crying out in pain and jerking the blade away as a brick of frosted ice formed around her chest. The Geknosian general grabbed for the blaster pistol at his hip and she kicked him in the chest, freezing his chestplate and sending him reeling back in shock. She got a glimpse of Destrier sprinting to Remin and Cassius's side, helping Drag the old man into the low forge building as Caz dove for her Huntress. A heavy armored boot slammed into her mask, throwing her disorientingly on her side even as the boot froze over. Caz slowly got back to her feet as the soldiers bore their guns down on her, wiping the blood from her split lip through her mask, she growled, glancing back at Drake's still form, the ground around him having cooled and solidified into hard stone. Charlotte slowly joined the generals side, the frost around her chest quickly melting as she leaned in to whisper in the general's ear, eliciting a smile.
"Thank you Sylva, the information is much appreciated. A little cuckoo bird tells me that you all came here looking for the human bunker. How pitiful you don't have an access remote, like this one?"
The general held out a hand, a piece of blocky, olive drab green plastic falling into his outstretched, thawing palm. Clicking a button, nothing happened and he purred.
"But, alas we're at an impasse, for only someone of human genome may access the bunkers... oh wait~"
He held the remote out to Charlotte, Who stared at it blankly, eyes glimmering dully for a second. Then they dulled again as she looked up at Caz with an odd expression.
The remote sailed through the air and Caz instinctually caught it as Charlotte monotonely stated.
"Run, Keep it away from them."
Caz didn't need to be told twice as she turned on her heel and sprinted through a small alleyway between two buildings that leaned on each other, blaster bolts ablating the stony surfaces in puffs of loud smoke and blinding flashes. Grabbing the hook at her belt, she threw it and slung herself onto the crumbling rooftops, one of the metal buzzards turning where it hovered in the air to focus a glowing emitter on her. She leapt off the crumbling rooftop just as the powerful laser ablated the spot she'd just been standing with a blinding flash and a pressure wave that launched her much farther through the air than she intended. The last thing she saw before blacking out was a crumbling wall rushing at her as she fell face first towards it, clutching the remote to her chest.
......
Part 106: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/1cr3pct/troublemakers_adrenaline_is_a_superpower_in_itself/